Renee Miller's Blog, page 27

The Great NaNoWriMo Challenge: And How I Feel About That

Well folks,
I did it. I took the NaNoWriMo challenge and I learned a great many things
about writing, myself, other writers, and why I would never do it again.



I haven’t
yet "won." It’s 7pm on November 24 that I’m writing this. I’m 6,000 words
away from the 50K mark, but I plan to have those words done by tomorrow
morning. Is it a good feeling? Hell, yeah! But again, I’d never do it again. It’s
exhausting, depressing, exhilarating, fun, and horrific all at once. My poor
equilibrium can’t handle that shit.



So here’s
what I learned about writing:



I really, really, REALLY hate typing NaNoWriMo. In fact, while writing this post, I
only typed it once, and copied it every other time. It irritates me beyond
words to type the upper and lowercase bullshit that makes NaNoWriMo. It actually
makes me a bit homicidal even thinking about it. I’ll be so happy when there is
no cause for me to ever type the damn acronym again.



I also learned that I write with an amazing intensity when I just let it flow
from my gut. It’s surprising for me, because I didn’t realize I could do that
without much thought, rewriting and head-smashing. Actually, not counting the
typos and various grammatical errors, when I write from my gut without worrying
about writing “properly”, I come up with some awesome shit. Some of it’s even almost
profound.



And I type way faster than I thought I could. However, I
also learned that anything that must be
pressed by pinkies and thumbs is pretty much nonexistent. That makes for
interesting edits. Usually I catch them as I do them, which is more annoying. I’ve
used the backspace key so often the little arrow has worn off.



But one of the most surprising things I’ve learned is that I
cannot turn my inner editor off. I kept telling Katrina she’d do fine and
shouldn’t go back and edit every damn page before moving onto the next, but I
must apologize to her, because I do it too. A lot. I might not edit every page,
but each day, before I begin to write, I edit everything I wrote the previous
two days. In fact, I was more than three days behind at one point during this
process, which is almost 5,000 words, and I STILL went back to edit the
previous days’ work. I just can’t help myself. From this I learned that every
writer truly has a certain way of doing things and if it works, we aren’t going
to change it. Not even to get a higher word count.



I also learned some valuable things about life, thanks to NaNoWriMo (yep, pasted it in)



First, coffee is good. Coffee is awesome. But four pots of
coffee in a single day is just too damn much. I had palpitations and clumsy,
shaky hands. I was dropping shit, breaking shit, and mixing up my words. It
took me a few days and a tear or two (because I thought I’d
contracted a medical condition or something equally horrific) before I realized
I was one cup away from hooking up an IV and calling it an overdose.


I also learned that my house won’t fall apart just because I
don’t tend to it. Before NaNoWriMo,
I’d write for only so long, then I'd feel guilty and run inside and clean or tidy something, and maybe
get back to writing. Well, the house will gather dust, poop and hair,
but it stayed standing and mostly intact, even if I didn’t clean it for three
or four days. I’m sure this epiphany is pleasing only to me.






Another epiphany occurred in week two. I realized my kids
can manage just fine without me. If I don’t check on them, it turns out that
they actually find ways to occupy themselves. The even get their own shit. I am
elated and a little depressed about that.



I also learned that bathroom breaks can be put off. I can
hold my pee for exactly two chapters. Just no more than that or bad things
happen.



What did I learn about other writers?



Well, I learned that those who participate in NaNoWriMo every single year are
fucking insane. They’re also deserving of a pat on the back. Anyone who’d
subject themselves to this kind of torture and stress just to hammer out 50K
words, or to participate in a “fun” event, deserves some credit.



I also
learned that a lot of NaNoWriMo participants are still annoying, even if I
understand what they’re doing and how hard they’re working. Some of them even
finished in like seven days. What the fuck is that? Did you just write solid
for that time? I can’t even imagine. Yes, of course I’m a little jealous. Not
about the editing, just the ability to devote seven solid days, in a row, to a
single writing project. Man, that’s just…wow.



Writers, I’ve
also learned, are great cheerleaders…as long as you cheer back. I watched the
forums and such and saw some amazing support systems that brought a tear of
happiness to my eye. I also noticed that anyone who doesn’t participate in the
forums and such doesn’t get writing buddies on the site. Meh. You see, in order
to get the word count, I don’t have the time to do that. So, I had two buddies.
That’s enough for me. They’re the best buddies of all anyway.



Finally,
what did I learn about myself?



I’m a
procrastinator. You give me something to do and the first thing I look for is
something that will help me avoid it. Seriously, I’m pathetic. Right now I’m
supposed to be finishing that 6,000 words and instead I’m writing a blog post.
When I put the effort into focusing, I’m damn good at it, but it’s motivating
myself to actually focus that’s difficult.



I will also
cut your fucking throat if you interrupt me when I’m under the pressure of a
deadline. No joke. There was one day where I didn’t answer the phone or go
outside. I just wrote. One of my kids came out to ask me something, and I haven’t
seen her since. I don’t remember what happened…but I suspect it’s bad. There's a fresh mound of dirt out back and a bloody coffee cup in the sink...



Okay, I’m
joking. But the homicidal urge I had whenever someone interrupted me was a little unsettling for everyone involved.



I also discovered that I hate noise. I didn’t realize how much I hated noise until
this little adventure. I like music. That’s different. I prefer to write with
music blaring so loud I can’t hear myself think…which is odd. Anyway, I don’t
like any other type of noise; traffic, dogs, people, televisions, the fucking
neighbor and his asshole leaf blower, the church bell chiming off the hour. All
of it chips away at me until I’m sure my head will just implode.



Finally, I learned that I am quick to judge, but also quick
to admit I was mistaken. NaNoWriMo
is a valuable tool for many writers. For newbs, it’s a way to dip your toes
into the writing waters to see if it’s something you might want to do. For more
seasoned writers, it’s a way to get back on track. It worked for me that way.
Life and work have made me forget that all I need is like twenty minutes a day
to write something, anything, and I can get a lot done in that twenty minutes.
I found myself putting off starting anything new, working on rewriting older
projects and pissing around with an outline here and there. NaNoWriMo forced me
to just do it. I’m glad I did because writing fiction is back to being a
regular part of my routine, and I really missed that.



For all my
bitching about the misery of this experience, this is the happiest I’ve been in
a long time. I learned it’s about priorities. Family comes first, obviously,
but all the other shit, I can put it aside and the sky won’t fall. I need to
write because it makes me feel whole. That sounds almost mystical, eh? We can’t
have that.

 

So after all this learning, why would I never do it again? Because I don't enjoy the low self-esteem that comes with not meeting the daily word count. That's why I don't try to get a specific word count every day. For me, it's a bad idea because I really get bent out of shape if I don't meet it, no matter what the reason. It's a personal thing, but when I was behind those first weeks, I don't recall ever feeling so useless or inadequate. It was awful. I think part of that is my inner critic. I cannot start something without finishing. If I think I won't reach a goal, it drives me batshit. This was definitely an eye-opener for me in many ways, but it also showed me that while fun and all, I don't need to  intentionally do shit to batter my self-esteem. I also like the way I work just fine.

 

Would I recommend it? If you've never tried to write 50K words in 30 days, I suggest you do it just once. Seriously, it is worth doing if only to prove to yourself that your way of doing shit is better for you. Also, I have a novel (almost) that I can work with for the next few months. This novel would have taken me at least 3 to 6 months to write otherwise. I think that's a worthwhile payoff.

 
 

Dear Reader: Let’s Talk About the White Space

When I
write a scene or a bit of dialogue, Reader, I leave some space in the text just
for you. It’s called white space, and it’s my way of allowing you to make the
story yours and yours alone. It’s a space where you can take what is written and
twist it to fit your point of view, your experiences. I don’t want to think for
you, Reader, because I know you’re an intelligent and capable person. I mean,
if you weren’t, then why are you reading my book? Am I right? Of course I am.



But the
white space contains something else too, something you can’t touch or smell or
even see just a little. It contains a piece of me, Reader. A piece that may or
may not make its way to you, but it’s still there waiting to be discovered.
When you find this in a book, Reader, you are among the lucky few. You’ve found
a writer you can trust to craft a story that will take your breath away.



I can see I’ve
confused you. That’s my fault, Reader, because sometimes I talk in circles. Let
me show you an example:



A man sits
alone at a bar. In front of him is a half-empty (or half full, depending on
your attitude) bottle of beer, the label torn at the edges. The bottle is warm,
and the label is dry. He speaks to no one, although much revelry is occurring around
him. A leggy redhead sits to his right. Now and then she glances at him, but he
doesn’t notice her, or at least it seems he doesn’t. Another man walks in, and
he walks straight toward our loner at the bar. He whispers something to the
man. The man hangs his head, sighing heavily and pushes his beer away. He
stands and follows the other man out of the bar, but looks back just once at
the redhead. She smiles and turns back to her drink.



As a
separate scene, this is…not that revealing. But in the white space we see a lot
of things that tip us off to unspoken elements in this scene, that imply events prior to this moment, and that might
foreshadow something in the next scenes. The label on his bottle shows that although
he sits there quietly, something is bothering him, and its dryness combined
with the warmth of the bottle implies he’s sat there for a while. The leggy
redhead adds some conflict to the scene, but we don’t know how she’s involved
unless we read the story. Her smile at the end tells you something, but what?
You’ll see later. I left that in that white space little clues, bits of tension
and small suggestions that will bring everything into focus in later scenes. This
is a simple example, with very basic messages in the white space, but I hope it
makes it more clear.



The white
space, to put it simply, is the space between the lines. It’s where most of the
action and the story take place. When you read a passage and say “I don’t get
it.” or “Why didn’t she just write that instead of being all coy and shit?” you
kind of annoy me, Reader. It’s not coy I’m trying to be. Writers don’t like to
give you everything, Reader. Not the good ones anyway. We like to leave you
some wiggle room, and we like to create a bit of tension. Because you know how
fickle you are, Reader. You have a life beyond my book that tries to drag your
attention away from me. I want to make sure you come back. So I leave a bit of
white space to entice you.



The art of
creating in that space is, sadly, one we are losing. Our culture is living in a
fast-food world where everything is served to you immediately and without
effort on your part. But Reader, is that any way to enjoy a book? It takes the
magic out of the story and you’re left empty and cold. I don’t want to do that
to you, Reader. I don’t want to title my book so it slaps you with the entire
plot in five words or less. I don’t want to hit you over the head with
descriptions so detailed you are mentally moving the furniture you first
imagined in my fictional room to suit what I’ve told you. I don’t want to send
you the easy message, the polite message or even the clever one. I want to send
you the message that affects you the most intensely. I have no need for clever
authorial tricks and sleights of hand that serve no other purpose than to
impress you, because you, Reader, have a brain in your head, and I know you
want to use it occasionally.



Many
writers claim that publishers want a book that ignores those deeper and subtler
themes that we describe in the white space, because those themes often cause discomfort
on the part of the reader. But you, Reader, I know you like those themes hidden
in the white space. I know that discomfort makes you think, and I know you
enjoy a bit of thought from time to time. And I know the publishers know this
too, so the assumption that we should remove the white space is bullshit tossed
about by lazy writers.
 


I know you
want a well-written novel that is based on the nuances of craft and plot. You
want a story that takes your breath but does so quietly, without telling you said
breath should be gone. I want to give you simple lines of just a few words that
contain within them enough story and meaning to knock you on your ass. You see,
Reader, it is in what is not said,
rather than what is said that makes you love my words. It is the silence that echoes
between the lines of text that gives a story its power. Taken out of context,
the same lines could be perceived as boring, even confusing, but when combined
with the characters I bust my ass to create for you, and the text before and
after that white space, those lines hold meaning that is scorching in
intensity. And you know you enjoy a good scorch now and then, Reader.



Don’t think
I create this white space without effort. It is not as simple as not writing certain
parts or words. It is perhaps one of the most difficult aspects of the craft to
master. To construct a story in the “void” between the lines of text and to
allow the juxtaposition between the text and the white space be the vessel that
carries said story is beyond hard. But for you, Reader, I would do almost
anything. Not that thing. We
discussed this already. But almost anything else I would do to ensure that when
you read my book, you have an experience that takes your breath away, or at
least makes it short and panty-like.



The trick to
creating white space, in case you’re curious, is in word choices and the
arrangement of sentences. It is in the description, and how we shape it to each
scene. For me personally, I create a scene with all its detail and then I remove
those details until I’ve left only what’s necessary to place you. Then I let
you, Reader, do the rest.



To do this
I must make the sure words I leave behind are heavy with meaning, sometimes
containing more than one meaning. I use one meaning to form the word, while the
other meaning, or meanings, is what I leave in the white space, hanging
expectantly, hoping you’ll see and appreciate its presence, while trying to be
as inconspicuous as possible.



If you’re
lost, Reader, or you have no clue just what the hell I’m talking about, I’ll
make it simpler, although I know you’re smarter than that. You could say the
white space is like sitting on a dock, listening to the wind as it caresses the
water. When you first sit down, you hear the traffic on the road behind you,
the boats roaring in the distance, or the geese squawking and honking overhead.
But after a time, this obvious noise fades into the background, and you are
left with the sound of nature’s breath. A sound you don’t usually hear over the
commotion of the rest of the world. That is the white space, and that is what
makes a book brilliant.



That is my
goal every time I write, Reader. So, let’s not pretend you want it easy. I know
you better than that.

Creating Character: Write the Character to the Plot, or Write the Plot to the Character?

Welcome
back to my little series of posts about creating characters. As I muddle my way
through NaNoWriMo, I’ve considered often how I go about creating my characters.
Much of my planning is internal, meaning I think about characters for a long
time before I start outlining a story. Usually I take the major players and
list off a few details before I dive into the outline. Some writers plot more
intricately than that, while others might not plan anything involving
character, allowing them to develop naturally.




I have to
say, in my opinion, that it’s really hard to craft memorable characters without
some type of thought beforehand. If you plot the story before knowing your
characters, how can you know what’s at risk for them? How can you make sure the
plot you laid out poses the greatest risks for a particular character? How do
you know the character's goals and motivations? How do you avoid making the
character reactionary instead of realistic? It’s impossible to know these
things when you’re writing cold. Sure, you can figure them out along the way,
but then you risk points in the story where the character behaves in a way that
isn’t true to who she is.



If you
outline your story first, no matter how much or how little detail you put into
it, you’ll have to pause at some point to craft your characters. After doing
so, the events of the story will make sense, and you’ll be better able to
target the problem areas and fix them. If you pants it, then at some point you’ll
still have to pause and do the same thing. Otherwise, you will lack the things
that make the characters the only “people” who can tell your tale. And your
characters should be the only ones able to tell your tale in such a unique way.




If you
create the characters first, on the other hand, you’ll have to adjust the plot
to suit them, which is sometimes really frustrating. You’ll have to manipulate
events to suit each character, and to ensure that this plot is the only plot that
tells their story perfectly.



But guess
what—it doesn’t matter when you craft your characters, as long as you take the time
to do it. Whatever works for you is what you should do. But consider something
before you continue using the methods you’ve used to this point: Is your way of
doing shit actually working? To have unforgettable characters, the story
elements (character, plot, and setting) must fit and work in perfect harmony,
or the story and its players will collapse in a very forgettable heap. Do you
find yourself untangling forgettable heaps often?



If your
current character-discovery process works and you create fluid, dynamic
characters that have no inconsistencies and tell the tale you’ve penned without
issue, then keep at it. You’re awesome. You don’t have to worry about anyone
behaving in a manner that’s out of character because you KNOW how they’ll react
and such. However, if you have problems on rewrite, like readers mentioning a
strange reaction or two, or you find yourself switching this character and that
around, then your process ain’t so shit-hot.



If this
sounds like you, then switch it up a bit. If you craft your characters first,
then write the plot around them, reverse your strategy, and if you craft the
plot and build characters to suit it, try getting to know the characters first.
Changing the way you do things might show you a new method of writing that
gives you a story where every element feeds and enhances all the other elements.
That’s the goal in the end, right? It’s not about the path you take to get
there.



It seems
like a lot of work and thought to put into something as simple as a vessel to
tell a story, but by doing that work we end up with characters who are no longer
fictional, but real, breathing human beings that make to our books
unforgettable for those who read them.



Consider
how readers react to some of the bestsellers out there today. Let's use Edward and Bella,
for example. Meyer might not have narrative skill or plotting technique that
appeals to me, but she created characters that breathed for her readers, even
the undead ones. Even if you hated the Twilight books, Edward and Bella stay with you...no matter how much you want to forget them. Readers that loved them do so beyond logical standards. Come on folks, when you get readers sending mail to your characters, you know
you’ve succeeded. When fan clubs and discussion groups refer to your characters
as real people, you’ve done something right. You've crafted an unforgettable
character.

 

Do you write your characters to the plot, or the plot to the characters? How's that working for you?

Creating Character: An Introduction to Creating Unforgettable Characters

 



 

 

I think my
favorite thing about the writing process, with dialogue running a close second, is
creating my characters. Bad guys, good guys, and the extras; I think about
every single character in a story in meticulous detail. I didn’t realize how
detailed I tend to get until I started this NaNo insanity. A third of my
outline was the main characters and their personalities. So, this post will
launch a longish series of articles on creating characters and an introduction
to some of the ones wandering through the various settings I’ve created.



Memorable
characters are three-dimensional, which means they are physical, emotional, and
spiritual beings. Doesn’t matter what role they play, whether they’re bad or
good, major or minor, all of your characters need to breathe for the reader to
be able to fully immerse herself into their story.  



To create a
character that readers will remember, you have to incorporate little details
that give the reader insights to these three dimensions. This way your reader knows the
character didn’t just fall out of the sky the minute you wrote the story. Sure, that's exactly how it happened, but for the reader he should seem like he existed before
you introduced them.



Everything
about your character—speech patterns, clothing, body language, etc.—shares
something physical, emotional, or psychological with the reader that makes them
both universal and unique. WTF? Exactly. How can one be universal and unique at
the same time? Easy.



Universal
traits are those most of us can identify with and feel empathetic toward, and
they're usually tied to our emotions. Not all of us have murdered someone, but we’ve
all experienced a desire to do so, even if it’s only fleetingly. Never? You lie. Just to prove it, pretend
you’re the mother of a small child. One morning you flip on the news and you
hear that droning morning show voice telling you a convicted rapist, who’s on
his second go-round in the prison system for repeated brutal assaults on women, has been
released early. Oh look at that, he's going to be living right near your house. Gotta love that early release thing, right? No room in the
prisons, so keep the thieves inside and let the ones physically and emotionally scarring
folks for life out onto the streets.



You let it
go, because you always hear bad news on the radio.  And besides, maybe the guy is reformed. The following week you’re
enjoying dinner with the family, and you get a call from a friend. The police have issued a warning. Apparently the rapist is wanted for assaulting
another woman, one the same age as you, and murdering her in front of
her two small children.



Tell me, how
do you emotionally react to this news? If it were you, your sister, your wife, or your daughter, could
you understand the urge to commit a little torture? A little murder? Imagine the
children. But wait, what about the parole board? How do you think the person
who signed the release papers feels? The guard who let him outside? Imagine the
frustration and rage of the community, the families. Imagine the guilt, the
shame, the pure, red hot anger. How does a bit of lynching sound to you?



These are universal
feelings we can all relate to, even if the story isn’t quite as emotionally
charged or the feelings as negative as the scenario I’ve given. Our characters must feel the reactions that
many of us human beings share so that no matter what the story is about, the
reader can relate.



We simply don't relate to experiences as much as we relate to feelings, because everyone experiences
hate, shame, love, embarrassment, grief and fear. We understand that shit
because we’ve all been there, even if the event itself is something we’ve never
personally experienced. Feelings are the common bond that most humans share. They’re the
universal traits we give our characters to bring the reader in, no matter
what’s happening.



But none of
this explains how uniqueness fits into the picture.

 

Well, unique traits are
those applicable to us personally: beliefs, biases, ethics, social mores, and all
of the other traits that come with our personal experiences and make us who we
are. Unique traits are those that force us to take a stand, or that make us back down and cower in a corner. We choose which of
these we emphasize in our character and this is what makes him unique, yet
still relatable.



When you’re
bashing your head against the keyboard trying to figure out how to make your
characters unique, ask yourself if you've given them any quirks; the small details that make each
person you know an individual. Giving each character a quirk or a tiny detail
unique to them makes them stand out. Don’t go all crazy, just something subtle
and believable. For example, I hate feet. My daughter smells everything. My
brother won’t drink from a glass unless it comes from his own home. Even then,
he won’t share glasses, not even with his girlfriend. Kurt scratches is back on door jambs. These are real quirks
that would work with fictional characters. You might choose to incorporate
emotionally-linked or less obvious quirks, and that’s fine too.


And let’s
not forget that unforgettable characters aren’t perfect, they’re human. Even if
they’re not actually human. Make sense? Of course. Find your character’s
greatest weakness or vulnerability (internal conflict) and stomp the shit out
of it (external conflict) using plot as your shitkicker. Flat characters have
no conflict the reader can identify with, because they’re either too flawed or
too perfect. Either way, the reader doesn’t get them. Three dimensional
characters are easy to relate to, easy to root for and they have “real”
problems.






So, how do
you know your character is memorable? Some writers do character interviews and
such, but you can simply ask yourself a few questions about each one.  Determine what you know about your character physically,
emotionally, and spiritually/psychologically.




How do they interact with family? Friends? Enemies?

Who is the most important person in their life?
What angers them? Excites them? Scares them?
Do you know in your own head every high and low, every success and failure of the character’s life?
How would he describe himself?
Is he confident or a bit self-conscious? Is he arrogant, funny or smart?
Is he sociable or withdrawn?
What are his dreams?
What does he fear or hate?





When all of
this is clear in your head, you’ll be able to judge the character’s reactions
and motivations, and determine if you’ve made all of that believable.



Later you
can think about the character in relation to other characters. How do they see
him? And hey, if you’re having trouble with the emotional shit, look at the
physical first. This will smooth the way into the intangible traits. Note the
character's environment, social and economic status. How does he speak? What
does he say and how does he convey his thoughts, feelings and such? This helps
get a little further into the right mindset for judging emotions.



The idea
behind character interviews, no matter how silly they seem to a logical mind,
is that the writer invests time exploring the story and its characters so that
you know them inside and out, and learn a bit about yourself along the way. The
more time you spend discovering your characters and understanding your own
feelings and motivations for creating them, the more able you will be to write
about each one. Each character will act, speak, and think in such a way that it
seems to fit him perfectly.



And it does
work. When you focus intently on something, you absorb a ton of information
about it, without even realizing you’ve done so. Our sensory perceptions are
always switched on, but we usually ignore this stuff. Good thing your subconscious
ignores nothing and it forgets nothing. With every plot detail, line of
dialogue, surprise twist or bump in the road, our subconscious uses the
information we’ve gathered to correct little conflicts that we don’t realize
exist as we write. Ever notice how you get to a problematic point in the story
and have an epiphany? The plotting and events seem to lay out perfectly for
just such a moment, and when you realize it’s there, and that you already
shaped the story to suit this moment you never planned to write, you’re kind of
amazed at your own skill, if a little uncertain how it happened. This happened
because as you wrote, your subconscious mind was sensing what's broken in the
story, and then fixing it and spilling it out onto the page with all (or most)
of the kinks repaired.



In spending
time with our characters, climbing inside them to experience life through their
eyes, we develop a bond with them. This frees the character to develop, and it
makes the character breathe. It also helps us see the plot in a bigger way. It
personalizes the story so that if we’d put any other character in that
character’s role, it would change the story immensely.



Do this
with every character, major and minor. When you create one that seems
inconsequential, like a means to an end or a prop, spend a few minutes with
him. If you could insert anyone into his role without changing the story, then
he doesn’t belong. Nix him. A truly memorable story is full of memorable
characters that belong.

Dear Reader: When I Think About You, It’s Complicated

Dear Reader:






You might
not know this but I think about you a lot. Sometimes when I’m in the shower,
other times while making dinner or walking my kids to school. I think about you
when I read a book someone else wrote, often wondering if you love them more
than me. It hurts to think you might, but I know you have more love to share
than one writer could possibly use. You know, I think about you even when I’m
cleaning up dog shit from the various corners of my house. You’re in my thoughts
whether I’m awake or asleep, but not in a stalker, going to knife you in your
sleep sort of way. No Reader, I am not that kind of crazy.





There is
only one time that I don’t think about you, Reader, one time that I can’t: when
I’m writing. You see, if I think about you while I write, I’ll never get a
single word on the page. I can’t afford to think about you when I’m in that
space, and I hope you understand.





You’re
distracting and stressful, to be honest. It’s like I can feel you breathing on
my neck, and that is really annoying, although it’s not your fault. You can’t
help but be what you are, Reader, and I’d never change you for anything or
anyone. After all, you’re quite important to me. I want your journey through my
books to be perfect, exquisite even. I want you to love my characters, race
through my stories, and reach The End with a solid, comfortable feeling of
satisfaction. I don’t want you to feel cheated or bored, and I certainly don’t
want you to think writing is easy. On the other hand, I want it to feel as
though it was effortless when you read it. I don’t need you to love me, but I
need you to adore the soul I bare to you. I don’t need you to know me, but I
need you to remember my story. You don’t have to recall my name even, just recognize
my voice when it speaks to you on the page. I’ll probably never learn your
name, but I will know all of your secrets.





No, Reader,
I never make any sense. Yet, you still try to figure me out. I’m writing to
explain our complicated relationship, so that you stop trying to sneak into my
writing zone. If you’re in there with me, then I think about all of those
things I want to do for you with our story. When I think about all I need to do
for you, I get all nervous and shit, and then I start thinking I can’t possibly
make you happy. It’s downhill from there. Paralyzing really.





So I lock
the door and make you wait outside with the rest of them. I know you don’t like
it, and my tendency to hermit myself away for days on end is confusing,
particularly when it’s obvious I’m a chatty sort of gal. Once I’m done, though,
I emerge desperate for your attention, needing you to love what I’ve made as
much as I enjoyed writing it. I hope you’ll wait for me. It’d be tragic if I
had to go back to the booze and the crying. No one enjoyed those days.

Mary Sue-ism: How to Put Yourself into Your Writing, Without Writing Yourself as the Main Character

In my
previous post, I wrote about knowing yourself in order to write with passion
and emotion. Maria
pointed out that sometimes writers take this too far, and she was absolutely
right. The thing with fiction is that everything should be done in moderation.
Dialogue, description, action, emotion, characters; they all have their place
and time, and using anything to an extreme will ruin your story. Inserting too
much of yourself into your novel and your characters can push you over the line
from passionate to nauseating, because it usually creates a Mary Sue.






So, just
what is a Mary Sue? It’s basically a character created to be admired, envied or
pitied, rather than one your reader can empathize with. One of those “too-good-for-this-shithole-planet”
characters designed to be a role model, but failing at it miserably. Instead
they come off as sanctimonious and too good to be true. Mary Sues are the
author’s pets. Whatever the character wants, needs and desires comes to them
with ease. How could an author create such an annoying character? It’s easily
done, particularly when we take self-insertion too far. When we try to identify
too much with the character, we often run the risk of creating a Mary Sue.



Let’s be
clear, though, that self-insertion is not bad. If it was, then no novel would
be worth reading. We can’t write believable and relatable fiction without
inserting a bit of ourselves into our novels. The characters we create all
contain a piece of ourselves, whether it’s the bad or the good pieces. There’s
no other way to breathe life into your character than to put yourself in his
shoes. But the trick to creating a character that is us, but not us, is to use
only small pieces of ourselves, and only from certain parts of our subconscious.



What the fuck?



I’ll
explain in my usual long, rambling, convoluted way.



I read
somewhere that Freud believed that all literature is self-insertion at its
heart, and all stories are a simply a writer’s wish-fulfillment. The difference
between good literature and bad is in how well the writer can mask his
self-insertion by giving the work some type of social value. While I
feel Freud was batshit crazy about a lot of things, which any decent
psychiatrist should be, I think he hit the nail on the head. If all of the
characters we create contain some small amount of ourselves, then self-insertion
to the point of Mary Sue-ism is only the extreme end of something that is
natural and positive. Blatant self-insertion is bad writing, but
subtle self-insertion is good writing. Are you still with me? Okay, let’s
examine Mary Sue-ism.



Mary
Sue-ism is not averted by making your characters suffer. Readers just hate this
shit and you end up worse off than just letting that perky, perfect character
la-di-da her way through life. (PS: Mary Sue’s can also be male, just so you
know) Tedious wish-fulfillment and martyrdom are pretty much the same thing.



Mary Sues
are named after you, work at a job you wish you had, possess all your good traits
or the traits you wish you had, dress like you, think like you, and act like
you.



Mary Sues
are perfect, unbeatable, and overwhelmingly awesome. They’re gorgeous, tough,
can kick ass and take names. They
cannot lose and they get everything they want and then some. Their faults are
inconsequential for the most part, like maybe they have big feet or can’t spell
Mississipi. (See what I did there?) They tend to portray themselves as really
cool, and no one is really cool except Clive…maybe Alexander. Oh and let’s not
forget Richard. But I’ve fallen off the track here….



Mary Sues
have cliché qualities, ridiculously deep backstory, or cliché plots.



Orphaned at the tender age of seven, she has
unusual eyes the color of lavender, through which she can see into the minds
and hearts of others but she hates this gift and tries not to use it. She will
die, but then be resurrected by the god who can’t bear to see her light
extinguished so soon.



Hey, you
might not write something this awful, but even a little cliché opens the door
to that bottomless pit of yawning desperation. So, are you guilty of blatant
self-insertion? That depends. Do you find yourself defending your characters
with any of these statements:



The
character isn’t me, she only looks/talks like me and has a name similar/the
same as mine and loves/hates all the same things I do.


My
character has flaws. He’s not perfect. There’s a ton of things he’s not very
good at doing. (Sadly, the character flaws usually include caring too much or
giving his all despite the cost to himself—puhleeeeeease. Just because your
character can’t sing to save his life isn’t relevant to the story, so it’s a
useless “flaw.”)






Why are such characters bad? Writers that
craft characters that are basically avatars of themselves lack the skill and
imagination to create anything else. Self-insertion is not the mark of a bad
writer. In fact, self-insertion done to the right degree indicates a very
skilled writer. But the self-insertion is usually intentional in cases of
skill, and it’s always relevant to the story.



My belief
is that writers guilty of Mary Sue-ism want to be liked, so they make their
character (aka: the mirror of themselves) likable. All the other characters
want to be close to this character, and the writer believes this will make the
reader like the character too. This usually works the opposite way, though.
Readers don’t want you to give them someone to like or admire, they want a
character they can identify with.
Nobody wants to see someone else’s wishes come true. Pfft. There’s no fun in
that. A good writer puts the reader into the role of protagonist, but Mary Sues
are designed so that nobody can relate to them except the author. They’re meant
to be observed and admired from the outside. See how that might be annoying?



Never fool
yourself into thinking that drama can camouflage Mary-Sue-ism. It only makes it
more obvious. And for the love of Pete, let the character
enjoy his good fortune if you’re going to make him the luckiest bastard on the
planet. Those guilt-ridden, morose assholes that can’t enjoy good fortune are beyond
annoying. A real person would be all “Right on, man!” if something good
happened. Don’t fool yourself into thinking your characters are more appealing
or interesting just because they suffer from conscience or whatever you like to
call it.



Mary
Sue-ism is easily avoided if when you create a character, you consider how he relates to the story. Do you need this character to make it
work, or are you writing the story to suit the character? If you’re doing the
latter, ask yourself why the character deserves to be in the spotlight. If the
answer is because she’s so beyond awesome that readers will just eat her up,
then you’re treading into Mary Sue waters. It’s also helpful to ask yourself how
well you take criticism of your character. If you find you take it personally, then that is a big flashing sign saying “Mary Sue
right here!”



But Renee, you still haven’t explained how self-insertion
is done properly.



Sorry. Now
that we know what Mary Sue-ism entails, let’s look at how knowing yourself, and
putting that self in your writing is a good thing. Imagine you don't know yourself
past what everyone sees on the outside; the mask you wear when going out in the
world. You might insist you feel no envy toward that disgustingly perfect model
on this month’s Cosmo cover, the one who has a boatload of money and men lining
up to do God knows what with her, but you’re lying. You lie so well, you start
believing it. And you lie about other shit too. You convince yourself there’s
goodness in everyone, that some unknown bloke living in the clouds has a plan
for everyone, and your neighbor would never steal your weed-whacker, even
though you see it in his shed. You refuse to believe that the person inside of
you is anything but a good person. You don’t acknowledge the uglies
hiding under your skin.



If you
write a book based on this strong character you strive to be, readers would
see through to the shallow person you are.



But when
you allow the inner voice of your subconscious to speak to you, and lower your rose-colored shield, you’re able to talk with that voice,
to argue, cry, and laugh with it. Your subconscious becomes a trusted friend;
the kind you’ll never know outside of yourself. When you get to know this
person inside of you, the book you write will not be mere text. It’ll be written
from the real you, warts and all. A writer
cannot create memorable stories and characters unless she’s removed her skin
and viewed herself without the pretty trappings society has forced her to wear.
She might not like what she sees. Hell, most of us know what a letdown we are
to our egos. We see a stranger at first, but soon we appreciate the grit and
scars that hide behind our skin. To insert ourselves into our writing properly,
we must write with this self in mind, because readers can easily identify with
that. We all have ugly bits beneath our skin. It’s what makes us human.



No, it doesn't mean that you craft a character that is like you. It’s not
about writing a character like you physically or even intellectually. It’s not
about what you wish you were or what you think other people want you to be. It’s
about writing about the feelings you’ve experienced. That’s the self-insertion
readers want. We write about a vast number of things, but the feelings that show
through that writing are the only thing we can claim as ours and no one else’s. This is not Mary Sue-ism, because
it’s not skin deep. It’s far beyond that.



There. Is
that coherent and whatnot? Have I left anything out?

Writing Secrets: Discover Yourself and Recover the Magic

I’m going
to do something a little different today. Instead of the snarky, biting sarcasm
and humor I usually lace my posts with, I’m going to get all deep and shit. I
know you’re scared, but I’ll be gentle and it’ll be over soon. It’ll be
like…it’ll be weird. I’m not going to lie to you.



I want to
share a secret I learned not so long ago that helped me write fiction that not
only affects me, but also my readers. Writing so that the emotion leaps off the
page and into the reader’s head and heart is not an easy task. In fact, there
are few writers who are able to do this. We all struggle to take what we feel
and see inside and put it on the page so that the reader experiences it the way
we want them to. This struggle is often the number one cause of the mythical
writer’s block. Eventually we wear ourselves down to a hopeless blob of
patheticness. What the hell do I write about? Who cares what I have to say? Why
would anyone read my writing? I’ll never be good at this. Why do I even bother?



There are
so many options in terms of what to write about that folks embarking on a new
tale are often overwhelmed by the sheer number of possibilities. Couple that
with the uncertainty of whether or not you can pen something worth reading and
we freeze, or we don’t write to our full potential. So, how do you know what
you should write and how to go about it? It's simple really.



Know
yourself.



The first
step to knowing yourself is to figure out what kind of books do you want to
write. This is harder than it seems. It’s not as simple as wanting to write
whatever will sell. You can’t write for the reader you don’t yet know. In order
to find the motivation and the inspiration necessary to write well, you have to
know what is important to you and what you want your writing to say to the
world. It took me a long time to realize why I wasn’t happy with what I’d
written. I just couldn’t get that emotion that bubbled inside me to translate
onto the page. My problem was that I didn’t know myself as well as I thought I
did. A single manuscript, a story that I wrote only for me, revealed a person I
thought I’d left behind long ago, and introduced me to a stranger I didn’t
realize lurked in there with her.



Think about
your dreams and your desires. Go right back to those carefree days of your
childhood and think about what used to make you happy and what used to make you
hopeless. Then ask yourself a few questions about the present:



What do you feel passionately about? 
What do you love? 
What do you hate?
What affects you emotionally, both good and bad?
What are your “buttons”? How are they pushed and who pushes them most often?
What fascinates you?
What scares you?
What makes you batshit?
What doesn’t interest you at all?


 

You might
be surprised at your answers (if you’re honest with yourself). Many of us don’t
think about these things too deeply, so when we do sit down and focus on our
“whole” selves, we find we’re much like an onion with the layers and such, and
the answers are rarely black and white. This is why it’s so hard to pick out a
single idea and start writing. We have wants and needs that change from day to
day. We have likes and dislikes, biases and fears that are altered by the
events and the people in our lives. But knowing yourself is vital to knowing
what your dreams are. Dreams lead to desire, desire to motivation, motivation
to inspiration, inspiration to passion, passion to magic, and that magic turns
a mediocre storyteller into an extraordinary one.
 

As children
we all dreamt about fantastical and impossible things. As we mature, we put
aside childish things, and those dreams get stuffed way back into the darkest
corners of our subconscious. A gifted storyteller never loses access to those
dreams, but most of us don’t realize those dreams are still there, or that they
hold a deep well of inspiration and magic. This is why many of us struggle to
write with purpose. It’s why our prose lacks the emotion we feel inside.




To convey
your passion for what you’ve written—the magic that is vital to every great
book—you have to feel it. Writing whatever is most likely to sell is going to
ensure your work has no magic. “But magic doesn’t exist,” you might say with a
curled nose or a roll of your eyes. Ah, you are incorrect. When I speak of
magic, I’m referring to that intangible element present in all of your favorite
books. That bit that hides between the pages, in the white space, gripping at
your chest as you read, and clinging to your brain long after you set the book
aside. If your writing engages your
emotion, then it leaps off the page and engages the reader’s emotions as well. That
is magic.



While
passion is vital to writing, I think it’s important to add that it’s not the
only thing important to plotting a successful novel. Commitment, discipline and
devotion to the craft also play a role, so listen to advice, take whatever useful
information you can ferret out of the tons of writing tips that are thrown at
you and use it, but at the end of the day, make sure you’re clear on where you
want to go and what you want your work to say about you. Keep that idea in your
mind, but also remember it should be dynamic. We are constantly changing. Every
new experience and encounter alters our reality, and so it alters what we feel
as well. Your writing will reflect these changes. If it doesn’t, then you’re
not doing it right.



Don’t get
overwhelmed by the possibilities or the should and should not’s. When you do
that, you drift, and when a writer starts to drift, oh the disasters that follow. Panic sets in. Then comes regret. Finally you feel an all-consuming
urgency to do something that matters now.
This clouds your judgment and blocks creativity and it prevents you from
writing with emotion.



You’re never going to be able to convey your ideas
or your message to the reader if you don’t know yourself. When you’re in touch with who you really
are and what drives you, then you know what it is you want to say and you can
say it without fluff or hesitation. Basically, to be more than just a
“good” storyteller, you have to treat the inner you and all that entails with
the same respect you’d treat the inner self of those you care about. Yeah, we
all need to be tough, ambitious and independent, but you need to allow
yourself to be sensitive enough to encourage whatever that person inside you wants to be. Read, think,
debate; discover what matters to you. Let yourself feel things, good and bad.
Wallow in your emotions from time to time. The issues, feelings, beliefs, or
people that fascinate you, that are important to you, are what you should write
about. Cloak it in humor, horror, or romance. Whatever. That’s just the shiny
wrapping you give something you want to share so others will want to open it.
The important part is to explore your physical, emotional, and spiritual sides
and figure out who you are and what you are passionate about. That is what
makes fantastic fiction.



I hope you
enjoyed today’s jaunt over to my sensitive side. Don’t get used to it. The next
time we meet, it’ll be back to the mocking sarcasm you know and love.

The Next Big Thing

 



 



Okay, so maybe I'm not a big deal yet, but just you wait and see. For now, Author Helen Maryles Shankman
(who writes haunting tales that tend to hang around a while after you’re
finished reading) invited me to this blog thing, and of course I had to agree
because I’m easy to get along with, and because I like her. This blog …series(?)
is called, "The Next Big Thing." Authors answer a set of 10 questions,
and then tag authors they feel are worth checking out. Next week, the authors
I’ve tagged at the end of this post will answer the questions. Or not. I left
that up to them. Even if they don’t, all of them have blogs that are worth
checking out.



So, here are the questions:





What is the working
title of your book?
Which one? The most recently “finished” would be False
Prophet, which I’m working on rewriting at the moment. I have a couple of WIPs
too. No titles.




Where did the idea
come from for the book?
My boyfriend. Seems weird to call him that because I imagine
boyfriends as temporary things, and he’s been hanging around for more than a
decade, but that’s a tangent. Kurt and I joke around with story ideas, usually
with him tossing out ridiculous ones that are completely unwritable. So he was
like “What if you had to eat shit or die, literally?” and the idea was formed.
No one eats shit of course, but my brain traveled a winding path from there.

 




What genre does your
book fall under?
Science fiction, but not science fiction. If
pseudo-apocalyptic were a genre, then that would be it. Sci-fi/thriller? I’m
not sure. I’ll figure it out before I query anyone.

 




Which actors would
you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
The logical me sees David Boreanaz playing Rayne, the
protagonist, perfectly. However, the romantic me imagines Richard Armitage when
I’m writing. As for the “villain” Markos, I would choose…wait, Armitage would
play him very well. There, I can have my Boreanaz and my Armitage too.






What is the
one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Plane crashes on a mountain after an asteroid has allegedly
wiped out most of the world, and the survival of the passengers depends upon one
man’s ability to separate fact from fiction.




Hmmm….sounds awful. I suck at synopses
 




Will your book be
self-published or represented by an agency?
I hope it will be represented by an agency. I don’t plan to
self-publish.

 




How long did it take
you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
The first draft? A little over a month. The second, third,
fourth and fifth drafts have taken slightly longer.

 




What other books
would you compare this story to within your genre?
Um. See, I have trouble with this question when submitting
my work because my goal when writing is to make it something that is unique. I
know that’s impossible, but I try to write what I’ve never read before, so
saying it’s like this book or that feels wrong because I don’t want it to be
like anything else. I’m not sure I’d even like the book anymore if I found one
that was similar. I don’t want to tell the same old story.

 




Who or What inspired
you to write this book?
I think I answered that above.

 




What else about your
book might pique the reader’s interest?
Murder, deceit, humor and sex in the dirt.




 
Over the next week, take a wander over to these blogs. I’m
sure their answers will be more interesting than mine. Or at least, more
informative.




 

Wendy Swore



VeronicaSicoe



S.M. Carriére




And if you’re
feeling chatty, I’d like to know where the idea for your current WIP came from.

National Novel Writing Month: Good or Bad?

 

 

We can’t ignore it anymore. NaNoWriMo is coming. You
know what I’m talking about, right? That thing where thousands of writers try
to write a 50K word novel in a month? While they write, they tweet and whatnot
to let us know their progress, troubles, and what they had for dinner.



Before the insanity begins, let’s take a brief look at why
NaNoWriMo is a good thing, and the points where folks get confused and make it
something really annoying instead. This way, whoever participates takes
something good away from it, and the rest of us recognize that yes, although
annoying, this yearly event has value. It also helps remind me that I don’t
want to kill anyone. That it’s only a temporary thing and life will go back to
normal in no time.



NaNoWriMo gives folks who may not see their desire to write
as a “calling” the opportunity to see what they’re made of. It has the
potential to spark the creative fire in a new generation of gifted authors that
may never have tapped into their well of talent otherwise. It also encourages
folks who should never put the metaphorical pen to paper to go out there and
try to sell books. These are the writers who, after hammering out their 50K
words, submit that bad boy to agents, publishers or just slam it through
Smashwords or CreateSpace because they can’t wait to rake in some cash. Don’t
be one of those writers. Okay?



The people running NaNoWriMo really do make an effort to
educate participants about the craft and I believe they want to spark a love of
all things literary in the world. On the other hand, focusing on word count
instead of quality really clouds that bundle of good intentions. Let’s all
remember that reaching the goal before November 30 is just the first step in a journey
full of really tiny baby steps. Listen to the advice given by the NaNo veterans
and sponsors and use the wonderful opportunity this event gives to find your voice
and your style. Don’t view it as a way to launch your career as an author. You’re
not there just because you typed a lot of words.



While the community around NaNo seems like a bunch of
obsessed loons, I really do like the concept of writers supporting other
writers, particularly right now, when writers are behaving very badly in the
press. It’s nice to see that most of us are still in this because we love it.
But sometimes writers are too supportive. You know what I mean? Telling someone
they’re fantastic just because they do what authors do every day is kind of
like telling your kid he’s destined for greatness because he learned to tie his
shoes. Honesty. This is what NaNo is lacking in my opinion. Writing 50K words
in 30 days is not that big a deal. I write that every month easily, but it’s
not all on one project. And that is the difficult part of the challenge. Not
the word count. The focus. Yes, it’s great that you took the challenge and are
serious about getting down to writing, but what you produce will be crap. Every
first draft is a big pile of gloriously stinky shit. What participants deserve
kudos for is focusing on one project for a set length of time, and prioritizing
their time to see that the work gets done. This is a major challenge for many
writers. NaNo helps us to see that with a little hard work and perseverance, we
can do this writing thing. On the other hand, doing it for just one month a
year is not an accomplishment at all. The successful writer takes that newly
gained focus and confidence and carries it with them forever.



So, we’re all clear on the pros and cons of NaNoWriMo? I
know, I’ve barely scratched the surface. I wanted to keep this brief. Some
people have hinted that I tend to be “wordy.” Before we go our separate ways, can
I ask everyone to resist the urge to post hourly Twitter updates and such?
Please? I really need you to do that for me, because you see, I’m going to
participate this year. Surprise! I bet none of you that know me even saw that
coming.



And I dragged Katrina into it too. She’s not sure if we’re
still friends. Stay tuned for updates on the NaNo experience from the eyes of
two very skeptical and notoriously cranky writers.

Writing Takes Hard Work, Dedication, and the Right Parents?

 

Is your mom
or dad a bestselling author? If not, a study suggests you might want to put
your pen away and give up all hope. The Independent reports new research that
shows there may be “an inherited element to writing good fiction.” Fucksakes,
eh?



Yale
researchers and Moscow State University researchers launched a study to
determine whether science could explain why well-known writers often have
children who are also talented writers.



“There are
four generations of Waugh novelists – Arthur, sons Alec and Evelyn, Evelyn's
son Auberon, and Auberon's daughter Daisy; Kingsley Amis and his son Martin; H
G Wells and Rebecca West, and their son Anthony West.




"There
are also the three venerable Brontë sisters, Henry and William James
[brothers], the Cheevers [father, daughter and son], and the Ephrons [parents
were screenwriters, and four daughters are also writers]," say the
researchers.



And we all
know of more modern examples of such literary families.



Researchers
analyzed the writing of 511 children (8 to 17), and then looked at 489 of their
mothers and 326 fathers. The participants in the study all wrote about specific
themes. For example, the children had subjects like "were I an
elephant" and "were I invisible". Teens wrote on themes like, "a
time machine for an hour" and "visiting a witch" and the adults
wrote about "the world from an insect's point of view" and
"imagine who lives and what happens on a planet called Priumliava.” Jesus,
that one would be a tough assignment.



Researchers
rated the stories based on originality, plot, sophistication, and creative use
of prior knowledge. They also did “detailed intelligence tests” to analyze how
families functioned in the Russian households. After that, they took intelligence
and family background into account and calculated the inherited and the
environmental elements of creative writing.



But what did they find?!



This: “a
modest but statistically significant familiality and heritability element to
creative writing.”



That
sounds…what?



“These
findings constitute the tip of an interesting iceberg, indicating that there
may be some components of creative writing that are familial and heritable.”


The
researchers feel that it may be worthwhile to study whether or not creative
writers are born as well as made.




“When
writers capitalise on these inborn propensities and expose these propensities
to rich experiences, we, as readers, can enjoy books that not only form the
foundation of cultural life but also impact the biology of the human
brain."



Maybe in a
few years we’ll all have to stop saying that one isn’t born a writer. I don’t
know. Maybe we really are born writers. But if I believe talent is inherited,
then I have to admit I’m wondering where I got mine…or perhaps I don’t have
any. I have family members that are very creative, and in my very biased
opinion they are talented, but they’re not close relatives. Aunts, uncles,
cousins, but not mother, father or grandparents.



On the
other hand, my daughters are showing a natural ability to create fiction. My
oldest (now 14) writes with a skill I’d have killed for at that age (I’d kill
for it now), and it’s nothing she’s been taught. She just has always had a
knack for creating beautiful imagery and her word usage is always unexpected.
My youngest creates vivid characters, although at eight, she’s not yet penning
full stories. Instead she creates scenes to act out, and I have to say again,
I’m jealous that it’s all child’s play for her and not work.



Are these
things natural for every child, or are they inherited?



What do you
think? Are writers born or are they made?