Kate Genet's Blog, page 5

I’m Motivated, But Are They?

I hit 33 000 words on my November novel today. I’m writing between three and four thousand words a day which feels like a good amount for me. Just right, as Goldilocks said. Though I do believe she was talking about porridge, and I have a fervent hope that this story of mine is a lot more exciting than porridge. Please let it be more exciting than porridge.

 The way I work means that I don’t read over more than a couple pages of the previous day’s writing. I don’t read the story as a whole until it’s finished, just pick it up each day where I left off, read the last bit from the day before and make up the sentence that goes next. If I’m lucky, I know what the day’s scene will be, and I’m usually pretty lucky.

 Yesterday however, I was all set to work and sat frowning over a blank page instead. As far as I could tell, everything was progressing well, but the story had taken a turn, and I wasn’t sure it wasn’t down a one way street. I eyeballed that white spread of screen for perhaps five minutes before getting up and going downstairs to make another cup of coffee. Calling the dog, I went outside and wandered around the garden, for once not thinking about how late I am getting the potatoes in (it’s spring over here, folks). Instead I was tackling one of the biggest issues a writer faces, one essential to successful novel writing.

 I’m talking about character motivation. When I start a new book, I have a premise in mind. Example? My book Building Character started like this: a writer falls in love with a character from her own book, bringing her to life the same way Tibetan mystics are known to have done with their imaginary creations (and Dion Fortune, for those of you familiar with her). Except this character has some pretty major flaws. There it is, the premise, from which all else springs. Setting and characterisation come next, usually a few images of place, and the particular voice of the main character.

 A lot of writers, so I’ve heard, fill screeds of pages full of details about their characters before they even type the first line. They learn all there is to know, more than will ever make it in the book. I get to know my characters while writing their stories, but the idea is the same – the writer has to know their characters. Especially what I call the two golden questions: what does the character want? And how far are they prepared to go to get what they want? The rest is all detail. How they wear their hair, whether they drink tea or prefer espresso, whether they’re naturally shy and have a pet hamster at home.

 What I’m really talking about is motivation. And this was what I was mulling on while I walked in absent circles around the garden, the dog fixedly watching me in case I might decide that chasing trucks with her would be more interesting. Teresa, my main character was about to do something, and I needed to stop and check that this particular action, and all things resulting from it, were in line with her motivations. Which is just a fancy way of asking ‘would she really do something like that?’ a simple enough question, but oh so important.

 In the end I decided that indeed, Teresa would do something like that, and she opened up to me as a deeper, more complex character than I’d known her so far (what’s especially cool about this, is that I was actually, subconsciously on the right track with her; stopping to think about it was almost second-guessing myself – and discovering I was right all along). So I disappointed the pooch and went back inside to the computer. Teresa did what she wanted to do, and it was quite an experience, one that’s left me, and the soon-to-be reader, knowing her all the better. There are consequences to her actions – there always are, in fiction, and not all of them she will have anticipated, but she knows what she wants, or thinks she knows (wink), and those consequences be damned. She’ll deal with them, no matter the cost. And the cost will be high. It always is in fiction. That’s what makes it worth it.

 In some ways, fiction’s a lot like life, after all. Know thyself – and your characters.

Filed under: Writing Journal

Roll Up, Roll Up…

The major job is still to entertain people. Joyland really took off for me when the old guy who owns the place says, “Never forget, we sell fun.” That’s what we’re supposed to do—writers, filmmakers, all of us. That’s why they let us stay in the playground.

- Stephen King

Filed under: Writing Journal

Word Count Wars

It’s day six of this pseudo-nanowrimo-thingee I talked myself into, and I’ve learned something from it already. Not something about writing, or how to write – but instead, I’ve learned a few lessons about how to work.

I’ve 18 119 words on my novel so far, which is, let me see, um maths, how I hate you, 18 divided by 6, yes – an average of 3000 words a day. Well on track to hit that 50 000 mark by the end of the month, but the strange thing is, that of the last six days, I only spent four of them doing any writing. Two long days where I reached 6000 words, and two only doing half of that.

So what have I learned from this? That the trick to larger daily word counts, is not to do anything much else than write. Well, that should be fine, sure? Writing is the only paid work I do these days, so shouldn’t be a problem. And I want to write more, and I’ve so many ideas that I’ll be writing every day until I die and not complete half of them. So it’s all good.

Except it’s not quite that easy. Here are my reasons why – and you might find you agree with one or two of them.

The reason I’m not out in the world slaving over a day job, is that I have more than one chronic health issue. I tire easily, and I get physically very uncomfortable, even when I take regular breaks. Spending most of my day writing is delightful, and fulfilling, but physically a trial.


I don’t live on my own. I have kids, and despite being teenagers and mostly competent to be left unsupervised, for some strange reason they like my company. ‘Speak to the hand’ does not speak to them.


I’m not earning enough money yet (sigh) to afford a cook and housekeeper. Despite bullying said teenagers, I find their standards continue to be considerably lower than my own. Write for six hours a day, desperately trying to keep up with the laundry and vacuuming while on breaks, then stop to cook the evening meal – and I’m so tired I can barely manage the stairs to bed at the end of the day. If I want to get my other jobs around the house done – ever, I can’t put the long hours writing in. For me, it’s that simple.


Here are the ones you may especially be able to relate to, if you’re a writer as well. Making writing the sole and important focus of the day, can be intimidating. I know I’ve heard of folks out there who write 10-15 000 words a day and still manage an insouciant shrug about it, but while I wish I was them, I’m not. I know on the longer days I’ve put in, I become consumed by the writing and the story, and my brain pretty much refuses to switch off. It’s all story, all writing, all the time. Fun, but exhausting. And when I get up the next day to do it all again, the book has become so all-consuming, that it is no longer just a matter of sitting down and telling a story, it has achieved proportions well above its station in life. It’s gone from just another one of my jobs, to an EVENT. And events demand lipstick and high heels, and fretting about everything being just right.


I write from a place of flow – that peak experience where the two halves of the brain are working together, best mates, turning ideas into language with nimble and nifty acrobatics. It’s the perfect state to write from, and while you’re in its midst, it feels effortless. Except it’s not effortless. It’s an intensely focused mental state, and while it produces great results, it’s hard to sustain hour after hour, day after day. I love almost nothing better than telling stories, writing books, and I rarely think of it as hard work, but it is focused work, and like anything that requires that level of mental effort – it can wear you out.

So, in light of all this, I’m going to re-adjust my expectations of myself when it comes to my writing. Higher word counts might mean more books written, but I’m pretty sure it would also mean one burnt out writer with longer intervals between working. Today I wrote 3000 words and stopped, when I could easily have written more. I was in the middle of a pivotal scene when it hit that mark, but I decided to stop anyway. There were other things I needed to get done around the place. Not just needed to get done, but wanted to. So I did – I let the writing rest, happy that I’d done that much, and feeling good about the story, and I went and pottered around house and garden. And I feel good about that too. In fact, I feel more productive and better rested than I did those two days when I achieved twice as many words on the page. So what if it’s going to take a month or even two to write my novel? I figure that in the long run, a happy writer maintaining a balanced lifestyle is going to produce more work anyway.

Filed under: Writing Journal

Ready, Set, No.

I got up yesterday and got rather a shock when I checked my email and discovered it was the 1st of November. For some reason, I thought I had several more days left in October. Shows how often I have to keep track of the date.

 Feeling unprepared I sat down to write anyway, looking over the few chapters I already have on my novel Eidolon, which is what I’d previously decided to work on this month. Unfortunately, I found myself completely stumped on the story. I knew what I wanted to happen, initially at least, I just couldn’t find a way to make it work. Eventually I knew I had to put it aside until I’d figured out what needed to come next.

 Sometimes this happens, for no good reason that I can see. I have three or four novels with the first few chapters done, all of which ground to a halt, sputtered a bit, and refused to get up again. Which can be intensely frustrating when you know the basic idea is sound, but you can’t find a way to write it.

 So, no writing on November 1st. Or such a scant few words they weren’t worth counting. When I came back today, determined to make progress, I spent about thirty seconds looking at Eidolon, and knew it wasn’t going to work for me today either. Unfortunate, but it happens, I guess.

 Now, a few days ago, I was looking through my short stories, and remembered that I’d always intended to turn one of them into a novel. Obviously not having anything better to do that day, since Perfect Earth, the fourth Reality Dawn book was done and dusted, and I was in between short stories, I thought it would be fun to play around with these old characters and see if I could inject new life into them.

The answer was yes, a resounding yes, I could. Somewhat bemused, I discovered a few hours later that I’d written 6000 words just like that. And I was having fun – anyone who’s read more than a few of my blog posts will know this is requirement number one for me.

 I turned back to this new story today, thinking that working on anything at all was better than sitting frowning over an empty page for the second day in a row. It was a good decision, because I soon had another 6000 words added to the story, and only stopped then because I was getting too uncomfortable – and it was mid afternoon, I was still in my jim jams and had forgotten to eat.

 This new story has me by the short and curlies. It has a firm grip on my imagination, and not only is it fun, but it’s a challenge, and I’m always up for new challenges, extending my writerly skills. It might not be what I’d planned to work on this month, but I’m happy enough all the same. And looking forward to putting more words on the page tomorrow. After I’ve had breakfast, this time.

Filed under: Writing Journal

The Great Nano-Something…

I haven’t done Nanowrimo for a long time. And I do believe that the last time I tried, my then- girlfriend dumped me half way though – by email, and totally threw me off my stride.

 But that was a long time ago. Since then, I’ve learned the great art of sitting my arse in the chair and working, getting those words on the page, and going at it until the book is done, then turning around and starting another. While I haven’t written or published near the amount I wanted to last year and this one, due to something odd called life interrupting me, I am happily getting back into the writing habit. I’ve just finished Painted Earth – the fourth Reality Dawn book, and that will be out as soon as I find the right cover art. I’ve a small bunch of short stories finished as well, for a gasp – wait for it – lesbian historical erotica collection I’ve been amusing myself writing. Yes, I have more eclectic tastes than you know about.

 But what I’m really looking forward to, is diving deep into writing my next Kate Hansen novel – Eidolon. Or at least, that’s what I’m calling it so far (and the photograph with this post is the one I’m thinking of using for the cover). It’s, very basically speaking, an alien invasion novel (rubbing my hands in glee), with a larger group of main characters than I’ve written in any other book. A far cry from Remnant, of course, which for most of the book only had one, very lonely character. Eidolon’s going to be a little more epic than that, for sure. I’ve put the completed word count at 70 000 for the meter in the sidebar there, but I expect it will actually be longer. It feels like it will be a longer book, though at this stage, I’ve the characters, the premise…and that’s it. I’ve no idea of anything after the big ‘what-if’, or how the story will be resolved – nothing. But that’s okay. It’ll come as I write it.

 Which brings me to the point of this so-far long-winded post. Because it’s nanowrimo month next month, and because I’m keen on providing extra motivation for myself, I thought I’d blog the process of writing Eidolon, with daily – or thereabout – updates and word counts. I want to kick my productivity up a notch, and accountability, even if I’m just talking to myself on this blog, well – it helps.

 So, if you’re writing something, doing Nanowrimo, thinking about walking the dog, or just want to listen to me blather on about how my writing day has been, then do stop by. I’ll be here, either way.

Filed under: Writing Journal

Oh, The Horror Of It

When the ordinary is invaded by the terrifyingly extraordinary, horror happens.

- Mort Castle

Filed under: Writing Journal

I’m the Boss, right?

I know you’ve heard me say it before, but I don’t plan my books. Beyond a character, and a ‘what if’ situation, I have nothing but the vaguest idea of how the story will play out.

So, when I write, I’m also the first reader. I’m constantly surprised by what happens in the story, sometimes to the point where I’m going, ‘oh shit, I didn’t know that was going to happen, what now?’ A lot of the time I’m writing into the darkness, not knowing where I’m going or what’s going to happen. I’ll find myself in the middle of a scene, and things take a totally unexpected turn. I take my fingers from the keyboard and wonder how on earth I’m going to resolve things now.

I could start worrying at this stage. In fact, I could get totally freaked out, if I let myself, because sometimes (most times, when this happens) I cannot see any easy way to get the characters and situation back under control.

But when you’ve been writing for a while, and you’ve learned all the basic stuff of writing, to the point that most of the craft has become instinct and you don’t think consciously about it anymore, then these moments of unexpected plot twists lose their terror. I put my fingers back to the keyboard and write the next sentence. Then the next and the next, and the story goes on, works out, ends up better than if I’d tried to control everything.

But it’s difficult to have that amount of trust in yourself, to know that if your storytelling brain knew enough to get you here, it’s going to get the rest of the job done too. I cannot stress enough the amount of times that I’ve either kept writing and watched the story evolve on the page, seemingly without any actual input from me, or have been busy doing something else between writing sessions, and suddenly I’ll look up, a big grin on my face and holy shit, everything’s just fallen into place.

I’m writing the fourth Reality Dawn book at the moment, and at the end of my last writing session, my two characters had a big argument and stormed out on each other, leaving me totally flabbergasted. I hadn’t been expecting that (although when I think about it now, that argument had been brewing for a while). In a few minutes I’m going to sit down to continue that story, and I’ve no idea how it’s going to go. Not the slightest idea. But I can’t wait to find out.

Writing into the dark is scary stuff, but it’s also one hell of a ride.

Filed under: Writing Journal

Quiet Horror

“Quiet Horror, Still the Darling of the Horror Genre | Paula Cappa” http://feedly.com/k/17LqFnN

A blog post well worth checking out. I’m off to Amazon to buy a couple of the books Paula mentions that I haven’t read yet. And to have a look at her novels as well, because if her blogging is anything to go by, she’s a writer well worth paying attention to.

Filed under: Writing Journal

Why Do I Write Horror?

“For me, writing category fiction is not so much about living up to the expectations someone would have picking up a book about vampires; it is, rather, the context wherein I write about the sorts of things writers always write about. You’ll find the same themes in all horror writing. You’ll find them in a good mystery, a romance, or “serious” fiction. I’m talking about the Big Issues: good, evil, love, envy, betrayal, trust, faith, hope, and, perhaps above all else, our need to find redemption.”

- Michael Romkey

Filed under: Writing Journal

God damn it, I split it so it will stay split

Reblogged with many thanks from Shaun Worr, a writer who’s doing an excellent job of challenging himself to get as many words down on the page as possible. Visit his blog at http://we8u.blogspot.co.nz/

In January of 1947, novelist Raymond Chandler wrote the following letter to the editor of The Atlantic Monthly, Edward Weeks, with regard to the title of a piece he had written for the magazine — a piece which, incidentally, was published the next year, titled, “Oscar Night in Hollywood.” The greatest part of this letter, however, is the second half, in which Chandler asks Weeks to pass on a wonderful message to the publication’s proofreader.

Edward Weeks did pass on the message, to a copy editor named Margaret Mutch. She then wrote a letter to Chandler, to which Chandler responded with a delightful poem that can also be enjoyed below.

(Source: Selected Letters of Raymond Chandler, & The notebooks of Raymond Chandler; Image: Raymond Chandler, via The Telegraph.)

6005 Camino de la Costa

La, Jolla, California

Jan. 18th, 1947

Dear Mr. Weeks:

I’m afraid you’ve thrown me for a loss. I thought “Juju Worship in Hollywood” was a perfectly good title. I don’t see why it has to be linked up with crime and mystery. But you’re the Boss. When I wrote about writers this did not occur to you. I’ve thought of various titles such as Bank Night in Hollywood, Sutter’s Last Stand, The Golden Peepshow, All it Needs is Elephants, The Hot Shop Handicap, Where Vaudeville Went it Died, and rot like that. But nothing that smacks you in the kisser. By the way, would you convey my compliments to the purist who reads your proofs and tell him or her that I write in a sort of broken-down patois which is something like the way a Swiss waiter talks, and that when I split an infinitive, God damn it, I split it so it will stay split, and when I interrupt the velvety smoothness of my more or less literate syntax with a few sudden words of barroom vernacular, this is done with the eyes wide open and the mind relaxed but attentive. The method may not be perfect, but it is all I have. I think your proofreader is kindly attempting to steady me on my feet, but much as I appreciate the solicitude, I am really able to steer a fairly clear course, provided I get both sidewalks and the street between.

If I think of anything, I’ll wire you.

Kindest Regards,

(Signed)

—————————————-

Lines to a Lady With an Unsplit Infinitive

Miss Margaret Mutch she raised her crutch

With a wild Bostonian cry.

“Though you went to Yale, your grammar is frail,”

She snarled as she jabbed his eye.

“Though you went to Princeton I never winced on

Such a horrible relative clause!

Though you went to Harvard no decent larva’d

Accept your syntactical flaws.

Taught not to drool at a Public School

(With a capital P and S)

You are drooling still with your shall and will

You’re a very disgusting mess!”

She jabbed his eye with a savage cry.

She laughed at his anguished shrieks.

O’er the Common he fled with a hole in his head.

To heal it took Weeks and Weeks.

“O dear Miss Mutch, don’t raise your crutch

To splinter my new glass eye!

There ain’t no school that can teach a fool

The whom of the me and the I.

There ain’t no grammar that equals a hammer

To nail down a cut-rate wit.

And the verb ‘to be’ as employed by me

Is often and lightly split.

A lot of my style (so-called) is vile

For I learned to write in a bar.

The marriage of thought to words was wrought

With many a strong sidecar.

A lot of my stuff is extremely rough,

For I had no maiden aunts.

O dear Miss Mutch, leave go your clutch

On Noah Webster’s pants!

The grammarian will, when the poet lies still,

Instruct him in how to sing.

The rules are clean: they are right, I ween,

But where do they make the thing?

In the waxy gloam of a Funeral Home

Where the gray morticians bow?

Is it written best on a palimpsest,

Or carved on a whaleboat’s prow?

Is it neatly joined with needlepoint

To the chair that was Grandma’s pride?

Or smeared in blood on the shattered wood

Where the angry rebel died?

O dear Miss Mutch, put down your crutch,

and leave us to crack a bottle.

A guy like I weren’t meant to die

On the grave of Aristotle.

O leave us dance on the dead romance

Of the small but clear footnote.

The infinitive with my fresh-honed shiv

I will split from heel to throat.

Roll on, roll on, thou semicolon,

ye commas crisp and brown.

The apostrophe will stretch like toffee

When we nail the full stop down.

Oh, hand in hand with the ampersand

We’ll tread a measure brisk.

We’ll stroll all night by the delicate light

Of a well placed asterisk.

As gay as a lark in the fragrant dark

We’ll hoist and down the tipple.

With laughter light we’ll greet the plight

Of a hanging participle!”

She stared him down with an icy frown.

His accidence she shivered.

His face was white with sudden fright,

And his syntax lily-livered.

“O dear Miss Mutch, leave down your crutch!”

He cried in thoughtless terror.

Short shrift she gave. Above his grave:

HERE LIES A PRINTER’S ERROR.

Filed under: Writing Journal