Alex Hughes's Blog, page 2

Creative Pages: Get Comfortable with Discomfort

To continue to train my writing muscles, I sat down today to begin writing the kind of words of encouragement that I myself need. Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll have a whole list of them that I can publish later. Maybe I won’t. Either way, today I gave myself a lesson on fighting fear.

Note: partially inspired by a small section of Smarter Faster Better: The Transformative Power of Real Productivity by Charles Duhigg.

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Getting comfortable with discomfort

The creative life is surprisingly hard. That’s not to say that having a regular practice of doing things that you love isn’t rewarding. It is. But being a creative professionally is very much about embracing your drive for excellence, and excellence is demanding.

In the 1950s, a biologist named Joseph Connell studied the conditions under which nature was most creative. (Alternative statement for my dad: the conditions under which the Great Engineer brought about the most biological diversity in nature.) It turns out, like Goldilocks, nature highly prefers the middle way. Too big a disturbance – a hurricane, a large-scale forest fire, human stripmining – biology falls to a single or small number of very resilient species. Too small a disturbance, or none at all, and one or two very successful species take over. In the middle, though, when a tree falls, disturbing the canopy and allowing sunlight to hit the ground, or when intermittent heavy storms hit a part of the coral reef, a huge assortment of species thrives. This is referred to as the intermediate disturbance hypothesis, and it’s a mainstay in biology.

Creativity is not just about making pretty things; it’s about combining ideas in novel ways, and allowing an assortment of point of views and thriving ideas along the way. Great work involves stepping back to see a wider view of the world, and the worlds you make. It is an assortment of views, a maelstrom of ideas, seen through the focusing impact of one person’s view and experience of the world. Or many, though that is always harder.

We, like the forests that Connell studied, do best under just a little threat. A little anxiety, a pressing deadline, the fear or the struggle of the creative process – these are necessary. When the storms of life come, sometimes they are too much for us. But neither is leisure good; we must learn to embrace the little stretches, the little discomforts, the little fears. When you sit at the keyboard, or when you sit in front of your easel or your notebook or your lectern, when the work is done – then, expect to be uncomfortable. The brain knows that creativity is not an activity of rest.

So when you sit down, and you face fear – breathe through the fear. Get comfortable with being a little uncomfortable. If you run from the small distresses, you run also from the big breakthroughs. If you run from the fear, you run from the opportunity for new and creative things to grow. So do not run; do not move away from the discomfort as if it were something unexpected and horrifying. Instead, greet the feelings as an old friend, a difficult relative, or boss who gets under your skin but demands your best work. The discomfort is part of the process. It is your teacher. It is the silent witness, the pressure, the falling tree that opens up the opportunity for a multitude of thriving, creative results.

It’s time to grow.

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I speak, therefore I write

In the last few weeks, I’ve been trying out something new – writing by dictation. In fact, I’m writing right now using dictation software. Specifically, Dragon. The concept, according to a lot of writers who are switching over right now, is that you often can talk a great deal faster than you can type. Writers who get very good at dictation, therefore, report tripling their words speed on rough drafts. The process can create quite a bit rougher of rough draft, but I’ve never been scared of revision, and in the post-baby world I have a great deal less time and a great deal less energy. Faster rough drafts, even rougher faster rough drafts, would be very much appreciated right now.

Dictation also seems extremely useful for days like this, when I’m struggling with a back injury, I need to walk, or both. It has its downsides – everything does – but I’m cautiously optimistic. Thus far, it seems to be helping me move past my mental blocks and actually get some words down the page. Not faster – thus far I’m clocking about a thousand words an hour, the low end of normal for me on a good day writing by typing – but certainly comparable speeds at the moment. If I actually sit down and try to write 20% to 40% more often, still in a net gain for me overall. And there’s plenty of learning curve left to go, so in theory I could stlll speed up a lot.

On weeks like this last week, where I’ve been battling back pain, having the option to speak into a microphone rather than having to be stuck in a strick (painful) seated position also seems useful. There are rumors that writers who are good at dictation learn to speak into the microphone while walking, and if this works for me I could see it being highly beneficial in a number of ways, not least of which because the back likes walking right now. Still, early days!

I’ve been reading a number of books by Monica Leonelle, including Write Better, Faster and Dictate Your Book. One of the things she recommends is to keep a good log of your writing progress, and ideally to keep track of your journey through journal entries. She did so “in public”, on her blog, and I plan to do the same. I am highly unlikely to hit the huge measures of productivity that she did, given the incredible amount of things I have going on – including a new part-time gig (yay!) – but I can still get better. I’m hoping that having the courage to struggle and to get better “in public” will help me also to have courage on the page.

I look forward to speaking with you further.

Life returns to normal

For better or for worse, eventually the storm subsides, the waves calm, the sun rises, and it’s a new day. That’s not to say that everything is perfect, or that the next storm isn’t right around the corner. But for a moment – a small, quiet moment – you get a chance to breathe.

I am grateful.

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The Week From Hell

So it’s been kind of a hard week. Beginning on Thursday, the baby got sick with bad congestion – which turned into vomiting, lots and lots of vomiting. Fun. There was a trip to the doctor somewhere in there, some good intentions and lots of scrubbing vomit from the floor, but mostly it was comforting the baby who found all the vomiting traumatic. I don’t blame her at all, but screaming was no fun for me. Then, Sam started vomiting – even more vomiting than the baby had, epic epic vomiting. He was eventually so bad that if he had thrown up one more time, we would’ve gone to the ER. In the end, he was able to keep enough water down to get through the night and started turning around–far too slow.

Then, as the baby was starting to feel better, baby vomit turned to baby diarrhea – easier for her, and less scrubbing of the furniture for me, but still very demanding. Especially since I hurt my back a few weeks ago. Fortunately, my mom responded to the SOS and swooped in to help. Just in time. Even with a back brace, things were getting far too difficult. Sam was weak as a kitten, sleeping nearly all day. I was starting to feel sick, and of course, the baby started to feel better – and then start teething with her front molars. The most painful teeth of all. My kid who won’t snuggle to save her life wanted to be held every hour of every day. And I couldn’t lift her without pain. Let’s just say, my mom earned all the thanks by taking care of babies so I could go lay down and sleep.

My mom made me sleep, and eat, and I managed to limp through my work deadline, and put another one off until next week. And finally – finally – take a minute to think.

This parenting thing is hard.

Tell me about your worst parenting week so I feel a little better, k?

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Charmed and Amazed

I am sitting here staring at a pile of envelopes addressed to me. They arrived while I was in Italy, and each is from a different city–one even from New Zealand. Each is handwritten in a different hand, on different cards and handmade drawings and happy stationary. And none is signed except with the name (or symbol) for something called the Carp and Bee Society.

I have opened up these cards, one at a time over the last week or so, a time when my spirits were very low since I hurt my back coming back from Venice and can’t take care of the baby quite yet. I have opened up the cards and read line after line of kind words–and even a poem!–from incredible people telling me to hang in there, to keep writing, to hope and write and create even in dark times. Every line has meant the world to me.

To the fans–to Carp and Bee, whomever you are–thank you.

I am touched beyond words.

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Teaching Classes

Hi all!

I will be teaching a class on Publishing 101 and one on Worldbuilding March 11th and March 18th, respectively, at the Neighborhood Studio in Norcross, GA.

For all the info, check it out at their website here: http://www.neighborhoodstudioatlanta.....

Thanks!

Alex

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Writing Exercise

So I’ve told you that I’ve come to Venice with writer friends. Inevitably, the writer friends and I sit down and teach each other writing, work on projects, and do writing exercises as a group.

This time my good friend Ann brought a series of perfume oils for us each to smell. Smell is one of the most powerful senses, she said, and one that people all-too-frequently neglect in their work. I’ve always loved smell–I love the emotions it evokes even in description. I love the universality of it. I love its impossibility to really describe except in terms of food or known smells.

In any case, when Ann had us smell each of the oils, we had to write down what came to mind. An image or images. An emotion. A character. A memory.

I thought you might find my results interesting. Obviously I can’t transport the starting smell across the internet, sadly! But perhaps you’ll get an idea of what they were to start with from the descriptions.

Here we go:

 

Smell #1

Vanilla shortbread roasting in the oven while a doughy woman with large arms beats a bowl of rich orange frosting with almond liquor. You walk into the bakery and the smell hits you in the face. A small poodle sits on a royal purple pillow on a table next to the door, a chair set next to it so it can get down whatever it likes. It barks at you, and you pet it. You pet its wiry curls, and breathe in the roasting shortbread smell. The cookies are almost burned, you think.

The doughy woman looks up.

 

Smell #2

A sea anemone unfurls its spiraled arms as the last dying ember of sun disappears from the ocean. A passing squid squirts its ink and the darkening water turns black and thick. The anemone tenses up, pulling in.

A diver ambles by, small and steady, a stranger in the void. He is looking for experience, for treasure. He is sad.

 

Smell #3

Dark violet wood shaves under the round tool of the alien artisan. Back and forth he lathes, shavings scattering like silken spores, rich dark oily scent of mahogony pooling in the air, redolent of summer days and calloused hands, a bend that will one day be a throne fit for a queen, set and still, strong and forever.

 

Smell #4

Castle lighter than air, spun of floating pastel dreams and quiet bow-string sighs. The scent of a violin, playing in the wind, a thin woman with a pale face and long fingers pouring her soul into the strings. Cotton candy, the suggestion of sweet nothing, the air of flat kindness, the memory of pale days long gone.

You board the ferry, a pastel world around, reaching for clouds and lesser things, looking at the impossible living behemouth in front of you, lighter than air and fragile. You look into its eye, larger than the floating ship that holds you, and wonder at the spun half-gone wonder of the universe.

 

Smell #5

Blackberries and German chocolate cake on an afternoon after school. A Spanish shawl, lace doilies, the loom of a child’s plaything, the browns of a small house, a large fireplace, the textured nothing of eighties interiors, a small white dog sniffs my hand while my mother asks how my day was. I reach out and touch the dirty slate of the fireplace and feel its coolness on my hand, the powdery smell of the fireplace, the brisk marsh behind the doors outside.

 

Smell #6

Christmas in the desert, orange gingerbread Christmas ornaments delivered by the Gibsons next door. You go out to watch the rain, while endless rounds of bridge go on behind you, a cheerful Golden Retriever in and out, in and out, while your grandmother complains about the mailman.

The big climbing tree sits above the rocks in front of the house, its branches bouncing in the windy rain, and you wonder if you are too old to climb it. There are books upon books inside, and you see a small lizard dart under a rock to get out of the wetness. Ahead, the luminarios across the street sputter and go out as the evening turns to dusk and the rain soaks the paper and extinguishes the candles. You hear sounds of Christmas music behind you, a choir of children.

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Renewal in Venice

A few months ago a good writer friend of mine started making noises about going to Venice, Italy in February (now), and having me and some other friends come along to split the costs of the Airbnb house. Venice has *always* been on my bucket list, so I figured out how to get the money (off season prices!) and the childcare (thank you to my mother in law!) and go.

Today is my fourth day in the city, and I am still absolutely blown away by its beauty. Most cities I’ve been to, even old ones, have a few pretty or historic streets with the rest of the city being, well, city. Not Venice. Every time you turn a corner, it seems, there’s another canal, another church, another nice bridge or beautiful courtyard with beautiful stonework. The cafes are gorgeous, and everywhere you turn there’s masks and blown glass for sale. It’s a bit dirty, of course, and the canals do not always smell good, but even though I’m often so cold I can’t stand it, I’m thrilled to walk and look and see a whole new world.

Even better, we are here at Carneval, where the whole city it seems lets go of their seriousness, dresses up in costumes and masks, and celebrates being alive. We’ve seen a parade of boats, and such amazing costumes. Plus many more carneval activities yet to come over the weekend.

I am so grateful to be here, and to have the opportunity to see something I’ve always wanted to see with good friends. I can feel my creative soul waking up, taking in the sights, and taking an opportunity to renew and recharge.

 

 

 

 

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Nonlinear New Project

I’ve been working on an interesting project this week as a break from the Mindspace world while my brain simmers over the plot. Telltale Games is hosting a big creative video game writing workshop in March, and I’ve been working on the application. I’d love to work with them, if that comes out of the workshop (they make *really* cool story-based games, including the Wolf Among Us, which is very noir and very cool at least in the first few episodes–I haven’t managed to finish the game yet what with baby). But more than anything I’d love to learn how they put story together. Their approach to nonlinear, choice-based storytelling is *incredibly* cool.

But here’s the interesting part, at least for me. Part of the application is to build your own mini-video game, no longer than 7 minutes, in the text-based engine Twine. So I’ve been building out a game with steampunk and vampires, one where the reader makes choices like the old Choose Your Own Adventure books. The cool part is that you can program the game in Twine to remember your choices, so that, for example, if you’re on bad terms with a character he or she won’t help you later. Wading through the logic took a few days, but the result is *cool.* I’m polishing up the game today and tomorrow to submit to Telltale.

The whole project has been a huge breath of fresh air. I’m getting my hands in a new way, a nonlinear way, of telling the story, and at 7 minute play time, we’re talking a project no bigger than a long short story, so I get results quickly. It’s been creatively energizing for me to see a shorter project come together to a place I’m proud of. I feel like I’m pretty good at this, especially with the initial feedback from the beta players coming back so well. I’m really excited.

I’d like to add a few branches to the story (so it might take a couple of weeks) but then I’m going to post it up here on the website for you guys to play. It’s a bit more violent and crass than my usual work (I’ve been tailoring it to Telltale’s sensibility), so if that’s an issue for you, you’ll want to skip it. But for those who are interested, I think you’ll have a lot of fun with it.

Who knows, if this one does well I may do another.

Eureka!

So it turns out that my multi-tasking brain was trying to tell me something! And I have finally figured it out. As I’ve told my students in the Productivity for Writers webinar and class (both through the Odyssey Writing Workshop), when you get stuck, it’s always because there’s something wrong. I assumed there was something wrong with my emotions or time-management, or something, but no. It’s far simpler than that. There was something wrong with the PLOT for the book.

The thing is, since my brain rewired in pregnancy, *how* I get stuck feels different. I end up multi-tasking like nuts instead of despairing and wanting to do housework. BUT it’s the same trigger, the same unconscious feeling that something is wrong with the book. I just had to learn the new feeling.

I had a good writer friend visit last weekend, and we were working on writing and plotting and such (I have a new novella idea coming). I explained the plot of Book Five to her, and the subplots were all shiny and beautiful and lovely. There was one problem, though. It became quickly apparently after explaining that I was trying to write a murder mystery without a murderer. Wait, what? Duh, that was stupid. No wonder my subconscious was freaking out about it. This is a problem! But a very fixable problem now that I know what it is.

My brain settled down within an hour of me figuring this out and I was able to write (and focus) after that, even without a full solution to the murder. So. Lesson learned. I am working with new software but the same subconscious. And when in doubt, *figure it out.*

Now to go off and figure out a nice twisty murder plot (rubs hands together in glee). Oh, and be warned