Kate Larking's Blog: Anxiety Ink, page 21

Ink Link Roundup

Here’s this week’s round of Ink Links!

Elisa knows from experience that just the thought of trying to find exposure as a writer, let alone for one’s work, can be an anxiety inducing endeavor. Here are 4 ways to try to make it work – just click the link for the strategy you think will best work for you.

http://publishingspark.com/4-ways-to-find-new-readers-in-a-saturated-market/?utm_content=buffer5b27b&utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter.com&utm_campaign=buffer

Elisa selected “Use social media research to decide which platforms are the best use of your time.” This article explains why authors shouldn’t try to be on every single media platform, and not just for the obvious reasons.

http://www.socialmediajustforwriters.com/authors-use-new-pew-center-results-to-better-reach-your-readers/

Melissa says, I love finding out new-to-me tropes. The woman in white trope is one I’ve certainly seen, but hadn’t really noticed. Also, my sister is a costumer so I tend to pay attention to that sort of thing. http://www.tor.com/2017/03/21/storytelling-through-costume-the-woman-in-white/

Kate says, Chris Fox is going to write a trilogy in twelve weeks?! And he’s going to vlog all about it.

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Method Acting: Theatre Wisdom for Writers

I’ve never learned method acting. Oh, I’ve heard the term bandied about often enough, but no one ever explained what that really meant. Despite that, I’d like to think I’ve picked up a few things over the years.

Over the weekend, I chaperoned a group of pretty awesome high school students at the State Drama Festival. (If that sounds familiar, it’s because I’ve now done this four years running.) They always have a fantastic show, but this year? This year, they won. For the first time in over 20 years.

They did the Insanity of Mary Girard, which is a dark play that takes place in the mind of a woman who is – or at least becomes – insane. And the high schooler playing the titular Mary Girard is brilliant.

During the run of this show, she had a lot of people asking how she slept at night, if she had nightmares. (She didn’t.)

I don’t know her process – her method. I haven’t worked with her, and she has worlds of natural talent, along with phenomenal mentors and opportunities.

But I do know that both actors and writers have to figure out how to get into the heads of characters wildly different from our everyday selves. “Write what you know” only goes so far. I mean, none of us is a woman in an insane asylum in the late 1700s, but I’ve seen a high schooler make audiences believe it.

A couple years ago, I played Mina in Dracula. My fiancé went temporarily insane, a vampire murdered my best friend then stalked me, and we chased that vampire across Europe.

The funny thing is that people – audiences – tend to look at the big things. I, of course, have never done any of the things in that last paragraph, but in figuring out how to act and react as the character, I focused on the little things. Like worry for a loved one, or the fierce desire to protect a loved one. In the opening scene, I was just hanging out with my best friend.

At the end of the play, we killed Dracula, Van Helsing spontaneously married us, and good triumphed over evil. We all lived happily ever after. Those of us that lived, that is.

At first, the enormity of that moment stumped me. We’d just saved ourselves and possibly the world. As an actor, I had to kiss a man I barely knew who was not my husband – awkward enough in its own right.

But after we ran the scene, I knew the emotion. We did it. We made it. Finally. The relief, the love. I’ve been there and done that. At my wedding.

I think most of us feel that way when the wedding finally happens, rings and vows exchanged, or whatever traditions you may have. My husband and I spent the majority of our four years of dating in different countries. Half of that on different continents. Different hemispheres. It didn’t seem like our life actually, geographically together could possibly start until we married.

So I knew that feeling and I could work with it.

I do the same when I’m writing. I look for the little, human things like the sick, twisting feeling in your gut when you know you screwed up, or the relief of getting a good grade when you thought you bombed the test.

The little things make it real – make it believable.

At least, that’s my method.

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“We are all dust” In Action

For this post I am once again turning to a book I’ve been reading for a while now: The Making of a Story by Alice LaPlante. It’s very long, and I don’t devote enough time to it during the week, but I’m still learning from it while I make meagre progress.

A couple of weeks ago, I finished chapter twelve, “What’s This Creative Work Really About?” In it, there is a subsection on page 510 with a title that harkens back to chapter three. It’s called “We Are Made of Dust”, referencing a quote by Flannery O’Connor.

The focus of chapter three is concrete details. On page 108 we learn that there is a difference between abstraction and specificity, between generalizations and attention to detail. LaPlante says,

“‘We are made out of dust’ is Flannery O’Connor’s way of saying that we belong to this sensory world, with its noise and dirt and various tastes and textures, and it’s in this sensory world that we have to spend most of our time as writers.”

A writer must be in the frays of the story rather than above them (109).

Going back to chapter twelve, it opens by bringing up the idea that once a piece is finished a writer needs to step back and ask themselves what the story they’ve written is really about. Your story can be about big truths and ideas, but it can’t rely on some sort of universal idea you might think exists. LaPlante writes,

“Emotions need to be attached to things of this world: things mundane as tables and chairs and trees and flowers. Innocuous things…until we’ve imbued them with the power of our imagination. What these images should (must) be: the outward manifestation of interior movement, or emotions. Not just physical objects, but truth” (510).

LaPlante provides examples, but I want to share my own. Recently I’ve read two books full of abstract ideas where the writers illustrated their ability to be dust. They scattered themselves into the marrow of their stories, turned these big ideas into particles to take with them, and expressed them in a way that was new but recognizable to the reader.

I’ll start with The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin since it was our recent Anxiety Ink book club pick –and it’s simply epic. An abstract idea that recurs throughout the novel is state control over women’s bodies. Syenite, who I’m going to call a witch for ease of explanation here, is controlled by the Fulcrum. The Fulcrum requires that all of their society’s witches be relocated and educated at the Fulcrum site because they are too dangerous to be left in the general public. Those who are not teachable or are too powerful are destroyed. The rest do as the Fulcrum decrees.

Syenite is powerful, but not too powerful. When we meet her, she is in the midst of a conversation with one of her teachers. She’s being ordered to do something and she’s being convinced it’s not so bad by this teacher. The subtext is a bit confusing until Syenite goes to introduce herself to her mentor, Alabaster, a very powerful male witch, who we quickly learn she has been ordered to breed with.

Neither Syenite nor Alabaster want to have sex with each other, it repulses both of them, but they do it. Because they have been ordered to. And the unspoken threat is always present: if they don’t do as the Fulcrum says, they will be hunted down and killed.

There are a lot of extremes in the world Jemisin created, but this particular idea is one women the world over have faced for a long time. In the U.S. especially, it is a debate that has flared in recent years.

I can’t say I know what it’s like to be ordered to sleep with someone twice my age and bear a child I won’t even get to watch grow, but I know what it’s like to be surrounded by people who think they know what I should do with my body. In each sex scene, Syenite focuses on some other aspect, usually some physical object or stray thought, to escape what she’s in the middle of doing. By focusing on the object or something else, she’s only augmenting the awfulness of what’s happening.

My second example comes from The Girls by Emma Cline. This particular book, set in the 1960s and the present day, follows a girl named Evie. We watch her a bit as an adult and listen to her tell the story of her time spent in a cult when she was 14 years old.

One of the big abstracts Cline plays with is female powerlessness. She weaves it throughout her narrative. For me, the final scene of the book is the most powerful depiction. Evie, in her 60s, is walking on a California beach in winter. It’s cold and nasty out so everyone but her has deserted it, or so she thinks.

She looks up and sees a man walking towards her. He’s a big guy, menacing looking in the distance. He’s nodding his head as though he’s angry and he’s coming straight towards her. His head is shaved, and she thinks he could be a person full of hate. There’s something in his hand, possibly a rock, that she knows he might use as a weapon against her. She knows no one will hear her scream should she get attacked.

So many vile things have happened to Evie throughout the book that this maelstrom of anxiety she’s creating is not far fetched. You as the reader know very well that these things could happen to Evie. Even as a woman, how often are we told not to walk alone? How often are we told not to go where no one knows where we are? How often are we told not to let ourselves be left alone with strange men?

We’re trained to fear. All Cline has to do is have this guy walk towards us and have Evie list the what-ifs, each associated with an innocuous item imbued with menace because this man is holding it. It doesn’t matter if her fears are unfounded, they’re possible, and every woman reading will connect with that fear of the unknown, that moment of total powerlessness even if it only lasts a second.

Both Jemisin and Cline use detailed sensory descriptions to bring their characters plight with these abstracts to life. The reader is witness to most of Syenite’s and Alabaster’s sexual encounters. The reader is witness to all the moments when Evie’s power is forcibly stripped away.

I strongly believe all stories have meaning, they all have a big truth they want their reader to grapple with. Obviously, I prefer a subtle hand. You don’t need to wax philosophical in your story for me to get your point. Turn yourself and the abstract to dust and show me the parts I can identify with.

 

*Please note this post contains affiliate links. If you click on a link and decide to purchase an item I’ve mentioned I will receive a small commission by the seller at no extra cost to you. All funds are put back into Anxiety Ink. Thank you in advance for your support.

 

**And if you’re curious, this is the Flannery O’Connor quote:

“Fiction is about everything human and we are made out of dust, and if you scorn getting yourself dusty, then you shouldn’t try to write fiction. It’s not a grand enough job for you.”

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Writing and Forgiveness – New Mom Writer

When I look back on my writing career, I have not been very forgiving. If I take too long to draft, if I get distracted, if life interferes, I am mad at myself. This is what I want–I couldn’t imagine my life without my stories. So I should be writing!

Becoming a mom changes things. So I wanted to write about writing and forgiveness.

When you’re a new mom, you don’t have time anymore

Seriously, no time. I remember in the early weeks of Ryan’s life, we would have maybe five minutes between feedings. And I was left looking at my list of things I wanted to do in this luxurious timeframe:

Go to the washroom
Eat something to give me an energy boost for the next 1:55.
Nap (seriously.)
Cook something healthy
Shower? Then I can dry my hair next break?
All the things I need to feel human…..
….
….Write?

And this was 24 hours. You might get 5 minute breaks. You might get 15 minutes. And you never knew when those breaks would just end up being exhausted crying because you needed to release those emotions somehow.

You have no capacity to dwell on regrets

Seriously. You hit a point where you realize that those coulda-shoulda-woulda’s are ridiculous. You don’t even have time for those. Make your choices in the moment. Do the best you can with what your physical strength, mental state, and emotional capacity can handle.

And if you can’t make it to what you wanted to do? FORGIVE YOURSELF.

Stop looking back and feeling like a failure. Look ahead and take small steps to get you where you need to go. They will add up.

You won’t get it all done at once. But you will get there if you keep moving. Writing and forgiveness go hand-in-hand. So lift your chin and keep moving, forgiving yourself when life intervenes or emotions and frustrations build up.

Because, honestly, what other choice do you have but to forgive yourself?

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Ink Link Roundup

This week’s selection is especially varied. Enjoy!

Elisa loved this in-depth look at short fiction not only because it provides a comparison of forms but it highlights why all writers should be writing short fiction.

The Strategic Use of Short Fiction

She also found this slideshow of quotes by female writers. Prepare to be inspired! http://www.dictionary.com/slideshows/...

Kate found this interesting commentary about the literature theme-stasis that exists in educational facilities and degree programs.

And an introspective look at LGBTQ+ novels in YA. The below quote from Emily E. Roach’s article really articulates something I love about reading YA:

“As an adult, reading books with teenagers at their heart reminds me of those awkward years of wanting to be accepted and liked, of being on the receiving end of cruelty and being cruel myself. It recalls fragile veneers of confidence, the bluster and bombast of negotiating young adulthood and the way in which fictional characters can help a young reader traverse the path to adulthood.” – Emily E. Roach

https://www.bustle.com/p/how-i-feel-r...

Melissa says, I love story conversations. It’s a big reason I love this blog of ours. So I’m fascinated by this list of books that are, essentially, story conversations. I’m sorry to say I haven’t read any of these, but I have now added them to my (miles long) reading list!

http://www.tor.com/2017/03/09/science-fiction-dialogues-seven-stellar-interview-books/

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Every Word Counts: Theatre Wisdom for Writers

In theatre, there are no throw away words. Each word counts.

Great writing is the same. That’s how I edit (partly): what do these words actually mean? What do I want them to mean? I toss out the throw away words – red lined, no longer welcome.

Often, these are some of my favorite lines. (This falls under the “kill your darlings” rule of thumb.)

Most of us don’t think of Shakespeare as concise, but to perform it you have to analyze each word and use it. That’s part of the key to helping the audience understand stylized Elizabethan language.

I’m terrible at this, by the way. Shakespeare usually makes sense to me, but conveying that to an audience is challenging.

I recently read Alice Hoffman’s Green Angel. I’ve had it sitting on my shelf for ages, though I only picked it up in the last month. The story is beautiful, as well as being a master class in economy of words. Hoffman wastes nothing.

Read it. Trust me.

I may aspire to that level of wordsmith, but for now I will content myself with cutting out those things that don’t truly add to or enhance the story. Without the flab, the story becomes stronger, meaning and layers of nuance clearer.

I also want to read the book again. And do more Shakespeare.

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What Do We Qualify As Writing Time?

My post today was inspired by this blog post that hit my inbox in early February. The title says it all: “Thinking Is Writing.” While I appreciate the writer’s basic premise, I did want to expand on it.

The legitimate act of writing, obviously, means the time spent typing or physically writing down words. The verb by necessity requires action, and a writer is defined as someone who writes. But, as I’ve argued in numerous posts, writers have to do more than write if they’re going to be able to reach their audience, to make a connection.

For me, writing isn’t just about marking up paper, it’s reading, researching, listening, watching, interacting, planning… However, to be a writer you do actually have to get to the act of writing, or you’re simply a day dreamer.

I guess this is where notions of creative time come in. Creative time and writing time feed off each other, but only one gets us to anything markedly successful in terms of getting projects done.

Still, you can’t be a good writer able to connect to other people without putting in both the creative and writing time. More often than not, I prefer the creative time because it’s less painful, though it often becomes its own web of procrastination. It’s all about balance –my word for the year, if you recall.

One of my goals this year is to devote more of me to writing time while still managing creative time. So far, creative time needs some attention, and I’m noticing the lack when I do get down to the act of writing. Creative time is when I learn about my characters and settings, where I get a sense of where the story will go, and when I get to have fun with the envisioning part of writing.

Without that time I end up staring at a blinking cursor because I don’t know who is in my story or what they’re there to do.

How do you feel about creative time? Are you an it’s-all-the-same person, or do you segment your writing time from creative time?

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You will never write the perfect book

There is no such thing as a perfect book.

Perfectionism has always been one of my issues. I won’t even want to start to do something if I can’t do it right.

In school, I excelled where there were formulas and exact answers required. As a result, I struggled with some of the more ambiguous answers where justification was key.

This hesitancy bled over to my fiction writing. I didn’t want to write a story unless I knew it was going to be right. I didn’t want to waste time or words if I wasn’t going to write the perfect book, tell the perfect story.

But as I started to write a story when it was right at the time, it would morph. A new idea would crop up, a plot point would go left instead of right, and I was left with a gaping hole in my draft. Just noticing one thing, changing one thing, and the book was broken.

As I fixed it, the beginning changed. The plot changed. The characters played musical chairs. And I was left back at square one and a bunch of work done that didn’t line up with the new “perfect” book.

A changing point…

So when a friend of mine mentioned reading a book and said she really liked the characters but didn’t agree with some of the plot choices, I stopped.

Or, rather, I started.

It was choice, wasn’t it? Plot choices, character choices… It wasn’t that there was ever going to be a perfect way to tell a story. It was all about making choices and having faith in those choices to move the story through to the end.

Choices make a book whole–not perfect. Not ever perfect. But whole.

As I’ve been writing these past few weeks, I have been cognizant that what I write is my choice. And while I will have to have it go through editors and beta readers before I want to publish it, I will always have the choices of the story stay with me.

Yes, plot points may change and characters may take on new aspects after edits and revisions. But they will be my choice to incorporate them. And I’ll be able to incorporate them into a finished draft, not just a start of an idea and a rag tag outline before it diverges.

So I am growing into this space where I am making decisions about my writing and my future. What about you?

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Ink Links Roundup

Enjoy this week’s links! There’s plenty of variety.

Elisa can’t help but think that of course Shakespeare said it best when he wrote, “brevity is the soul of wit.” So here are 4 short lessons about writing short fiction.

http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/there-are-no-rules/4-short-lessons-subject-short-stories?platform=hootsuite

Also, she cannot believe that Buffy is 20 years old! She won’t recount the hours spent watching the show, but she will share this fun fan item.

http://rivetedlit.com/2017/03/10/buffy-the-vampire-slayer-20-years-of-slaying-and-something-special/?cp_type=enpm&rmid=Riveted_Weekly&rrid=6512055

Kate says several feminist sci-fi writers talk about women, gender, and sexual health in this fantastic article that gets you thinking about what you stand for with your fiction. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/feminist-sci-fi-writers-on-reproductive-health_us_58a7475de4b037d17d27983d

Some beautiful poems that took a long time to find print, eluding WWII bombings and family bookstore closures by Misuzu Kaneko. https://www.brainpickings.org/2017/03/03/are-you-an-echo-misuzu-kaneko

Melissa says, Carrie Jones may just be one of my favorite human beings. She’s also a pretty amazing writer. On her blog she talks a lot about feeling awkward and anxious, especially as someone who is considered a successful writer by most metrics. This post on writing weirdly struck a cord for me, so I wanted to share!

Writing Weirdly is Sexy

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Dealing with Rejection: Theatre Wisdom for Writers

Rejection is an unfortunate part of being a writer. And an actor. And, well, any sort of artist, really.

So far this year, I’ve received two rejections from short story anthologies, and one from a character/role I really, really wanted.

Rejections are disappointing and disheartening – no other way around it. They make me question what I did wrong, but that is never the right question.

Better questions: what can I now do better? What might offer a better venue for this art?

Because honestly, acceptance is subjective. (Unless, of course, you couldn’t bother to follow the guidelines. Never smart.) And we constantly learn. We learn from each finished draft, each rejection, each time we step on a stage. By doing, we learn and improve.

But is it fair? No, not always. Not even usually. Welcome to life.

But really, despite the disappointment, each time is a win. Each email in my inbox saying, “Thank you for submitting but we’ve decided not to use your story,” still means I wrote a story. I put in the time and energy and effort to make it as good as I could and I took that huge, integral step toward the life and career I want and submitted it. Or the emails, “Thank you for auditioning, but we’ve cast the show.” Those mean I swallowed my excuses and stage fright (yes, I get stage fright) and auditioned.

After all, I have no power over whether or not the editors or directors choose me; I can only give the best work I am capable of. And if I don’t try, I’ll never get anywhere.

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