Kate Larking's Blog: Anxiety Ink, page 4

Writing Spaces, Updated Edition

We’ve made some noise on this blog on the importance of writing spaces. Mine have morphed over time as I let the clutter take over and swallow up any useful, productive space. I set up the newest iteration of my writing corner an age ago – pre-baby, in fact – but I never shared it here. Perhaps because my actual time in it has been minimal, especially since the baby.

But now Baby is becoming more and more capable of keeping herself entertained. Everything fascinates her. Everything. She’s just not much of a fan of letting me out of her sight.

My writing space: to the left a railing overlooking our kitchen area, beside it a table with an old iMac, two bookshelves against the wall under the slope of the roof, and an old lift-top school desk currently occupied with the novel manuscript.

Do you remember my original writing spaces post? My space now is about three times the size, though you can still see where the original writing nook used to be in the desk by the railing. Just look for the color change in the carpet. We finally finished our upstairs last year and the entire thing is a gloriously creative space. (Except for the landing behind me where I took this photo from, which for now just holds random baby things and will eventually be her own creative space.)

I have a bookshelf of writing-specific reference books, another bookshelf for notebooks, the computer as a media station, and the ancient lift-top school desk finally moved out of my grandmother’s basement to be my writing desk.

This is the most space I have ever been able to dedicate to creative things. (Partly because I’ve never found the idea of an “office” appealing, which has a lot to do with my adamant refusal to call writing “work.” Not because it wasn’t work, but because I equated work with drudgery, and even the hardest slog of writing has never felt like drudgery. But that could be a whole other post.) This is also the longest a space has ever remained free of the entropy of my mess. Though in all fairness, that could be on account of having barely used the space yet.

I have some pretty killer disorganizational skills.

I love seeing writers’ writing spaces, so it seemed past time to share mine. The walls still need art and the whole thing needs that patina of character that simply comes with use, but I’d delayed long enough.

And now the baby has decided this post is long enough! If you have a writing space, I’d love to hear about it; and if you don’t, I’d like to hear about your fantasy writing space.

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Ink Link Roundup–an infographic to help with crutch words, tips on dialogue, and German

This week features two excellent links from Writers Write!

All writers have their clutch words and phrases—it’s inevitable! This infographic, which Elisa is tempted to print off, will surely help you start to trim out the unnecessary words in your life.

Let’s face it, writing dialogue is hard. Writing good dialogue is even harder. With these five tips in mind, you’ll get there. And if you already excel at dialogue, what tips can you share?

And just for fun, here’s an explanation as to why German has some of the best words.

 

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Learning to Appreciate the Writing Drills In Order to Get Things Done

If you’re a sports fan, you’re likely sad to see the Olympics are nearly over. If you’re not, or you’re simply not an Olympics fan, you’re tired of hearing about them. Sorry! I promise my analogy today will only mention them briefly. Mostly here! Because they kind of inspired today’s brain child.

I’m not an athlete. I’m decent at sports when I choose to play them, and I always enjoy myself (always did), but I never played on teams as a kid. Chock it up to a mix of expense, social anxiety, and adolescent angst.

In any case, watching the Olympic athletes at the pinnacle of their respective sports always leaves me in awe because I can hardly fathom the amount of work it took them to get there. Day in, day out, they’re up bright and early pushing their minds and bodies in order to compete for mere minutes on the world stage.

It’s the discipline that gets me.

Overall, I would consider myself a fairly disciplined person. But I’m starting to learn that I’m also more results oriented than I thought I was. I can easily put my nose to the grindstone and work my butt off. I get satisfaction out of a job well done. Always have. But I need to get something back from that arduous work eventually or I lose motivation.

Lately, my need for that something sooner rather than later has increased tenfold because I don’t feel like I’m getting it anywhere. That in itself is a whole other problem, though, so I’m going to stick to writing. I’ve been feeling a bit deflated, for lack of a better term, with my writing for a while now. I put in bits of effort and when I don’t get a payoff, say an acceptance to a submission, I slump away in defeat and ignore it. To be brutally honest, my output is not where it needs to be to reach any level of success. The scale is not weighed in my favour, but I can’t seem to reconcile that.

Writing, writing, and writing some more, then submitting, then submitting again, then writing, writing, and writing—and you see where I’m going with this—is the only way I’m going to make any headway. Sporadic bursts of furious creation are not enough. I need the steady stream of creation if I’m going to start tipping that scale.

I’m going to go off track and share something here: I have a vivid memory of performing basketball drills in a junior high gym class. It stands out because we rarely did drills in gym; we covered the rules and whatnot, then we played the sport. I remember both loving and hating this shift in routine. I loved the drills because they were a novelty. A friend told me the stunts we were doing were routine for her and her basketball team, and I recall laughing. I also hated the drills because I would much rather have played the game and called it a day.

“Writing, writing, and writing some more” are the drills of the writer’s life. The novelty has worn off for me, but I need to get over myself. I really wish I had played a sport growing up so that I was more disciplined in terms of the practice parts of life. A lot of writing is practicing and learning from mistakes and growing as an artist. It seems like I need a constant reminder of that. I need to start learning to appreciate the drills to get things done—to get some darn writing done!

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Secret Project! (I’d Tell You, But Then I’d Have To Kill You)

I may have a new project! I’ll keep it secret for now, because I haven’t set anything in stone. Too much depends on other people, and have you ever noticed how possibilities sometimes fizzle away if you say too much about them?

There is light at the end of the novel revision tunnel! The fact I blew through eight pages after putting the baby down last night helps my outlook immensely. (Baby then woke up and proceeded to keep me from bed until 5 am, but that’s life with a four-and-a-half-month-old.) So it doesn’t feel so ludicrous to be lining up my next project.

This project is not just writing. It is storytelling in all my favorite ways, of a type I’ve daydreamed about for a solid decade. It’s scarily collaborative. I’ll be reliant on so many people to pull this all off.

For now, I’m doing what I can to lay the groundwork: researching, brainstorming, and forming my team. Getting everyone I need onboard and as excited about this as I am.

And I promise that as soon as I can share the details, I will!

I would dearly love to hear about your passion projects, whether in the comments here or on social media. What are they? And what do you love most about them? Let us signal boost!

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Details, A Reader Love/Hate Relationship

As a writer, I love story details. I enjoy figuring out the minute details of my world and the little things that make my characters tick. Even when it comes to research I go overboard because I want to know everything there is to know

As a reader, I adore details. I want to know everything there is to know about the characters I love. The world though? Not as much. I want to know the interesting bits, the bits that effect the characters and plot. Tell me the factoids that might make me pause, or will impress me, or that I need to know to understand your story. Beyond that? Please, leave me a little bit of mystery, even if I say otherwise.

My reader and writer selves used to have the same opinion about details–we wanted more, more, and more. As a reader, I was always left wanting, but I suppose that brought me back to the stories and authors I like. As a writer, I sometimes fizzle out with projects because I become too entrenched in the research and planning parts. Writer me has finally learned to not stop writing when this urge kicks in, instead I write a note directly in the story to look into whatever seems necessary to know at the time.

In any case, this post is supposed to be reader focused.

I’m 3/4 of the way through a book that I can’t seem to finish quickly. I’ve been reading it for what seems like ages and it is slow going. No, the book isn’t long. No, the book isn’t uninteresting. The issue is it’s too detailed. The world is fascinating and the characters are compelling, but the author spends so much time going into finite detail about every single little thing that I can’t make any headway. After reading three chapters in a row I’m tired. And I’m a person who can read a good book in one sitting.

I have no stamina because I get bored, plain and simple. Nothing is happening, by which I mean the plot isn’t moving forward, so I don’t feel the need to put in more time. The book is a general fiction novel that contains elements of magic, and I can tell this is a story written by someone who is not overly familiar with the fantasy genre.

It’s also apparent that the writer and editor(s) were entranced by the magic and the world which is why they’re described in so much detail. I’m glad they were excited, I was initially excited too, but after the halfway point the descriptions are slowing down the story. What’s worse, all of the story elements have been described to the point they’ve destroyed all elements of mystery the story had been working towards.

The author also gave the answer to two character elements that were the only sources of tension left in the novel. I’m annoyed, so it’s a concentrated effort to get the book done at this point. I am committed because it’s a book club read and I am curious to see how it all comes together in the end.

I’m glad I’ve read this novel at this point in my writing life because I do worry whether I’m giving enough detail or too much when I’m editing my work. This book will serve as a good example–over-explaining doesn’t do your readers any good, even if they think they want all the nitty gritty details, like I did at one point.

Remember the iceberg principle: Readers should only see the tip of the ice, not the majority below the surface.

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Author Spotlight: Kathleen Kayembe

It wasn’t so long ago that Kathleen covered my posts for two months while I adjusted to Life With Baby (a thing in ongoing need of adjustment, according to my posting habits of late). Awards season is here! So this week, I’d like to do a bit of an author spotlight on her.

We went to Smith College together (in fact, she occasionally blames me for choosing Smith). Along with being an amazing writer, she is one of my best friends and I am ecstatic for all her successes.

She attended the Clarion writer’s workshop in 2016. If you’re not familiar with the six-week intensive workshop, suffice it to say that applications are competitive.

Flash forward to 2017. In March, her story You Will Always Have Family: A Triptych came out in Nightmare. The Faerie Tree came out in Lightspeed in May. Her essay on Octavia Butler’s influence on her landed in the book Luminescent Threads.

She may not realize it, but she is now one of those authors she gushes about. And it’s amazing.

Kathleen is one of the best writers I know, and that’s not just my personal bias talking. Family made the Anxiety Ink.

Ink Link Roundup -romance as a protest genre and the legacy of Muriel Sparks

Yes, tomorrow does happen to be Valentines Day, but Elisa is a romance junkie 365 days of the year. And this article highlighting how romance is indeed a protest genre might just help you become one too.

If only we could all be as interesting as Muriel Sparks or leave behind such a diverse body of work. Have you read The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie?

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To Quiet Those Pesky Insecurities: Do

My apologies for this post being late today! This week got away from me early and I’ve been playing catch up (badly!) since Monday.

Since the beginning of January I’ve been in a topsy turvy head space–that’s the best way I know how to describe it. I keep experiencing great highs and awful lows in terms of anxiety, which is currently at peak levels.

I find that once my anxiety starts to increase those pesky insecurities I work so hard to silence start to come back full swing. For two years now I’ve had the full intention of tackling my “completed” manuscript and whipping it into shape. It’s one of my big goals for the year. Recently, someone said to me, “I don’t know why you don’t just finish your book and get it out there.”

Immediately my heart started to race and these words escaped my mouth:

“I need to do more research…but actually probably not.”

“It doesn’t feel like the right time, the market…”

“I don’t know…I really should just get it done, but…”

Last night I even had the thought, “My work isn’t profound enough to matter. Why bother?”

That’s my list of lame excuses that the pragmatist in my life scoffs at, and I can’t say I disagree with that scoffing. If another writer were to say any of those things to me about their own work I would get my pompoms out and say,

“You’ve researched till you’re blue in the face. You’re ready.”

“The market will never be perfect, besides you should never write for the market. That’s the story you want to tell, tell it and see how it goes. But you have to write it first. You’ll never know till you get the words on the page.”

“You can and will get it done. Ignore those voices and drown them out with your keyboard.”

“Your writing matters. Profound does not equate to relevant or worthy or important. Someone somewhere needs to read what you’re writing. Write it.”

I am excellent at identifying problems and giving people advice–why oh why don’t I listen to myself? I’ve lost patience with these insecurities. They have gotten so loud lately and are affecting every single facet of my life. And I know they’re annoying more than just me.

One of the worst parts is is that I know how to cure them–do. The cure is to do. Just do. I have to stop overthinking and letting them make noise.

Those pesky insecurities will always come back, it’s inevitable. I just need to refocus and get better at doing. Yes, I’m overstretched right now, I feel like I’m being pulled in too many directions because my plate is so full, but I filled it.

I need to step back, breathe, assess, prioritize, and get down to work. I’m going to create a list of my biggest stressors with a solution next to them and that is how I will focus on simply getting things done. Once an item is crossed off the list I am going to refuse to give it any more mental space.

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Reading as Transport

One of my favourite aspects of reading is a book’s ability to transport me to virtually any time and/or any place. I live for that vicarious sense of existence. But what do you do when you read a book that transports you to a bad time and place?

I recently finished a memoir about a student’s experience at a school I myself attended. This may be mellow dramatic to say, but my three years at this junior high were the worst years of my life. Sure, in the grand scheme of things I have had much worse events occur; however, as far as cumulative misery goes, those three years win.

It has been 12 years since I left that school. I’m a well-educated, rational, relatively-successful adult. In many ways I am the polar opposite of the sixteen year old girl who graduated from that school. What’s more, I thought I had put all of those old feelings of inadequacy, failure, and despair behind me.

It turns out I just buried them deep. I didn’t work through them.

Imagine my surprise as I grew more and more morose throughout January the further into the memoir I got. It doesn’t help that the protagonist’s story mirrors mine to an eerie degree. It doesn’t help that the book makes such valid points about students being invisible and inconsequential if they’re not helping schools attain their ultimate goal: earning good numbers. It also doesn’t help that I’m quite personally invested in the story even though I know there’s a happy ending.

All of my old panic came roaring back turning me into a basket case. The only solution available to me was to confront those old feelings head on and convince myself I wasn’t a loser then and I’m not a loser now. My life has meaning and focus. I am worthy of happiness.

Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly appreciated the story and ideas expressed in the memoir. And I realize that I was going to have to deal with these feelings sooner or later since they were still very present—they were simply buried. I am much more centred writing this than I was even a week ago.

This isn’t the first book I’ve had a visceral response to in a not-so-positive way and I know it won’t be the last. I’m a pretty self-aware person, I’m good at analyzing my emotions and behaviours and realizing something has thrown me off kilter. I also won’t take any BS from myself, so I usually manage to get to the heart of the matter. But what about those people who don’t excel at self-care? I know the trigger warning debate is old, but I have a newfound appreciation for them. Yes, I knew when I started reading this book that it was likely going to stir up memories I would rather let lie. I had absolutely no idea it would put me back in that negative head space.

I’ve walked away from this reading experience have learned a lot about myself, our schools, and my close friends. And with a strengthened respect for reading and coping mechanisms.

Has this ever happened to you?

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Creative Motherhood: A Social Issue

Creative motherhood offers a vast array of obstacles. Like everything else, cultural and societal expectations complicate an already difficult balance, while double standards abound. I do not guarantee my that my thoughts on this topic will be coherent, well-considered, or even complete.

Caveat to everything I say here: I have not even been at this motherhood thing four months yet. (Anyone at it longer will likely shake theirs heads at my naiveté and think, “Oh, just wait until she gets older, or you have another.”) Also, I occupy a position of extreme privilege. I have an amazing husband, an awesome and extensive network of friends and family, we’re all healthy (*knock on wood*), and financially we’re in a position where I can work only part time at the day job (or not at all, for a finite period of time).

Amanda Palmer wrote an article a couple years back about the reactions she received after announcing her pregnancy. People judged her for it. They withdrew their Patreon support because they didn’t want to fund her baby, only her music.

I’m paraphrasing, of course, but the root of the matter remains: these people assumed that motherhood and artistry cannot coexist.

As ridiculous as that, it’s at least partly an issue of representation. I tend to see depictions of female artists who never have children as tragically sacrificing their reproductive capacity for their art. Successful female artists with children, I often see cast as successful despite their motherhood. Children become a footnote otherwise ignored, or else brought into view in order to question their mother’s parenting.

Manage to maneuver around these expectations and preconceptions, and run up against the assumption that you will make no significant progress for at least the first two years of a child’s life, or run the risk of being a Bad Mother (while writer dads often have to deal with feeling like they are somehow lesser if their output decreases after becoming a father).

This is all bullshit. Intellectually, we know it’s bullshit. But the knowing does little to mitigate that pervasive sense of failure. Yes, becoming a parent changes the creative process, but these two things are not mutually exclusive.

Getting things done while they’re small can be exceptionally difficult, but not necessarily impossible. You’re not a bad mom if you manage to write; you’re not a bad writer if the baby doesn’t let you produce any writing of significance for a while.

I am typing this as my daughter falls asleep. She is a champion sleep/eater. She generally sleeps a predictably significant amount, so I sometimes can stay up an hour or so after I put her down for the night and get more writing done. I am unbelievably lucky that way because I require too much sleep to be able to do that otherwise and still function.

Creative motherhood is not an oxymoron. Creative motherhood is different for everyone, and I bet that the forms it takes differ from child to child, too.

Shameless plug: I’m exploring these facets of my life and how they interact over on my personal blog. I’m having a whole lot of fun with it, too! So please come check it out!

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