Kate Larking's Blog: Anxiety Ink, page 58

No NaNoWriMo 2014 for Me

Despite my best intentions and the illustrious goals I set for myself in January, not only did I not manage to write a novel as part of my 50k challenge this month, I didn’t write a single damn word for NaNoWriMo. I didn’t even try.

No, I’m not going to get into a defensive whine-off. There’s lots of fuel for that fire but I will spare everyone.

I’m still a member of a couple of NaNo groups and it’s been both fun and frustrating seeing all of the participants’ comments about their progress and roadblocks. I know Kate’s been working hard, although she isn’t rubbing her numbers in my face. Which I appreciate.

I was thinking about it all today as I tried to figure out what the heck I was going to post about. Then I got to chatting with a lady I work with today about people who face adversity –and people in general. Cheesy as it sounds, when life knocks you down you have two options available to you no matter what: sit and wallow or stand and figure a way around the problem and do what you want.

I like to think I am a person who stands and figures. Sure, I’ll have my sit and wallow moment but it’s not in my nature to not get back up at some point. The thing is, getting back up requires discipline. And I have let my discipline slide in a big way over the past year and half.

For six years I lived under a mountain of pressure and didn’t bat an eye. There were nights my reserve broke, where I wanted to pull my hair out, scream at the sky, and say f$%k it all; I had my little moment and got over it. I went back to work and got things done. And I was BUSY.

Now? For the past year and a half I’ve basically been lazy. Like, painfully lazy. I didn’t think I was, I thought I was just adjusting to major changes (I’ve mentioned more than once that I am horrific with change) and learning to balance new things.

No.

I’ve been building up a wall of excuses preventing me from doing all the things I want to do. I’ve been busier, more tired, sicker in my life and still balanced it all. I need to find that core of myself capable of jumping hurdles while juggling and bring it back to the forefront.

Funny how thinking of little things like NaNo and blog posts and chatting while the snow flies outside can create such self-reflection. I will say that even though I didn’t get any words written this month I did have a new trilogy brainstorm!

The big question is: how is everyone doing with their NaNo goals with this Sunday deadline?!

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New Story Idea? Run With It.

I got ambushed by a new story idea during NaNoWriMo. This is hardly a new occurrence, to get sideswiped by something tangential when a writer should be focusing on the manuscript at hand. Usually, you write down a sentence or two on a sticky note, file it away in your notebook, and you might ruminate on it for next year’s NaNoWriMo.

Not this idea.

My main character tugged my sleeve. When I put up a finger, still writing in mid-sentence on the current book, giving her the universal, “Just a moment, dear,” message, she pounced. She slapped me silly, filling me up with her narrative, her character, her struggle, her arc. She needed time–now–and, beyond that, she needed her own genre.

I blinked, turned away from my book, and looked at her–really looked at her.

She had all her bags, packed with ideas and themes. She was ready to show me her statements, her intent, her themes, her raw and unbridled power. She was a revolution in and of herself.

She didn’t even have a name. She still doesn’t. But she has a voice.

Source.

I decided to take some time to write down all the ideas that were bludgeoning me so I could move on with my intended NaNoWriMo novel. At the point where I am drafting this post, I have over 4K done on an outline in under 24 hours.

There would have been a time that I said, “No. I am disciplined. I am going to work on this current book and then I’ll think about thinking about you.”

How many story ideas have I lost that way? How many ideas have run away and not let me chase after them when I didn’t pay attention to their first signal?

I thought she might be a short story–a novella, maybe. But she has shown me that she is at least a 3 part book, each with its own arc, tied together in pain and struggle for her voice to be heard in a world that marginalizes her.

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Critiques For Beginners

Critiquing is exhausting.

My critique group is amazing, and meeting once a month is a manageable. Besides which, we’re all there to offer critique and receive it on our own stories.

I’m not that great at giving them. I miss a lot of things that are obvious to others, and my comments tend to be more technical/superficial, which is probably somehow indicative of my own writing skill level.

Critique, both the giving and receiving of it, is an awesome learning experience, one that’s made my own abilities grow in leaps and bounds. Knowing how to take it – how to find what’s useful for you and your story even when it hurts and how to discard what is unhelpful or does not apply – is a survival tool for any writer. Knowing how to give it? That’s a whole different issue.

I’m not an editor, and my critiques aren’t anywhere near where I would like them to be. But I wanted to write this post anyway, because this blog is a great deal for and by new writers, and maybe someone reading this hasn’t yet been in a position to give critique. (Trust me: keep writing and someday you will.) Or maybe you’ve done it once or twice, but you’re still feeling your way.

Critiques hurt. Anyone who’s been on the receiving end knows that. A constructive critique maybe breaks your story, but it later walks away stronger for it. A non-constructive critique might have you walking away from the story – maybe even writing – for good.

When someone asks me to give feedback, I make myself a pain in the ass clarifying what, exactly, they want from me. Most people don’t know, so I ask over and over, and try to give them a sense of what they’re likely to get from me.

It’s really important to say when something works well for you as a reader – when you get lost in the story and find you’re invested in the characters, or even just a perfect description or piece of dialogue. We all need to hear what we’ve done well, if for no other reason than to know to keep doing it.

I try to avoid referencing the writer. “Your” story/character/setting/theme/etc. becomes “the” story/character/setting/theme/etc. It’s a seemingly small thing, but, “This choice didn’t work for me,” sounds less personal and confrontational than, “Your choice.”

I struggle with offering suggestions. As in, I have them, but I try to pull back on giving them unless asked. It’s not my story, and what I might do is not what would necessarily work best for the story that the writer has to tell. It’s good to offer constructive alternatives. If all I’ve got to say is, “I would do this differently,” then I better be able to say how I would do it. More often, I try to say what my desires and expectations are as a reader, but it can be hard to remember to be a reader instead of a writer.

Critiquing is hard work. It’s time consuming and leaves me drained and exhausted, and it takes time away from my own stories, but it’s rewarding in its own right.

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Genre: Mash-Ups are Like Mulch and Will Let Your Stories Bloom

I stumbled upon this fabulous article about genre and just had to get it up on Anxiety’s Facebook and Twitter. If you didn’t see it or read it, I think you should try to. I was so excited after reading it –and not just because the article focuses on a book that brings King Lear and a comic book to a cultural par!

Joshua Rothman, the writer of the article, gives a short and broad -but useful- overview of the history of genre, specifically what was considered culturally relevant in the 1700s and how that evolved to the present. He also undermines the “literary fiction” vs. “genre fiction” debate by proving (in my mind) that the “differences” between the two are weak at best (although I understand where the Modernists were coming from and their legacy today).

After he explains the irrelevancy of genre as a donor of value, Rothman brings in the benefits of genre by connecting the idea to organization. Genre provides a legacy and classification so that readers can find texts similar to ones they naturally gravitate towards and enjoy the most. He uses this point to segue into Northrop Frye’s Anatomy of Criticism.

This is the part where I get a little leery. I haven’t read Frye’s work and I don’t have a grasp of his four identified genres (romance, novel, anatomy, and confession), although AC has now made it onto my to-buy list. If you’ve read Frye’s criticism, please let me know whether you think Rothman did a good job of using him as a focal point. I’m just going to bring up parts that struck me.

Like this:

“Wuthering Heights” [is] a romance, [hence] “The romancer does not attempt to create ‘real people’ so much as stylized figures which expand into psychological archetypes[.] That is why the romance so often radiates a glow of subjective intensity that the novel lacks.” Novels take place in the regulated world—in “society”—and are driven by plots. Romances take place “in vacuo,” on the moors, where “nihilistic and untamable” things tend to happen.

To this end, Rothman equates some YA books to Frye’s romances –like the Hunger Games trilogy. I can see that; Collins’s books are full of carefully crafted characters who all serve a purpose/represent an ideology and are steeped in horror and adventure. Months ago I wrote a post comparing Katniss Everdeen and Hermione Granger. This idea of romance kind of illuminates my comparison. Hermione, as far as I’m concerned, has more depth than Katniss because she’s not an archetype. I love both series equally but their characters work towards vastly different ends. I’m sure the entirety of the Harry Potter series could easily be equated to a mashup of the romance and novel genres.

As a reader and a writer, I am attracted to romantic tales. I love the idea of characters going off on quests and fighting for their notions of good despite the odds against them. Perhaps some of my favourite books involve beings more archetypical than “real,” but that doesn’t bother me. In the short haul at least.

This leads me to my next favourite point: the mixing of genres allows books to bloom. Mix romantic adventure with novelistic plot and defined characters and I will be hooked.

Genre shouldn’t be used as a tool to denigrate one book and exalt another. As a culture we need to move away from this incessant need to compare everything in order to assign arbitrary value. I’d rather use genre to experiment than try to prove that my book is better than someone else’s book. As usual, labels are both good and evil.

How does this all tie in to writing? Well, how do you play experimental scientist without knowing what you’re playing with? Happy accidents occur but I’d rather learn and then toss all the rules up in the air.

Follow-up reading: another cool genre article I stumbled upon; and the source of my picture!

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Cyclical Anxiety: Writer Edition

In honour of Have a Bad Day Day (totally serious, you can look at it here), I decided to write about cyclical anxiety.

When I was at World Fantasy Convention a week and a half ago in DC, I fell into a funk. I was surrounded by amazing people. There were people on top of their game. There were people on the way up. There were people who had much better plans and ideas about what to do than I did. What was I compared to that standard that everyone else seemed to be achieving and yet I was drowning?

Cyclical Anxiety-induced Solution Number 1

I should be writing. I shouldn’t be here with all these great people. I should be writing, working hard on my craft.

Cyclical Anxiety-induced Solution Number 2

I sit in panels and everyone is so much smarter, more articulate than I am. I am out or practice. I should go back to school, back to university, learn about more things. I’ve been so focused in the past few years on learning writing craft that I haven’t concentrated on learning about other things that would contribute to my writing like folklore, politics, cultural customs–everything.

Cyclical Anxiety-induced Solution Number 3

But if I take time away from writing to go to school, isn’t that a waste of time and money? I should be writing!

It kind of circles like that. Caught between needing to learn and know more as well as needing to write and practice the craft I want to be accomplished in. Add in an extra layer of guilt–being behind in my NaNoWriMo word count from being on vacation during it.

Will the guilt and anxiety circles of my life ever cease?! No, probably not. But the more I simply sit down, blank my mind of the mental games my brain is trying t play, and get to work on what is important to me, the more I will grow, the happier I will be, the more accomplished I will become.

Do you get trapped in thought looks like this cyclical anxiety one? What grounds you enough to get out of it and get back into the game?

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Wild Things; or, Burnout Continued

It’s off! I’ve released the novel into the wild. A limited run only – this is just a test – but that doesn’t make my nerves any quieter.

I finished typing the damn thing last night. Typos abound – not the kind underlined in red squiggles, but the other kind, the annoying kind that I won’t find until I sit down to edit.

Typos or no, it’s off for a beta read.

Which leaves me staring at blank notebook pages, wondering where the hell I go from here.

It’s not that I don’t have umpteen million stories to choose from (I do), and it’s not like I don’t have a plan (made that weeks ago). But I’ve reached the state best described by French words like malaise or ennui.

This is what burnout looks like.

Ugh.

But I’ve planned for this. I am allowing myself to take whatever time I need. (If I repeat that often enough, I might even believe it.) And right now, I need that time. To refill the well. And to read.

Even before World Fantasy, I had plenty in my to-read pile. Now I’ve gone and added these!

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Symbolism in Reading: When Writers’ Intentions Don’t Matter

This week I’m responding to a link posted on Anxiety Ink’s Facebook and Twitter at the end of October, one about a frustrated English student writing to authors in order to ask whether their symbolism is deliberate or not.

A few responses jumped out at me:

Question:

“Do you consciously, intentionally plan and place symbolism in your writing?… If yes, please state your method for doing so. Do you feel you sub-consciously place symbolism in your writing?”

Isaac Asimov: “Consciously? Heavens, no! Unconsciously? How can one avoid it?”

Question:

“Do readers ever infer that there is symbolism in your writing where you had not intended it to be? If so, what is your feeling about this type of inference? (Humorous? annoying? etc.?)”

Ralph Ellison: “Yes, readers often infer that there is symbolism in my work, which I do not intend. My reaction is sometimes annoyance. It is sometimes humorous. It is sometimes even pleasant, indicating that the reader’s mind has collaborated in a creative way with what I have written.”

Joseph Heller: “This happens often, and in every case there is good reason for the inference; in many cases, I have been able to learn something about my own book, for readers have seen much in the book that is there, although I was not aware of it being there.”

Question:

“Do you feel that the great writers of classics consciously, intentionally planned and placed symbols in their writing? … Do you feel that they placed it there sub-consciously?”

Richard Hughes: “Have you considered the extent to which subconscious symbol-making is part of the process of reading, quite distinct from its part in writing?”

 

As far as I’m concerned, all of these authors say three things: symbolism is present in their writing, readers see more/other symbolism than intended, and readers are the key to this symbolism. To this end, the final response I posted from Richard Hughes is the most important one.

As I’m sure most people know by now, I have a degree in English. I’m not using this fact in this instance to say that I’m an expert on the topic of symbolism –far from it. I’m re-informing to make a point. I think there’s a misunderstanding of my degree, explicitly expressed by the opening statement of the article I’m responding to: “It was 1963, and 16-year-old Bruce McAllister was sick of symbol-hunting in English class.”

Maybe in 1963 symbol-hunting was the be-all and end-all of English classes everywhere. I wouldn’t know. I do know that the foundation of my discipline rested on notions of correct and incorrect interpretations –a highly erroneous and dated way of interacting with a text– and that in some places English is still taught in that manner. To me, all of that is nonsense.

When people learned that I was taking English as my major or when they learn what my degree is in now, the majority of responses were/are this: “Oh.” Not just any “oh,” though, one said in varying degrees of disinterest, derision, confusion, and disgust.

I won’t bring up the number of times people have asked what I’m going to do with my degree or the tones that phrase was expressed in.

Honestly, if English consisted solely of unearthing symbols and performing “intellectual masturbation” (thanks go to a wonderful prof of mine for that phrase), I would not have fallen in love with it or devoted many intense hours to it. Yes, symbol-hunting and creating responses only one or a few individuals will lay eyes on are relevant aspects to English, but people miss the big picture that they are a small part of.

English is about communication and connection. If you want to understand the basics of language you’d be better of going into linguistics. While English engages in the fundamentals of grammar and syntax that’s not its focus. Critical thinking is its core. To be able to read a text and see parts of the writer, their culture, their fears, their beliefs, is a wonderful thing. To be able to engage in a meaningful way is incredible.

Go to any reading of any author, people are obsessed with what writers mean. They want to know if they understood the message. They want to see a message. On the other side, go to any convention, writers want to make sure they’re connecting with their readers. See the link?

I’ll circle back to my point and reconnect with the article. I’m a trained critical reader. If I was McAllister’s teacher I would have told him that his letter writing was a waste of time. The degree to which writers imbue their pieces with symbolism and meaning is irrelevant. As readers read and connect with a piece they find and imbue meaning in certain aspects that touch their psyches. What they believe a text means is what’s important. Their ability to argue and prove that point is what makes English important.

There is no symbolism without a reader. Do I care if a writer intended something or not? No. Even as a writer I know that things I want to get across with my own work could either be misinterpreted or missed entirely. I’m fine with that. I don’t get to control anyone’s relationship with my work and that’s the way it should be.

We’re a symbol-centric society. It unnerves peoples when they can’t interpret or understand like others. I’m tired of the debate about symbolism. If you don’t see it, don’t worry about it. If you see it, share it. If you don’t care, just enjoy reading.  I happen to enjoy doing all three.

 

 

P.S. Ayn Ran’s response about McAllister’s definition made me laugh out loud. That’s a philosopher for you.

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Ask An Editor: What submissions do I want in my slushpile?

This is one of, if not the most, asked questions agents and editors get.

What do you want in your inbox?! What submissions do you want to see more of in your slushpile?

And I bet you’re expecting me to start listing genres and tropes I gravitate toward, right? Cos I could totally do that. Or maybe you’re expecting me to give the groan-inducing but equally true answer most editors or agents say, “give me a good story, a solid plot and strong characters, genre and everything else is incidental!”

I’m going to say neither.

The thing I most want to see in my inbox is what I most want to see more of in real life: equality. Obviously not all authors (or editors) are interested in using fiction as a social justice medium, but I’m not that editor. For me, yes, stories can be fantasy, but they also have power and they also speak to our culture, both reflecting it and pushing it forward. So since I recognize that not everyone wants their fiction to be inclusive, I make sure mine is.

I don’t acquire anything with a consent issue that’s not easily fixable in edits. I don’t acquire anything that has blatant double standards or isms in it. (I mentioned this in my first AAE post, but it’s important enough to me to give it its own post.)

The thing is, I work in the romance industry. It’s a women-driven industry. Women are, you may have noticed, fairly marginalized. So when our books present equally damaging portrayals of men and women as other, male-dominated media, I scratch my head and ask, what are we doing to ourselves?

As a marginalized group, I want more diversity and representation of other marginalized groups in my fiction (especially my romance). Many marginalized people, like queer, overweight or disabled people, are told they are unloveable because of who they are. It saddens me that whole swaths of people lack representation in my industry who most need the message that they can find real love.

I love romance and love. So do many people. And yes, there are niche presses and self-publishing so that more representation is happening. But it’s still hard to find and frankly, it’s hard to wade through to find the good stuff. Just because something is tagged “GLBT” doesn’t mean it provides a healthy depiction of someone.

I sometimes have to call out authors for accidental discrimination. They’re lucky to have an editor who does this; not every editor will notice or care, and self-publishing is, of course, a whole other story.

So what do I want in my inbox? Books featuring real, diverse characters. And while I’m at it, I want an industry that supports the healthy portrayals of these characters within mainstream media. Don’t relegate them to a search term.

While reading about trans representation (or complete lack thereof) in the romance industry it struck me that what gets labeled as GLBT is sometimes code for “double the penis for straight lady readers” (same with Menage, aka “bisexuals”). Representations of homosexuals and bisexuals in these books can be fetishized or unrealistic. (Not always–Samhain tries very hard to put out quality fiction in every genre, although I admittedly have not read everything we publish, and we are expanding our GLBT category! So, if I CAN answer this question with a genre, send me GLBT of any kind!)

I know the arguments for mainstream versus niche publishing and for fantasy versus reality. I know these things. (I have to or I wouldn’t be a professional in my industry). But I don’t think it HAS to be this way. We can be inclusive in our GLBT categories (in ALL our categories–I’d love a paranormal disabled heroine whose disability isn’t some secret tie-in to her paranormal badassery). With the way people find books through review sites, browsing, and search terms, coupled with, you know, appropriately labeled marketing materials like back copy, it’s not as though books will get any more lost than they already are on giants like Amazon, but it would mean that people who need more romance can find some.

And if we as women, who are marginalized, make room for other people with similar struggles, we can reach common ground and maybe they won’t be so marginalized either. Media–books–have this power. We just need to start using it in a visible way, rather than forcing those who need it into their own smaller boxes.

(This answer brought to you by Julia Serano’s EXCLUDED: How to Make Queer and Feminist Movements More Inclusive.)

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Defaults

I had a moment.

Vague start to an Anxiety post, I know, but hear me out.

I was just starting to fall asleep and an idea hit me, as they do when one is just starting to fall asleep. It wasn’t my usual type of idea, though. It wasn’t a character or plot twist, event or backstory. No, it was a setting.

Simply, a setting.

I mentioned last week how I got an idea from a wisteria tunnel I had seen many moons ago on the internet.

Source

And my brain decided to kick at sleep o’clock and put that together with my dragon book into the idea, “What about a wisteria forest?”

BIG idea in one little thought. I could have an entire forest of this! There was nothing to stop me—I am writing a fantasy book in a different world/universe. If a hillside to the horizon was blanketed in fully-bloomed, opaque violet, hindering visibility and possibly infested with an array of strange creatures? That could be a great setting.

Why had I defaulted to the usual fairy tale forest when I could have a wisteria one infested with terrifying somethings?

Why had I previously defaulted to something run-of-the-mill when I have infinite possibilities at my fingertips?

We have the opportunity to default any time when writing. We can default with cardboard characters, static events, and unremarkable worlds. Why had it taken me until this sleepy eureka moment to see that I have every opportunity to push further?

I avoid cardboard characters and I have built backstories for even minor characters. I had that nailed down. My events are logical and point toward where I want to go. But my settings? Why had I not looked at them before?

Do you rely on defaults for some aspect of your writing? Is there a part of your writing that you have overlooked until something snagged your attention and pointed it out? Be it plot, character, theme, worldbuilding, magic systems, themes—which ones haven’t you considered pushing further, making your story yours?

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Post-Con Hangover

Creativity takes a toll on energy. On everything, really. But it is possible to build up stamina, at least enough to get through a project before the crash and burn.

Cons require a whole different form of energy. (Jeff Vandermeer’s Booklife is fantastic for detailing the different strains and drains, as well as promoting empowerment to do only what works with and for you.)

World Fantasy was AMAZING. Some good panels, fantastic readings, and many wonderful people. I made some new friends, met old ones I hadn’t seen in two years, had great conversations, played Cards Against Humanity after two margaritas (which always makes things extra interesting) . . .

I had to leave early Sunday, because of the pesky day job. Which, in the grand scheme of things, worked out for the better; the final performance of the play, canceled due to snow, got rescheduled for Sunday evening. By the time my plane left the ground, I knew I was in trouble.

The post-con hangover had already begun.

For me, post-con hangover is a leaden kind of exhaustion that hazes out the world, coupled (at least when traveling) with a vaguely queasy sensation. (When I showed up for the performance, I resembled the living dead. But that sort of adrenaline can be self-correcting, which is thankfully what happened. Despite everything, it was a good show.)

Monday, I’m not quite sure how I got through the work day, let alone a grocery run. And now this post is late, for which I have only excuses and apologies.

Take it as proof that the hangover is real.

I need more coffee.

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