Picky, picky, picky

My daughter is in a community children's choral group and recently, all four choirs in the group presented a concert together. On the program was music composed by their guest conductor, Jim Papoulis.

As usual, there were extra rehearsals. Many, many extra rehearsals. I could tell she was getting exhausted. After one particularly long weekend, however, she said to me, " Mom, I think you're going to really enjoy this concert."

"I always do."

"No, no. This one you will REALLY like. Mr. Papoulis is v-e-r-y picky."

Joy. The child understands the road to excellence is paved with pickiness. AND she can tell good enough is not good enough.

Go, pickiness! My mantra for revision today.

(Just to clarify that I think pickiness per se doesn't necessarily lead to excellence. I am sure you can think of many examples of unnecessary, compulsive pickiness that leads to nothing but hair-pulling.)

(And yes, I did enjoy the concert very much.)

Love, glorious, multifaceted love

A day to celebrate the loves of our lives: it's...nice.

Consider my attitude Bah-Humbuggish if you wish, but even the most ardent celebrators of this holiday know that what we do on one day of the year is nothing compared to how we listen, serve, care for our loved ones in non-red-non-chocolate-non-roses ways the rest of the time.

In writing circles, we are reminded often to write what we love. And it's indeed true. If we didn't love what we did, many of us would have given up a long time ago.

But what are we talking about, this love of writing? Do we look forward every day to spending time with our words, our stories? Do we daydream of it? Do we get the heart palpitations and the delicious anticipation? Does tenderness fill our hearts?

Not often. Not for me anyway.

Sometimes I dread writing. Sometimes I get so uncomfortable I can't be still. I grumble. I cry. I long to do something else.

But I write. There is something deep and essential within me that can be accessed only when I write.

Not exactly romantic, reducing love to necessity.

But maybe romance isn't everything when it comes to love.

I don't fling my arms around my husband when I see him after work every day. The butterflies in my stomach have grown arthritic over the last twenty some years. We don't gaze into each other's eyes over dinner and forget about the food on the table. But there is no question that what I have is love. It's strong, it is deep, it has weathered much more than the fluttering hearts of our early romance could handle.

I love writing. And there isn't a chubby winged toddler with arrows in sight.

Is this writing?

Reading critiques of my work by my writing group
Reading their works-in-progress to offer my critique
Figuring out why a book I'm reading works so well
Figuring out what makes another book not work as well
Reading advice from screen writers about dialogue and exposition
Reading writers' and agents' responses to different loglines and opening paragraphs
Identifying elements of story in movies and other art forms
Daydreaming of what-if situations for my characters
Writing down new story ideas
Writing blog posts

These are all things I do n my quest to become a better writer. They are all important, some perhaps even necessary.

But none of them takes the place of actual writing.

Separating the darlings from the voice

I made some decisions in my writing this week. They had to do with sentences that have either struck me or my critique group members as being too much.

Kill those darlings.

or

Don't get rid of the very distinctiveness that is your voice.

How do I make such decisions?

By following my gut, that's how.

I ended up keeping one of the sentences and deleting a few others. The one that I kept occupies an important position. It is the second sentence of the opening chapter. To me, its over-the-top sentiment sets the tone for the protagonist. It tells us not only about the character of this 12-year old girl, but also the things that matter to her.

The ones that I took out fall into the category of being "too clever by half." No matter how much I try to convince myself of things that I don't really buy, there is always that honest, stable part of me that will call b.s. every time. Learning to pay attention and recognize that call has been one of the most valuable things I have learned over the last few years of writing.

Who knows. Maybe my deleted darlings should see the light of day, and the sentence I've kept will turn away readers. But until I find a more fool-proof way of making these decisions, my gut is all I got.

What about you/ Does your gut call the shots as well? And how long does it call before your hear?

Follow up to the hiatus

Thanks for the good wishes for my blog hiatus. I thought I'd provide an update.

I finally completed the revision of my MG novel and sent it off. There was so much energy from the high of having completed an important task, I thought it would carry me to my new task, which was to work on my WIP, a YA novel.

But I couldn't write. There were too many thoughts, all going at high speeds heading toward different directions, in my mind. Scattered, cluttered, over-energized. The only way to calm down, I found, was to read.

I picked up three books, all different from one another, and from what I tend to write: The Underneath by Kathi Appelt, The Discomfort Zone by Jonathan Frazen, and Oryx and Crake by Margaret Attwood.

When I went back to my WIP a few days ago, my mind was relaxed and refreshed, and I was able to see how I needed to proceed.

And now, I seem to have found a flow for working on this book that I don't want to let go. Blogging has to take a back seat yet again.

I wish I could write and blog and live as a member of my family in a balanced way but I am apparently wired to focus on only very few things at a time.

I will see you all, if you're still around, when I next surface from my writing.

Blog Hiatus

I will be unplugging from blogosphere to prepare my ms to send out.

Good week, everyone.

Why is falling asleep like writing?

Because it has to happen every day, or I am cranky.
Because it is a miracle every time it happens.
Because I don't remember exactly how it happened the night before, but I know it'll happen again, somehow, tonight.
Because I can't force it; I just need to be ready, with my teeth brushed and flossed / mind attentive and butt in chair.
Because it's a gift.

Did writing kill reading for me?

I finished reading two books that have been published recently. They were both well-written and I can't really find fault with much. But the entire time I was reading, I was very aware of writerly things the authors did. For example, in both these books, each adventure follows at the heel of another, probably because of the oft-given advice to keep the tension high, don't let the story sag! In fact, increase the stakes with each obstacle! And sure enough, in both books, not only do the troubles come one after another, the stakes are increased each time.

Then there is another advice: show, don't tell, the emotions and motivations of the protagonists. And in these books, I watch characters break out in sweat or clench their teeth; and hear about their hearts in their throats or their muscles screaming in agony, with slight variations about how the pain or fear feels.

The problem isn't with the writing advice. I like an unrelenting adventure story as much as my 9-year old daughter. I have nothing against being shown and not told a person's emotions (but only to an extent; Brian's post yesterday hit the nail on the head for me.) And I most definitely am interested in what the characters are thinking and how they make decisions.

So then, why have these recent reading experiences been so much more about noticing what the authors are trying to do then absorbing the stories they want to share?

My question, to those of you who write, are these:

• Does the awareness of craft take you out of a story?
• If so, does it happen in every book?
• And if it happens only sometimes, can you determine what factor causes this type of reading?

It's September and I'm back

My sabbatical from blogging has been a good one. It has allowed me distance and given me time to consider some questions about the blog and its place in my writing life. I have not made new discoveries, just affirmed earlier thoughts, such as:

• There are more blogs I want to read than there is time to do so;
• I have not been using my experiences as a musician much; and
  
• I really appreciate the my blogging community.

Making choices is the hardest when the options are not clearly right/wrong, but I have made mine. To pursue a huge online presence, to gain large numbers of followers, to comment on every blog I enjoy: these are no longer top priority.

Not only did these activities take massive amounts of time, they exerted a pressure on my psyche as well. I am not a person who can process all the information and share in all the emotional highs and lows and then be able to put all that aside to focus on writing. I am now choosing to limit how much my mind has to process and my emotions be affected so that I can participate fully in each experience and still have what I need to be a writer.

On a more upbeat note, I realize that I have not focused much on my other love, music. After ignoring my piano for a long while, I am practicing regularly again. There are so many parallels between the writing life and the musical life that I can't believe how little of that has been highlighted in this blog.

The practical outcome of these thoughts?
I will post twice a week, one to focus on music and how it relates to writing, and the other will be on whatever is on my mind. I will still, as I have been during my blogging pause, visit and comment on the blogs in my community, only less frequently as before. I still love you guys!

Oh, and btw, like my new look?

My ideas come from sesame seeds

So the writing of my new YA novel is suspended because I have to rework my Middle Grade novel extensively. I had identified places for six different threads that need to be re-written. First thread provided not much trouble, but the second one is giving me lots of trouble, especially at the Big Ending Scene. Stuck like Kuala Lumpur traffic on a Saturday afternoon during a monsoon storm.

Ever the conscientious writer, I plough on, although with lots of snack and beverage breaks. Yesterday as I was preparing a snack, the act of shaking the sesame seed bottle suddenly brought to mind a scene, complete with back story and emotion. Smell, heat, taste, everything.

I sat down and wrote the sesame seed scene, followed by nine more.

Next time when somebody asks where my ideas come from, I'll have a ready-made, concrete, and completely truthful answer. What about you? Cat's whiskers? Awnings? re-usable bags?

Why even bother?

In that floaty moment before falling asleep the other night, I had an epiphany, It was not an uplifting one. The epiphany was this: there are billions of words already written, why do I suppose I have anything to add?

Falling asleep with such a thought made getting up a little harder. I did, of course, because I needed to hug the children and cook and eat and practice Tae Kwon Do; all good reasons, but that fire to write? Down to a mere flicker.

I made myself sit in front of the computer, but my motivation refused to be cajoled into making an appearance. So I did what every self-respecting, discouraged writer would do: I surfed the web. Only writing-related sites, of course.

Blogs, publishing news (Hey! Middle Grade novels are the darlings at Bologna! Cool, I have a MG novel, after all. *Nasty, hissy voice: "Yeah, and who says yours will be one to catch anybody's attention? Besides, if your book were really deserving, it would have been in the hands of an agent at Bologna!" *back to me* "lalalalalal, I can't hear you!",) contests, writing workshops and, oh here's an article by Alexander Chee, who recalled his writing classes with Annie Dillard:

Yes, everything’s been written, but also, the thing you want to write, before you wrote it, was impossible to write. Otherwise it would already exist. You writing it makes it possible.

My current condition: whip-lashed and bruised on the head.

Dear friends: keep writing. Don't give up. Write your story.

In voice we trust

--It's difficult to define, but I know it when I see it.



Isn't that one of the most frustrating explanations to a straightforward question like, "what is voice?"



While I am dissatisfied with such an explanation, I do understand why the answer is so elusive. Some of what makes up voice can be (somewhat) quantified and objectively stated-- choice of words, length and style of sentences, quirks, a unique way of seeing things, a clever way of describing observations, and here is one way--a voice worksheet devised by Barbara Samuel O'Neal--for writers to start considering the factors that go into their voice, but a lot of it is in the realm of the hard-to-define.

Recently I read two books, one of them women's fiction, the other YA, because I was drawn to the strong voice in each. The experience of reading them was like being in the company of the wittiest, most observant, and coolest dude/dudette, on a ride through their lives. Great fun.

Until about half way in. Then The Voice became too much. And I realized how much each book had been dependent on The Voice because plot, pacing, and other important story elements had been relegated to the background. I became hyper-aware of the recurrent phrases and speech patterns ("I kid you not" over and over again in one,) that became grating.

I finished both books, hoping that what I was experiencing was nothing more than the common Middle Flab that plague many novels, and that maybe the ending would be better. The endings were...okay.

Often, agents and editors say voice is the most important thing in writing. I think I understand. A strong voice can draw a reader in, entertain, and present life in a new light, all great reasons for readers to pick up a book.

But when is too much too much? When do we stop being enthralled with the charismatic guest with his hilarious anecdotes and witty remarks and move away to seek out the more thoughtful, less flashy people?

I say: when the voice overpowers all other considerations and when keeping up the voice becomes an end to itself.

I know, I know. This answer is as vague as the one that started off this post. So why don't you tell me. Have you read books in which the voice drew too much attention to itself? Do you have examples of a book whose voice is perfectly matched to the story? And here is a more personal question: if you are a writer, do you think you have a voice?

[On a side note: I realize distinctive voices don't all have to be humorous and flamboyant, but I focus on these qualities because, well, (1) I had to finish two book in this type of voice long after I'd gotten tired of it and so I need to vent, and (2) quieter voices don't tend to call attention to themselves, and so they do their jobs of conveying a story, an emotion, an experience without intruding and causing their readers to mutter threats of "If I have to read one more phrase that begins with..."]

Oh and, the always sage Scott G. F. Bailey over at The Literary Lab discussed voice in relation to story last week, touching on the question of the phenomenon known as a writer discovering his voice.

[Edited to add on 3/31. Davin Malasarn at the Literary Lab has another post on voice, to answer Scott's. Go check it out.]

Quick revision update

1,727 words today on a complete re-write of a scene. That was the biggest scene revision for the blue thread. I have a few more scenes that only need tweaking. Or at least I think that's all it needs!

Tomorrow, I start on a different thread. Pink? No, purple. Yes, purple.

What is the color of your revision?

Mine is in bright, almost fluorescent chartreuse, pink, purple and blue. and looks like this:

Confession: I used to think that using pretty stationery is just a distraction, a gimmick. Give me sweat and blood anytime! Me, I'm a real worker, in the trench, no fun, no sun, and definitely no pretty colors.

Then I got over my snootiness.

Anyway, I am back to revise my MG novel, again. This time, I have identified 5 main threads that need to be tweaked / overhauled. I've gone through the manuscript to mark each thread with a different color so I can work on them one at a time.

Do you have any specific way you revise? And how pretty are they?

Wednesday Word Count

This month, Cuppa Jolie is helping writers crack the whip on their w-i-p, as I mentioned in an earlier post. And Laini Taylor (i am reading Lips Touch right now) has Mr. Linky set up at her blog on Wednesdays, for participants to commit to a weekly word count.

My writing last week was uneven, with word count ranging from 300 to over 2,000 words a day. My goal is rather modest: 3,000 words this week and 4 chapters by the end of the month.

I don't now how I'll fare this week, but I invite you to join me in stating your goals and tapping into a supportive community.

C-r-a-a-c-k!

Need some writerly accountability or companionship?

In case you are interested, I am joining Cuppa Jolie at her blog, as we crack the whip on our w-i-p together. When I did this last Friday, I discovered it was exactly the right amount of accountability I needed, and companionship. So I am checking in periodically, to see what is going on with the other writers who are also participating.

And apparently another writer, Laini Taylor, has designated March her NaNo month. So if you want to join her on that venture, she has set up Mr. Linky for you.

Happy writing.

Wish I were a more productive multi tasker

Some weeks I spend a lot of time blogging: writing posts, visiting my favorite blogs, and participating in discussions.

This hasn't been one of those weeks. I've missed my own Grab-A-Line Monday post--I promise I'll be back next week!--and have not mustered up enough energy to compose comments on the blogs that I have been reading.

One reason: I'm gearing up for my TKD belt testing and am particularly nervous right now because I couldn't practice last week due to sickness and now I worry about my endurance and balance. (Honestly, Sir, my balance is off purely because of the migraine headaches!)

And the better reason is: I've been able to restart my writing flow again. My WIP has been neglected for a few weeks because I've gone back to my first novel, to polish it (for the 179th time!) I don't know how other writers work, but when I concentrate on one type of work: revising/editing, I can't seem to switch my mind to other types, say writing new scenes or journalistic articles (my Examiner.com gig is suffering as well.)

Now that I am able to tap into the write-new-work mindset, I am going to ride it. Blogging and commenting and supporting my fellow bloggers will have to take a back seat, but I hope you understand.

[17/365 Furiously Writing by Vinni123; Writing=Breathing by Joe in DC. Both found on Flickr Commons]

30 years for a manuscript to get published

I read recently about an author, Selden Edwards, who worked on his novel, The Little Book, for thirty years before it was finally published by Dutton.

To be fair, he wasn't working on it non-stop during that time. He did what many of us have done: write it, shove it, revisit and revise, submit, rinse, repeat.

But really, how many of us have something that's been on our minds that we've doggedly worked on for thirty years?

I started my my first novel seven years ago. It began its life as an assignment for a writing course. Completing the book was the beginning of my journey to learn and hone my craft: I read books on writing fiction, experimented with different types of work, submitted my work regularly to critique groups, entered contests for feedback, and paid attention to the books I read as a writer as well as a reader.

And rewrote and rewrote and rewrote based on what I've learned.

So, while I've occasionally wondered about how slowly this first book came together, I also know that writing the novel wasn't the only thing I was doing during the time.

I don't know the fate of my book, whether it will be published, and when. But Edward's story of persistence gave me a boost. Sometimes it's good to file away early works as exercises, but sometimes it's good to hang on to the hope that willingness to improve and perseverance can win.

On genes and endurance and writing

When I wrote my post on the study showing that 20% of the population will not increase their endurance by training, I knew I would get some wonderful comments, and I did. I am lucky to have some very wise people check in on my blog.

It is so true, genes or no genes, talent or no talent, what matters is that we do: run, write, practice. Whatever tendencies our make-up predispose us to don't have the last say on what we choose to do. If our passion and our talents mesh: great. If we have the passion but no talent*: who is to say we can't pursue those passions and derive as much meaning and richness from them?

*Besides how do we know if a person has talent?

Lance Armstrong supposedly has a huge heart--I am talking about the physical muscle here, not the seat of emotions/ spirit--and an extraordinary capacity to use oxygen. He also loves cycling long distances. Perfect combo. Throw in determination and hard work and training and there you have it: a super star.

If it doesn't quite work out that way, if we have a regular size heart and our muscles don't process lactic acid easily and we still want to cycle: throw in the determination and hard work and still do it. Maybe the yellow jersey won't be ours, but the feelings of accomplishment, the pride in persevering, the enjoyment of the process: if these things could be quantified, they could very well match Lance's.

I am particularly interested in endurance because all my life I've felt trapped in a no-stamina body. I've allowed the disappointment and shortcoming to steer me away from anything that requires stamina. Oh, I was an active child, running on the playground, playing the game dujour of the week with my friends, but I didn't compete in anything that involved running, except for the one race where competitors had to do some math problems on a small chalkboard in the halfway point of the race (I know, some teacher was trying to be creative and help us nerds during Sports Day).

But now I have a new goal, I want to earn my black belt in TKD. So far my physical limitations haven't deterred my progress much, but at my next belt testing, I have to do all the forms I've learned so far, including the one I am working on right now, seven forms, with a total of I don't know how many steps. My biggest obstacle is not memorizing the forms but being able to do them all back to back without passing out.

In other words, my stamina is being called for, big time.

So I have been training, trying to include more running in my walk/run routines, practicing going through all the forms at half speed and half strength, hoping to increase in stages.

And not seeing as much progress as I'd like.

Very discouraging.

Then this article came out and I didn't know if I was more relieved (I am not a freak of nature!) or discouraged (I'll never go beyond what I am capable right now!)

Ice cream got involved, but so did some very stubborn practicing: "Not only am I not going to pass out after the seventh form, I am going to go through the whole series twice! So there!"

I don't have a success story to tell you (yet?) I still feel I can't possibly jog for more than a few minutes at a time, and one day very soon, I WILL pass out on the floor while sparring. But my sneakers are on, I am still doing what I can.

To quote some wise people:

Never underestimate the power of hard work.


maybe they won't be able to run 5 miles, but they'll definitely be stronger than before.


I'm certainly not ready to take a seat in the bleachers and give up yet.



Even if I learned I would never will be a marathon runner, I could still enjoy being outside. I say keep the sneakers and jog around the park.

Not quite what I expected

Say you're someone who's always preferred reading and writing and drawing and playing the piano to running cross country. Say part of the reason is that you always run out of breath within two minutes and you hate feeling like a wimp. Say now you're older and wiser and realize that while reading and writing and drawing and playing the piano are still so much more enjoyable than running cross country, physical stamina is a very good thing that is worth pursuing.

What would you do.?

Well, you may put on your sneakers and start a very gentle program to build your endurance from, oh maybe walking 30 minutes in a session to eventually running 30 minutes? Sounds very doable, right?

What if, after a month of it, you still feel as wimpy and winded as you were? What would you think?

Just give it time. The stamina will come. It's common sense, right? Everybody knows that if you start training, you'll eventually get there.

But then a newest study shows that exercise won't boost endurance levels for 1 in 5 people.

What would you do then?

Cry? Curse your genes? Eat ice cream? Rant?

But what do you do with those sneakers?

Writers know the meaning of toil. We do it every day. For most of us, we do it with no real, tangible reward in sight. We do it for a variety of reasons: we love it, we can't not do it, we know it's the good thing to do, we know it's the right thing to do.

Then we are reminded that talent and luck do play a role. What if we are one of those people who don't really have the talent (the right genes that allow training to build our stamina) or the luck. What is the point then?

Those of us who have been slogging for a while at writing will have our own answers to this question. And we've kept our sneakers on. I would love to hear some of yours.

(Incidentally, here is an article that tries to balance the hype.)