The Joy of Books!
By Dame Toni
I don’t have television.
That’s not to say I don’t have a television–as it happens, I have two. I just don’t currently have a way to watch them.
Since those darned publishers expect me to actually write the book before they pay me for it, and I still have a hundred or so pages to go, I find myself with what is euphemistically called “a temporary cash flow issue.” So, I am doing without a few things that are not absolutely necessary. And, in my house, when it comes down to a choice between premium cable and premium cat food, Simon and Sandy outvote me two to one.
I figured, “How bad could it be?” I turned off the cable.
I know many authors who claim not even to own a television, or to watch it so rarely that they are completely unaware of what’s on. But when you start a discussion about the effective use of morally ambiguous characters, sexual tension or sparkling dialog, they will happily jump in with examples from Breaking Bad, Castle and Harry’s Law.
I admit it – I love television. I’m from the first generation whose mothers gratefully used the TV as a pacifier. I found an old, grainy picture of me, circa 1960, propped in a walker in front of one of those tiny-tube-in-a-huge-box models, with the only light in the room coming from the television and its reflection on my face. My rapt expression is just short of hypnosis. Maybe not short.
But, until the last year or so, it was something I watched when it was convenient. I would rather be out and about and, if that meant I missed an episode of my favorite show, so what? With a couple of exceptions, I could not have told you which show was on which night. Then, something happened. I started looking forward to Thursday so that I could see (my fiancé) Simon Baker on The Mentalist. I planned Sunday evenings around The Walking Dead.
I got a real wake-up call when a question on a consumer survey asked me how many hours a week I spent watching television, and I really sat down to figure it out. I had a hard time making myself check the accurate box, even knowing the anonymous results counters would not know who I was, or give a fig if they did.
So I felt kind of virtuous about turning off the cable. It would be good for me. I’d have more time to read. I’d have more time to write.
And, after a period of adjustment, it worked.
Not so much for the writing–the number of hours I write a day has never been influenced by television. If I’m on a roll, I don’t stop for Grey’s Anatomy. If I’m not on a roll, I’ll take any excuse, up to and including cleaning the cat box, to stop.
As for the reading…total success. I am working my way through the NINE novels I agreed to judge for the Rita Awards and have finally made it past the sixth installment of The Wheel of Time (I had to start over at the beginning to avoid confusion. I mean, just how many characters can one series have?).
I am apparently the last Urban Fantasy author in the world who had not read The Hunger Games, and now I know why everyone is so excited about the upcoming movie.
I throw out magazines AFTER actually reading them. That backed-up stack of my friends’ books that I haven’t had time for no longer seems like the impossible dream.
Once my advance check comes, will I turn the cable back on? Probably. Oh, who I am kidding—DEFINITELY. But I don’t plan on ever having to check that embarrassing box on the consumer surveys again!
Writing Blocks, Fear & Resistance
Dame Kaz
Let’s talk about Writer’s Block.
It’s not a comfortable subject for writers – published or otherwise – because to not be able to write, for whatever reason, is so full of negative emotions as to feel agonising. Which sounds totally dramatic, but sometimes the worst case of ‘block’ really is that painful to those who suffer. Guilt, shame, self-hatred… all the biggies are there, and I’m sure a whole lot more. *shudders*
(On a very important side note here, no matter what your beliefs/theories are surrounding ‘Writer’s Block,’ there will always be someone who disagrees. Which is fine! Life is all about people having different views and different experiences. It would be pretty boring if it was any other way. However, it is the World’s Most Annoying and Hurtful Thing(tm) to make yourself vulnerable and to tell someone that you feel ‘blocked’ on your latest project, only to have that person breezily tell you, “There’s no such thing as writer’s block! I never get blocked. I don’t have time for it!” This is insensitive, and sometimes even damaging.)
I can only talk about my own experience and my own belief’s around the phenomenon known as ‘Writer’s Block’. If you, personally, believe in the power of something external to you that stops you from being able to write each and every time you face the blank page (or a stalled project), I am not saying any of the following to disrespect or devalue your own experience or definition of the much-used term. But for me, we aren’t talking about something mystical or outside of ourselves. My feelings around this complex subject – and my recent struggles with a form of ‘it’ – have led me to fully embrace the notion that writer’s block should always be written with a small ‘w’ and a small ‘b’. When we give those two little words Capital Letters of Doom, it seems more scary than it really should be. And certainly more significant.
So, in Kaz’s ever humble opinion (no laughing at the back, there!), what is writer’s block?
Basically, it’s something that comes from within you that stops you from writing. The part about it coming from inside you personally is crucial. If we turn it into something alien and external, then it’s far too easy to think: “Oh well, that means it’s out of my hands. There is nothing I can possibly do and will therefore have to simply watch reruns of The Vampire Diaries until my writing returns to me!” Which is not true – the part about not being able to do anything about it, I mean. Also, writing doesn’t ‘go’ anywhere. Not the way I see it, anyway. It’s still there, right inside you – you just have to dig around a bit in order to find it again.
What you can do, even if you can’t write, is try to figure out why you think you can’t write. Because, believe me, even when you truly believe you can’t do the work, you actually can. You can pick up a pen and write words. Any old words will do. They might not be very good words (they probably won’t be, to begin with), but there isn’t a mysterious power freezing you in place and physically stopping you from writing something down (a sentence! Just one little sentence…). Or typing a line. Writing the words: “Chapter One.” If you really were blocked, this should be impossible… right? Especially if you’re capital-B-Blocked.
If only writing was always this pink...
But, still. You feel as though you can’t write. I’ve been there. (Oh, how I’ve been there… very recently.) So first try to figure out why you can’t write:
Are you bored with your project?
Uninspired?
Worried that you’re repeating what’s already been done a million times before?
Did you go wrong somewhere, in an earlier chapter, and now you’ve ground to a halt?
Do you have to feed the kids and help with homework before you can write, and then when you finally get half an hour to yourself… you feel half-dead and hopeless?
Are you just too tired?
Too distracted?
Too lazy?
Too hungry?
All of these things – and many, many more – could be, and probably are, at the root of your stuckness. Steven Pressfield, in his famous book The War of Art spends most of its pages talking about Resistance (note the capital-R). And, you know, he’s not wrong. Most of our blocks and stuck places around our creative work do stem from us simply resisting the work. But it’s in the knowing WHY that I think is important. Because, once we know that, we might be able to fix it – maybe even fix it easily.
Sometimes, we get stuck because we introduced a character too early in our novel; started the story in the wrong place entirely; or maybe because we’re writing in the wrong POV. We might not know our world well enough and need to do more brainstorming and research, or any number of other practical, concrete reasons. These are mostly things we can address and fix, sometimes with the help of others.
But quite often it’s a more emotional and psychological problem holding us back, and that all boils down to one thing:
FEAR
But, guess what? Writing is scary. Making yourself vulnerable on the page, letting others read your words and judge your dreams… putting yourself out there is just damn hard. And then the Fear Monkey sits on your shoulder and whispers in your ear, and that’s pretty much the end of that. At least for one day (and if you only lose a single day’s work to the Fear Monkey, believe me, you can consider yourself lucky).
Beware the Fear Monkey!
As cute as it is, you really don’t need that little monkey around. Most of the time, when I’m writing, I actally feel like that baby monkey, wanting my mum to give me a hug and tell me that everything is going to be okay. (What? Don’t mock my pain… 
) But, even though she’s on the end of the phone and is very good with TLC-on-demand (that should be a new TV channel!), when we finally face our writing – our creative work – we’re on our own. Writing is a party of one. Um… unless we’re collaborating. Heh. We have to figure out the fear at the heart of our particular ‘stuck place,’ and then get to work on kicking its ass! And the best way to do that is to put your own ass in the chair and continue to write through the block, no matter how painful and no matter how much crap you end up throwing away later on.
That’s what I did, and I ended up throwing out a lot. A lot of hard work and hard-earned words. But I finally figured out what was at the root of my individual fear – on this occasion – and managed to put the Fear Monkey back in its box. For now.
I hope you can too…
P.S. One of the best books on the subject that I’ve ever read is, sadly, currently out of print: On Writer’s Block: A New Approach to Creativity by Victoria Nelson. I do recommend it if you can find a copy. Nelson spends a lot of time talking about how taking a break from writing is often a natural and normal thing, although of course professional deadlines do change our ability to put her wisdom into practice!
–
Images © Dreamstime.com
Why a Book is Like a Jigsaw Puzzle
One of the things I like to do when I’m not sitting in front of the computer is to work on jigsaw puzzles. I think I might have crossed the line into addiction somewhere along the line, based on how many puzzles I have sitting around the house in stacks and piles almost as big as my TBR stack. My husband and I work on one every day while I’m taking my lunch break.
In recent weeks, I’ve been struggling with the plot of my work in progress (Replica, my dystopian YA), and it occurred to me that plotting a novel bore some striking similarities to solving a jigsaw puzzle. You start out by looking at a seemingly overwhelming jumble of images and colors and shapes. When your eyes adjust a bit to the jumble, you start being able to pick out the edge pieces and fit them together. This part of the process resembles writing a synopsis–you’re laying out the shape of your puzzle, creating the framework in which the finished image will sit.
For me, putting the edges together/writing the synopsis is relatively easy. (Those of you for whom writing a synopsis is pure torture may now throw your rotten tomatoes at the screen. It’s okay. Hey, I don’t have to clean it up.) I can paint the big picture without having to figure out all those pesky details that will come back and stymie me later. (The example I always use when describing how I write a synopsis is that in a synopsis, I can write something like “and then the heroine escapes from the dungeon,” without having to figure out how the heck she’s going to pull that off. I leave the pesky details for the actual writing the book stage.)
My method for working a jigsaw puzzle once the edge is complete is to look through the box, stirring the pieces around, paying attention to what colors and patterns catch my eyes. I’ll then select the most distinctive ones and put those sections together.
That’s pretty much how I plot my novels, too. I write down each of the plot points I’m most sure of on index cards, starting with the most prominent. I don’t worry about where exactly in the framework they fit, or how they connect to each other. I don’t even worry about what order they’re in, at least not at first.
Of course, after putting together the easy pickings, I’m left with a box full of pieces that look distressingly similar and indistinguishable. Pieces that look like they could go anywhere. (In other words, I’m left with all the hard stuff.) That’s kind of how I feel about plotting books, too. I’ve got these major events planned out, and I’m really excited to write them. But I don’t necessarily know how to get from one to another. I must trust that when I start writing, the way will become clear.
But just as some jigsaw puzzles are harder than others, so too are some books harder than others. Replica has been one of the hard ones for me. The big picture has always been clear in my head, but this puzzle seems to have more pieces than others. Figuring out how to get from one major scene to another, what all the little connecting pieces should be, has been a struggle. Kind of like doing this puzzle, in a fact:
So much going on, so many variables, so many directions I could go. Sometimes, I sit down and work on a puzzle all through my lunch hour and get no more than a handful of pieces put together. I leave the table feeling frustrated, like I’ll never finish this one. But the miraculous thing is, often when I sit down the next day and stare at the same jumble of pieces that stymied me the day before, it all becomes clear, and they fit together easily. Just like sometimes with a book, I end up completely stuck on what should happen next, going into paroxysms of angst worrying that I’ll never figure it out. And then suddenly, the answer comes to me, and the way is clear.
I’m happy to report that I have reached the “the way is clear” stage on Replica. In my mind, I have the full picture of the rest of the plot, including how to get from one scene to another. I may have to make some changes as I go, may figure out that some of the pieces I thought fit together are actually mistakes, but I no longer find myself worrying that I’ll never solve the puzzle. So I guess that’s the final way that plotting a novel resembles assembling a jigsaw puzzle to me: no matter how hard the puzzle seemed along the way, no matter how many times I got stuck and pulled my hair out, I eventually manage to finish. And that’s good to know when I’m in the midst of the struggle.
From Kickass Un-PreRequisite to Rippling Tweakage
Dame Lili
Plus, the Little Prince became, once more, Sir Pewksalot last night. All of which is a roundabout way of saying my temper and nerves are equally frayed, and I decided on a Three Things post because if I start on a rant or two now there will be nothing but a smoking crater left where my computer used to be. (Expensive.) Not to mention with all the biting and snarling going on all over the Internet about Authors Daring To Speak, so to speak, and a rant doesn’t seem like a good idea. For lo, if I strap on my armor now and go all Don Quixote after Idiot Entitled Jerks On The Internet, I may never stop. And I’ve writing to do, so…yeah. Three things. Let’s see.
* Kickass is not a prerequisite. It’s not even a requisite. I swear to God, someday I am going to write about Milquetoast von Constipated, a potbellied, balding vampire with bowel issues who lives in Minnesota and, whenever there is an incident of violence, he *gasp* alerts the authorities! Together with his werecow buddy, Milton Morton (who is not only vegan but gets tipped every full moon), they do not fight crime willingly. Rather, they sort of bumble through and the police take care of things on their own. (As to why he has bowel issues when he’s on a liquid diet, I’ll just say, have you ever tried to live on protein shakes? HAVE YOU?)
Sounds amusing, doesn’t it? But it’s sparked by a frustration of mine: where is it written that I can’t write anything other than kickass leather-clad wiseacres? I mean, I’m very glad people connect with my kickass heroes and heroines, but that isn’t all I write, it isn’t all I am. It isn’t all the world consists of. I dislike it intensely when I write a character whose strength is internal and am immediately subjected to a “but your fans won’t recognize…” Screw that. They will recognize, and those who send me venomous screeds about how I should just stick to writing kickass chicks even though I don’t do so very well (seriously, it’s like the writers of these things all got together in a room somewhere) can just go…fly kites. Yes. Fly kites.
The point of this is: If you’re used to writing one thing, and you want to write another thing, go ahead and do it. You may have to attempt a couple times before you get a salable piece, but it will teach you things about writing that staying in your comfort zone will not. I’m fairly okay at writing angst and violence, but you know what I would really love? I would love to be talented at writing comedy. Comedy is hard effing work, it doesn’t come naturally to me. (Unless it’s bleak black macabre humor. Heh.) It doesn’t stop me from wanting and trying, and from seeking other types of characters and stories to play with. What you’re good at writing and what you want to write may be two different things, but you should try them both.
* The Levenger catalog is pure crack. I mean, their 3X5 cards are incredibly useful while revising or making grocery lists, both things I do at my computer. My bag lust is inflamed every time I see their briefcases. And, oh my God, the desk sets. The desk sets. It’s nice to reward myself with some lovely tools after slogging through a zero draft. I nerd all over their paper, and one day, one day, I will have a Levenger desk. I’ll save my pennies, by God, and I will have it.
Other things I keep within easy reaching distance while I’m writing: a statue of Ganesh writing, some Climb On creme, cell phone, tarot cards (Rider-Waites, for those curious), Moleskine notebook, a couple pads of paper both legal and Levenger, scissors, pens and sharpened pencils, rubber bands, a Keep Calm and Carry On paperweight, two pink plastic flamingos, six dictionaries, two thesauri, two visual dictionaries, assorted other reference works from encyclopedias of military arms to herbals and Jack the Ripper books. Also, two copies of Jane Eyre, plus six or seven DVDs of different treatments of Jane Eyre, and a few Wuthering Heights. (Don’t ask.) Also, tissues, ibuprofen, and Carmex. Because you never can tell.
The flamingos are for practicing dialogue with. (But that’s another blog post.)
* Beware of great ideas. “A million cat clocks! That’s a GREAT idea!” Then some of them started looking a little odd because their tails weren’t moving. And I had to find more batteries. This just goes to show you, great ideas are only great until one gets to the care, feeding, and administrivia involved. (Note: I have six cat clocks, all on my living-room wall. And I want more.)
What does this have to do with writing? Simple. Beware of great ideas. Sometimes they happen halfway through a zero draft, and you either have to go back and alter what you’ve already written to account for the Great Idea, or you just go ahead and write as if the Great Idea has been there all the time, which means the first half of revising the zero draft is likely to send you to the booze cabinet sooner rather than later. Sometimes the Great Ideas happen during revision, and one should be careful because they are like pebbles thrown into a quiet pond. (BOOT TO THE HEAD!) The ripples spread throughout the entire book, which may mean you have to go back and deal with tweaking everything before and after in subtle and overt ways. Rippling tweakage is another thing that will send you to the booze cabinet during revisions. Or to banging your head against a brick wall, whichever is handier. (Also, Rippling Tweakage is my new indie band name.)
Great ideas are great, but there is no Great Idea that fixes everything without a lot of work. If the Idea is Great Enough, the work, while frustrating, is also a process of simplification. If it’s a Mediocre Idea masquerading as Great, or even just a Garden-Variety Idea Of Some Magnitude But Hardly Greatness, well, booze cabinets and brick walls, or whatever coping mechanism works for you, STAT. It doesn’t make the Rippling Tweakage any easier, but it can dull the gnawing pain between your temples somewhat.
…I just looked at that last sentence and cannot believe I typed that. Some days, I really love my job.
Over and out!
But I Won’t Do That
[Please forgive the Meatloaf reference. I couldn’t resist. And now I can’t get the song out of my head.]
Unlike several of my characters (Who’s thinking Sabine? You’re all thinking Sabine, aren’t you?), I have boundaries. There are some things I will not do, both in life and in writing. But since this is a writing post, I’m going to stick to my writing wont’s. You’re welcome.
The following is a list of things you won’t find in a Rachel Vincent book. (except that the formatting didn’t work out, and some of these bullet points are supposed to be sub-points. Sorry.)
- I won’t write vampires. I’m not speciest. I have nothing against vampires. I just have nothing new to add to the vampire subgenre, and I don’t want to write a book in which I have nothing new to say. That said, I did write a vampire short story once, for the Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance. I wrote that story for two reasons. First, because I was invited to contribute to an anthology, and I was very, very excited. Second, because I was able to find an angle on vampires that I hadn’t considered before. The vamp alternate universe, in which EVERYONE is a vampire.
- Would I ever consider expanding that story into a novel? No. Because the concept wasn’t well-thought-out enough for a novel. For instance, if EVERYONE’s a vampire, who do they eat? Riddle me that, oh vamp enthusiasts.
- Okay, I suppose they could drink animal blood. But that seems to be defeating the purpose of writing about the great human predator, right?
(Funny story: I missed the part about that anthology being a romance and I may have…kinda sorta…written horror instead. Then had to go back and squeeze in a little romance when my agent pointed out the lack. )
- I won’t write gratuitous sex. Many writers are really good at writing intimate scenes, and that’s awesome, but that just not the kind of thing I enjoy writing. I wrote three complete adult novels without writing any sex, and only added an intimate scene in Stray (the third of those books) before it went out on submission at my then-agent’s behest. As it turns out, she was right, and the scene did fit. It changed something between the characters. And ever since, that’s been my literary litmus test for the “Will they or won’t they?” question.
- Does it change something for the characters or the plot? Does it mean something beyond physical gratification? Yes? Then yes, u can haz sex.
- No? Then no action for you. (None “on screen,” anyway. Feel free to imagine whatever you want. But don’t feel like you have to tell me about it. Seriously. Did I mention the boundaries?)
- Speaking of action, I will try very hard not to write gratuitous violence. Truthfully, I often fail at this. I’m pretty sure my editor has a stamp somewhere in her desk that reads, “Too much, Rachel. Dial it back.” I’m a dial-it-back kind of girl. What can I say? I love horror and action movies. I love horror and action books. And I like girls who can hold their own with the boys, even if they’re physically smaller or weaker. They can make up for that with stealth, speed, and enthusiasm. So I will try to write only the plot-necessary violence. But I make no promises. Which probably means this entire paragraph doesn’t belong in this list. But I’m leaving it anyway. ‘Cause this is my blog post.
- Most importantly, at least IMO, I won’t write easy-outs. No deus ex machina (god from the machine)—characters won’t suddenly be rescued from horrible fates by the miraculous appearance of a new character, a conveniently timed natural disaster, or the revelation of an awesome new power.
- No convenient deaths—characters won’t be saved from choosing a lover when one dies or backs out of the running. My job as a writer is to make their lives harder, then help them grow into the characters they need to be to triumph, not to make things easier so they never have to grow or change.
- In fiction, as in life, choices are hard and they have lasting consequences. Faythe’s dead loved ones won’t be coming back to life. In her world, death is permanent. Kaylee’s dead loved ones could return (because of the rules of her world), but not without steep prices and lasting consequences. Words can’t be unsaid. Actions can’t be un-taken. Forgiving doesn’t always mean forgetting. Sometimes your best isn’t good enough. Sometimes the bad guys win (at least for a little while).
Will there be some happy endings? Yes. Of course. I’m not trying to drive my readers into depression. But those happy endings must be earned by the characters. There are no trophies for second place. No consolation prizes. And in most of the worlds I’ve created, Miss Congeniality would be nothing more than an appetizer for the Big Bad (thank you, Joss Whedon, for the most apt description of a supervillan ever).
In my writing, characters strengthen and mature or they get eaten. Ask Kaci, from Shifters. Ask Kaylee, from Soul Screamers. (Or Sophie, in “Never To Sleep.”) Ask Kori, from Shadow Bound.
So what will you find in a Rachel Vincent book? Flawed characters doing the best they can. Characters making tough choices, then struggling with the consequences. There will be a lot of good vs evil. A lot of recurring themes (which I only usually realize in retrospect)—fighting on behalf of the weak, vigilante justice, strong (and sometimes twisted) family ties. And…humor. At least, I hope. I’m well aware that darkness needs the light for balance. I’m also well aware that humor is usually twice as hard to write as violence and angst (at least for me).
Now you know what I won’t write. What won’t you write (or read)?
