Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Nano Nano

It comes as no surprize that I'm not working as fast as I'd like. Other things, kids, work, life -- all seem to get in the way of my good intentions. Sometimes I think I should just duct tape myself to the chair and force myself to write.

All these good ideas start flowing when I'm away from the computer and when no pen or paper is handy. I force myself to remember and work out plot points and dialogue, but somehow when the instruments of my task are placed in front of me, still I draw a blank.

Someone told me that I'm not afraid of failure, I'm afraid of success. I rather think it's far less complicated. Writing is work and for me it isn't paying work. I feel guilty about taking the time to write and to get it right. Posting on a blog isn't the same. No need for complete concentration with no distractions.

Plus, I think I am afraid of failure. Revealing the inner workings of your mind isn't easy and I wonder that so many people are so comfortable doing it. In the back of my mind I'm always thinking that no one will be interested in what I have to say and that there will always be people ready and willing to pick it apart. When you write, it is part of you and you want people to like it (or at least not ridicule).

I've reorganized the story and am progressing. It's hard to commit to finishing this, but I'm trying. Over at Nano, thousands of people are doing just that -- committing and finishing. It seems so simple when you think of it. Beginning , middle, end.

Argh! If only. Who was it who said: "I hate writing, but I love having written." I can hardly wait to feel that way.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

About face

It's day four of Nanowrimo and my writing has been spare.

I had several ideas in my weary brain, all battling for supremacy and one of the ones I'd set aside and not thought about in ages pushed its way to the top.

There are four stories where I have characters and enough information to at least begin. One of those is a historical/fantasy romance halfway to completion, but needs major reworking. A second is contemporary romance nearly a third of the way done. It needs tweaking and some more development. A third is also contemporary romance but in the early development stage - I have scenes and situations, but little structure. The last is historical romance with only one scene written, but this one I've plotted to some degree --- this is the one that surfaced around the time that nano started, so this is the one I've chosen to work on.

My nano profile has the working title for my historical fantasy - 'No Man's Land', but this one, the one I've decided to work on, really doesn't have a title.

It takes place shortly after WWI and covers several years, ending part way through WWII. I was reading some of the guidelines at eharlequin, and there's a new line that would suit it well should I ever manage to go beyond thinking about writing.

This has been a noisy chaotic day, but oddly enough I've managed some time on the computer without the kids begging me 0ff. I should use the time to work, rather than to blither in the blog, but I thought writing -- writing at all might just get me motivated.

I am excited. Nano is more than I expected. There are forums where people vent etc. and there are author profiles that allow you to see who people are, what they're writing and their progress -- and filling in your own progress is somewhat of a motivator itself.

Though I doubt I'll make the 50,000 words -- I know that I have done a bit and I have no doubt that I will do more --- the surprize is the story I've chosen to write. I mean, I always meant to write it, but not now. But suddenly it's coming alive in my head and I'm acting out bits and pieces of dialogue as I drive or while working.

Back to work.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

This morning I did an outline of my first chapter from the perspective of both my hero and heroine. Their contact is limited to the end of the section and serves as set up for their future involvement.

As I worked, I drew on two different stories I'd started ages ago, intertwining them. Because parts are already written, I think starting writing will come a bit easier. It will begin as reworking -- flipping this scene over there and tweaking another scene to fit the new reality. Only then will I have to move on and actually create something new.

I'm debating using the computer, or going longhand. Sometimes I'm more inspired while holding a pen than when poised at the keyboard.

I think I'll find my notebook.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Taking off my tin-foil hat

In craziness the other day, I lamented my lack of plot. I couldn't for the life of my remember what the story was actually about. Maybe my brain was temporarily sucked out -- but now I remember.

Panic sometimes does that to me. I'm almost at where I want to be and maybe I'm afraid to start, so I give myself an excuse not to -- but it was so weird. It didn't matter how hard I tried, my mind couldn't put dramatic action to the ideas I'd been having.

Well, it's back. This time I'm going to write it down so I won't have an excuse not to write.

I've added another link to the side: Carolyn Jewel. Her site is full of writerly insights.

I'm almost thinking of putting some of my writing up here, because no one reads me anyway. I've been to other blogs and haven't noticed much actual writing, mostly talking about writing (or not writing) like I do.

Today I'll set out the plot. I feel much better now.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

The big picture

So now I have the details worked out -- a better backstory for my heroine, a more realistic role for my hero, greater understanding of their daily lives. Seems perfect. I should get down to writing . . . except . . .

My grasp of the big picture has always been easy; where I stumble is with the small stuff.

GMC -- Goals, motivation, conflict -- they make sense to me in the 'big picture' kind of way. But for some inexplicable reason, I am unable to reduce them to the intimate level of a personal story.

Each of my characters has a etherial goal, motivation and large scale conflict, but what I lack is an individual level version of those things which translates in to the most important element what makes a story -- a plot.

I know what happens. Scenes are planned where events reveal character and history, but I lack that simple A to B to XYZ that is the driving force behind a novel.

How can I have characters so real to me, without a place to put them? Looking back on my previous work onthis story, I realize that the dimension that was missing was the building action that makes fiction different from real life.

My 'story' is more like a biography, ups and downs and steady plodding. Triumphs and tragedies interspersed with description but no urgency.

If I can get over that hurdle by the end of the month, then I'll have something to work on for Nanowrimo -- otherwise I'll be at the same place been for the past several years, floundering and frustrated.

When I first started thinking about this, I was certain I had a plot -- all the revisions to the history either erased it from my memory or it wasn't there in the first place. How could I forget the plot?

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

On the right page again

I had thought I would work on my contemporary fiction story. It's kind of a mainstream/momlit type thing. It seemed the simplest because it requires very little research and mostly just imagination and writing. Most of it is plotted; some of it is written, but I haven't touched it in months.

Suddenly and without warning, I started yearning for the very first novel I started and never finished. I wrote over 50,000 words -- some of them good ones. And then I lost direction. There seemed no way forward and no clear path. Several times I've picked up that half-finished manuscript and read it through -- most of it without cringing. There is some good clever writing, and there are some well crafted scenes, charming characters, witty dialogue . . . and yet I could never get back to it -- partly because of my heroine and partly because of my hero.

My heroine was a bit of a MarySue. Not exacty like me, but much like I would like to be -- a bit too perfect for this world. My hero was much better, more likeable and more real. For some reason I find it easier to write men than women and it showed. But my hero had a problem too. I'd cast him in a a role that limited both him and me and ended up stifling the potential for dramatic development in the story. That's why I'd stopped writing with a thud.

When it came to mind inexplicably this past week, I stopped thinking about how I'd actually written the story, and started to think how it could be. Rather than picking up the pages I'd reread a million times while struggling to move forward, instead I tired to work on the weaknesses of the characters and plot without looking at it again.

I've yet to write a single word, but it's starting to gel in my brain. I don't know how other people write, but I tend to play the scenes out in my head while I'm working, as I'm driving, at the grocery store . . . later when it seems my brain is so full that everything will come spilling out if I don't capture it, then I write.

I'm almost there.

It might have been watching Foyle's War that renewed my excitement with this story. It's set during WWII and part of my apathy is the research it will require. I've keenness for the period anyway, and have read extensively about it, but while I couldn't think of a way to move my story along, the research felt like more like a chore than an interest.

Suddenly my heroine isn't who I thought she was and my hero has taken on a more useable role. Now that these snags are out of the way I feel ready to haul out the old stuff and edit it so it will fit in with my new vision. The editing should be finished by the end of the month and I should be able to get some plotting done as well. That would put me in a good position for starting Nanowrimo in November.

For the first time in a long time I'm excited about writing again.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Making plans . . . it's a start

For the first time in a few weeks, I've actually felt motivated to write. Of course, feeling motivated, and succumbing to the impulse are very different things. As usual, I have been able to thwart my naissant urges.

Why do I fight writing? It's as though I'm fighting against success as much as failure.

Well, at least I've tentatively decided which story I want to write. Sort of -- maybe. It may end up that I merge two stories which will help to create layers and subplots. I don't think I'm ready for multiple perspectives and storylines, but I think I can manage concurrent converging events that will centre around two lead characters.

There will be more time for writing over the next few weeks. I thought of doing my plotting etc. during October, and then maybe doing the NaNoWrMo in November. I had planned to do it last year, but I didn't write a word. I set up for it and then just didn't start.

It's been like that for years -- putting off and putting off.
Then, I read books that are bland and boring, or innane and childish and I wonder how these people can be published writers. I used to stand in judgement of their writing skills, but now I realize that when I don't finish anything -- I can't even compare myself to them. They have dared to dream, and to complete what they started.

The best laid plans will stay blueprints without action. I know that, and yet I blog instead of writing. Sigh . . . .

Sunday, September 17, 2006

It's ponderous

How bad is my commitment to writing when even my pondering gets put off?

Earlier this year I bought four binders and I printed off every bit of writing on each of my partial novels. I used pretty coloured Post-It Notes to flag pages, indicating scene, character or plot point. Each chapter or part there of was set out chronologically, with duplicate and re-worked scenes highlighted in bright fuscia, green or yellow depending on its quality.

Most of that writing was done two or three years ago or longer. Some of it is very good. Compelling, structured well, interesting, funny . . . all in all, very readable. As I looked it over, I wondered how I ever got to the point where, rather than actually put fingers to keyboard or pen to page, I'd rather think about writing and fool myself that this organizational stuff has something to do with writing.

But, at least back then I was doing something. Reading my own words served to motivate me and I started thinking about writing again, but the thinking never really moved forward to concrete production.

When I'm drifting off to sleep at night bits of stories waft in and out of my consciousness and I try to grasp them. I promise myself that I'll remember them when I wake up and put them down on paper. But, if I remember them (which I sometimes have), I seldom bother to find a pen or rush to the computer.

I wonder if it's writer's block or lack of confidence. It isn't that I haven't any ideas. Often I'm thinking of scenes or dialogue. If I'm thinking of them, I can't be blocked. But then when I have made my way to the computer to set them down on the word processor, it's like I freeze.

Well, at least I can still write about writing -- or am I writing about not writing?

Oh well. At least I'm still thinking.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

A Beginning

They say: "Just write . . ." or "write what you know". And apparently that's all you have to do to become a writer.

Well, I've been just writing for several years, and I have recently realized that I know nothing. That leaves me in a bit of a bind.

So far in the eight years I've been slogging away at this sodden keyboard, I've written three or four unfinished novels, several incomplete short stories, and a few partial poems. The writing doesn't seem to be the problem, the knowing things does.

My own background is a snore, and as I develop plots that take me away from the hum-drum of my life, I find myself constantly worried that my fiction will be unbelievable. I don't know enough about anything to make it seem real. Even the things I do every day, in my stumbling words, seem preposterous.

At least that's my excuse not to write. This time.

Sometimes I'm too busy, but I can't always sustain that one. Other times, I'm writing and then all of a sudden I find myself playing minesweeper or solitaire. It just happens. Then there'll be days when I know that I know nothing and I decide that research is the answer. Of course, research is actually the question -- the answer never seems to come.

I shall step away from the keyboard now and ponder my unwritten novel.

Tomorrow I won't procrastinate. I promise.