writing

Silencing the inner critc can be a full time job

By / October 22, 2010

I started writing again last week. This feels like something of an odd statement since I’ve been blogging almost daily for years. My archives can attest to how much writing I’ve done in that time. Yet my brain subdivides my writing so that blogging is accounted for differently than writing which is focused on a project. I have sometimes wrestled with that distinction, arguing with myself about how this devalues my blogging in unfair ways. Lately I’ve just accepted that my brain has these two categories and that both kinds of writing have intrinsic value.

The writing I started again last week was project writing. I frequently put down project oriented writing for extended periods of time. This time it was six months. At times I get emotionally tangled about how much idle time my projects receive. This is when I feel like I’m a dilettante and that lack of practice means that I will never be able to make my projects what I want them to be. Most especially it feels like they will never be finished. This insecurity has at times been compounded by the fact that many of my good friends are multiple-book-per-year writers. At this point I am demonstrably not that kind of a writer. Other times (like now) I am much more forgiving of my methods. It is not like my projects lay idle because I was being lazy. I had to put them down because my life was insanely busy. I believe I made the right choices all along, even if those choices mean I’ve been working on one book for almost three years.

I’ve been trying to do some project writing every day. Sometimes it flows, other times it trudges. Sometimes I walk away happy, others I shut my computer grumpily. Always I feel satisfied and good that I worked on it. Now is the time to be working on this and I hope I can get it done before the spaces in my life fill up again. One of the hardest things, and I know I’m just discovering what many a writer has experience before, is the critical voice in my head. It tells me that what I’m doing isn’t any good. It tells me that no one will want to read. Then contrarywise it tells me that if I do sell the book that I will be buried in hurtful criticism. These voices lurk in the oddest corners of thought, waiting to ambush me. I’ve developed a mantra of sorts to consciously silence them. “It doesn’t matter if it isn’t good, I can revise. It doesn’t matter if no one reads it, writing it is still important. I have no control over the criticism, and it is irrelevant. Writing this book is what I need to do.”

It is interesting to note that in addition to my inner critic I also have an inner editor. The critic always spouts discouragement. The editor tips her head an tells me “this isn’t working.” I have to silence the editor as well, not because she’s wrong, but because I can’t make it perfect on the first draft.

So far the process is working. I’m getting to watch the word count grow, which is oddly satisfying. Most of the trouble I’m having right now is that I’m trying to create a book long narrative using individual essays. Some times the needs of the narrative compete with the needs of the essays. Then I have to wrestle with it for awhile. Although on at least one occasion I decided to just leave a problem to be fixed in revision. There will be revisions a plenty and that is when my inner editor will help me fix stuff.

And now that I’ve written an entire blog entry about writing, my inner critic wants me to know that this meta-writing is probably boring to anyone who is not a writer. I silence the critic and write anyway, because that is what a writer does.

Time to get to work

By / October 15, 2010

Sometimes people approach Howard and I to ask our advice on starting up and running a small business. Our responses vary depending upon the particulars of the person asking, but we always caution them to pick a failure point. This is a defined set of circumstances under which it is time to give up and do something else. No one wants to contemplate failure when they are the shiny, exciting end of a new business venture, but without a defined failure point a failing business can sink the person or family as well. We know too many small business owners who completely bankrupted themselves and their friends trying to keep a business alive through force of will. A thriving business is always work, but it should not be a constant scramble.

That last point had me worried earlier this week. Very often lately it feels like our business has been full of scrambling. So Howard and I sat down and had an overdue conversation about the current state of the business with a specific emphasis on what we will do if sales decline from where we are. Obviously we hope for the reverse, but the conversation was very important to have. It also gave us a chance to throw all our business fears into a communal pile rather than each of us keeping a separate stash. That too was distinctly unpleasant and it took us a couple of days to shake it off. The thing is, all evidence suggests that our business is thriving despite currently being in something of an ebb. This is happy, but we are aware of the fragility of what we have built. Right now we have a little organism. We’d like to have an ecosystem with multiple organisms. We want there to be the comic, but also Howard wants to write prose novels. I want to write books. We want to spread out our sources of income so that we do not have to panic at the thought of losing one.

What this means on a day to day basis is a careful rescheduling of our time. We need to retain the hobbies and leisure which bring us joy, but trade in all the mindless time-killing activities. We’ll trade the latter for work which will hopefully bring new organisms into our financial ecosystem. This means it is time for writing and revision to fit back into my days. Now I just need to figure out how.

Sorting my notes

By / September 19, 2010

As a result of all the cleaning and organizing I’ve been doing, I finally located all my writing notebooks. In theory I only have one notebook at any given time and I carry it with me. The truth is that sometimes I’m hit with an idea I need to write down and my notebook is not where I expect it to be. Then I grab a new notebook or an older notebook that still has blank pages. Right now I have one completely-full notebook which I need to refer to, and two mostly-full notebooks. And for once I know where they all are.

Last Friday I sat down with my writing notebooks and began sorting through them. I culled out the pages of ideas that I’ve already used as well as the random non-writing notes which are no longer relevant. It is critical for me to have the notebooks to capture ideas. It is just as critical for me to clear out the notebooks so that I can find the ideas that still need attention. I know that there is value in retaining notes, sometimes raw notes trigger memories for me that finished writing does not include, but I feel that storing huge boxes of old notes is a waste of space that I need for other things. I can not fill my life or my mind with clutter. I must let things go if I am to retain spaces for new thoughts and ideas to form.

The tossing of notes does not just create physical space, it also gives me mental room. When I look through the old notes, it is obvious to me that some of the ideas are still alive. I can see that they are good and that I should save them for later use. Other notes feel dead. The zeitgeist that prompted me to write them is gone or my life has shifted and they’re simply no longer relevant. In such cases tossing the notes can be symbolic. I let those thoughts go in the physical act of tossing the paper. In an odd way, this frees the concepts. Most of them are just gone, but more than once I’ve had an old concept come back to me transformed by a new event. This transformation is harder if I have the concept pinned to an old shape in note form.

As I go through the notebooks I often discover that I’ve written notes on the same topic on several places. In such cases I consolidate and copy these notes so that they are in one place rather than several. This means that when I go to find that topic it is easier for me to recall all the thoughts. It also means that once things are copied I can throw away the superfluous pages. I kind of enjoy tearing pages out of my notebook and throwing them out. I particularly enjoy it when I’m throwing notes away because I’ve already written something using them. It is the same sort of satisfaction one gets from checking off a task, only tearing out a sheet of paper is more tangibly satisfying. I like seeing my notebooks get thinner because I’ve used the thoughts that were in them.

Part of my brain pictures one of my heirs or a future historian lamenting the fact that I threw away notes. But honestly most of the notes are so fragmentary they would me little to anyone besides me. Also I would rather have my children lament a shortage of notes than to saddle them with boxes of irrelevant papers to sort through. They’ll get enough of that anyway what with all of the journals and blog entries that I create. The world will have plenty of words from me without keeping old, dead notes.

And now, having written this entry, you must pardon me as I go tear out the note that I should write about sorting notes. I’m done with it now.

Emotional Journey Triggered by Revision Notes

By / September 1, 2010

This week I had my first experience with editorial notes on a piece of my writing that will be published. I found fascinating the emotional processes I had to dispatch so that I could focus on the suggested changes and decide how to implement them. The emotional arcs are particularly fascinating to me as I’ve had turns being a critiquer and an editor. I’ve been the one to dish out editorial advice and I know how hard it can be to criticize constructively. I appear to be very fortunate in my editor in this regard.

The revision notes for my essay arrived in my mailbox during the middle of a week filled with child meltdowns. Remembering that a fellow writer’s group member always makes sure to thank us for complaining about his work, I fired off an immediate Thank You. Then I put the notes aside until I could make space for them. Well, almost. I glanced through first. And discovered that I am far from immune to criticism. I was afflicted by odd flashes of irritation. I was not able to identify why until I had space in my schedule and forced myself to give a more thorough reading to the notes.

I was irritated because I was tired and the notes pointed out very clearly places where I could work much harder to improve the writing. I was also momentarily irritated when the same issue was pointed out in multiple places. “I get it already!” the back of my brain insisted while the front of my brain knew that pointing out all the examples is part of an editor’s job. Also there is no way for an editor alone with a page of text to know which points will be rapidly clear to an author and which will need multi-iteration to sink in. That kind of rapport can be built over time, but this is the first set of notes. Harder to resolve emotionally for me were the few places where editorial suggestions ran counter to what I felt was right for the piece. This originally manifested as irritation, but once I saw the disconnect, I instantly shifted into problem solving.

The larger emotional curve I had to weather in relation to the editorial notes was not about the notes at all. The subject matter of this essay is very close to my heart. In order to properly revise, I have to dig out all that old emotion and pin it to the page again. I worried that the zeitgeist which led me to write the piece would be gone. I worried that I could not make it any better than I already had. I knew that the revision process would wear me out.

Once that whole mess of emotions was acknowledged, a last emotion emerged and filled me up. Gratitude. Multiple editors have looked at my essay. They know it is flawed and they want it anyway. They not only want my essay, but they are giving me the gift of their time and energy to tell me how I can make the essay even better. I can not express how honored I feel that they care for my words.

Once I cleared all of that out of my head. The actual revision went very well. I’m going to let it settle for a couple of days, look it over again, and then it will be back to the editor for publication or more notes. Even if there are more notes, I don’t think I’ll have to deal with the emotions again. Which is good.

Thoughts on ambition in the absense thereof

By / July 30, 2010 / 1 Comment

My ambition appears to be AWOL right now. Not surprisingly in the absence of ambition, I’m finding it hard to feel stressed about this. I would probably be more worried about it, but it has done this before. My ambitious drive is somewhat similar to my childhood dog who would periodically escape our yard to wander for a bit. He always came home, just as I know that my drive to create and put myself forward professionally will come back to me. But in its absence I find myself reveling in the calm security of home things. And I wonder why on earth I wanted to struggle to write and then put myself through an emotional grinder to attempt to publish. I already have so many important and difficult things to do without that as well.

But in the back of my brain a quiet little voice whispers a that once I had a strong feeling that finishing my book is somehow important. The voice is a mere echo, soft and low. I hear it, but I’m not ready to rediscover that sense of importance. I’m not ready to do all the hard and scary things necessary to bring that project to completion. It has been so nice to vanish into my supportive roles, to be wife, mother, business manager, neighbor, sister, daughter, and friend; all roles where I am defined by how I relate to others. I even find scriptural and religious evidence that self-abnegation in the service of others is a good thing. I remember how a decade ago I used to picture myself as a sturdy, deep thread in the tapestry of life; the kind of thread that is almost invisible but makes the beautiful patterns possible. That is who my younger self believed I would be. I remember that then wonder from whence came the drive which has me stepping forward to attempt to weave a shiny pattern of my own? Religion and scripture answer me here as well. Yes, I am to serve others, but the primary point of my existence on earth is to learn, grow, and become. The service I give is to teach me as much as it is to bind me to others and assist them. Because all I will get to take with me when I go are the things in my head and the relationships I have formed.

So I am called to step forward, do hard things, be not afraid. I must follow the call, not for personal ambition or aggrandizement, but because I feel it is the right thing to do. The call is soft right now, like the distant bark of a dog headed home, but I know it is coming. Then it will be time to stop resting and work again. At the moment I don’t look forward to that, but I know when I get there I will find the work rewarding.

The cupboard in my mind

By / July 23, 2010

I have many metaphors to explain how my mind works. I swap them out at will, using whichever one most aptly describes my experience at that moment. Today I am picturing my life as a workspace with tables, shelves, cupboards, and filing cabinets. I am finally to a place where I am finishing off projects and clearing tables that have been buried for months. I’ve had time to pull out the contents of the parenting shelves and look at the work that needs to be done there. I’ve also been shuffling things around on the housekeeping shelf. These are good things. I’m glad to have time to give them some of my focused attention, rather than scattered maintenance.

Behind me is a cupboard. The door on the cupboard is closed. In that cupboard are my writer thoughts. I put them away and shut the door once I saw how busy I was. I simply could not afford to trip over them while in the midst of other things. For the first while I added things to the cupboard, supplies for future need. I closed the door firmly each time. But as the busy time prolonged, my brain simply stopped collecting writerly thoughts. I let them go rather than trying to store them. So the thoughts in the cupboard waited. When I open the cupboard I will find everything stacked away neatly. It will take me some time and effort to pull the ideas out, remember where I was, and re-teach my brain to collect those writerly thoughts. I know how it will go because I’ve put away writer thoughts many times over the years. Sometimes I grieved at having to put them away. This time I did not, because I knew they would wait for me.

I have not opened the cupboard yet. I’m a little afraid to. Usually a hiatus from writing is followed by a period of intense creativity. I’m not ready for that. I still want to rest. I want to finish off the summer conventions. I want to get the kids settled in school. But I’m not sure I’ll wait that long. Because I could keep making excuses for why I should wait. The things I keep in that cupboard bring me joy even though they are a lot of work. I am almost rested enough to want that work again. I did not open the cupboard today, but I did some preparatory work. I finally installed Word onto my laptop, which has been without a word processor since it crashed several months ago. The time is near, but for now I’ll turn away from the cupboard and put the kids to bed.

Endless Saturday Afternoon

By / June 4, 2010

So far the summer feels like one endless Saturday. This is because all the kids are home all day, just like they are on Saturdays. So I float anchorless through the week, continually surprised to discover that today is in fact Friday (Or Tuesday, or Thursday). Sundays are anchored by church, everything else floats.

Despite the drifting nature of the week, I am still getting lots of work done. This is good and necessary. Every day brings us closer to book shipping, GenCon, and AussieCon. Each of these events has piles of necessary associated tasks. I’m working my way through the lists, keeping careful notes to make sure nothing gets forgotten. Of course things do get missed, but I try to make sure they are small things.

My focus on all things merchandise and convention has crowded writing out for now. This will change, but at the moment it is necessary. Writing in the summer is always hard because I have so few empty spaces in which to contemplate. All the spaces are filled with children. These children are all loving the relaxed schedule of summer. They are adapting admirably to the lists of chores on the wall, and the house is getting incrementally cleaner every day. This makes us all glad. Yes, the kids are glad too. They like having clean places to play.

June is a month which will mostly be spent at home. This is good. We need time to stabilize. Howard needs time to build up the buffer. Because at the end of the month the books will arrive.

CONduit this weekend

By / May 26, 2010 / 1 Comment

I’ll be attending CONduit this weekend and they’ve assigned me some programming.

On Friday at 2 pm I’m part of a panel called “If I Were a Space Pirate.” Unfortunately a last minute family conflict popped up and I may be late for it (or possibly absent.) If that happens I’ve arranged for Eric James Stone to take my place. Eric is a wonderful writer and a good panelist, well worth listening to.

Saturday at 2 pm I’m participating in “Raising Geek Kids.” It should be a fascinating discussion about the cross section between parenting and geekery.

Saturday at 3 pm I have a signing. I’ll bring copies of Hold on to Your Horses and Ages of Wonder for people to buy if they wish. Mostly I expect to have nice conversations with the folks waiting in line for James Dashner.

Saturday at 4:30 I have a thirty minute reading. I’m really looking forward to this. I enjoy reading aloud and it will be a fun chance for me to read a selection of essays and flash fiction. Hopefully I won’t be reading to an empty room. If you’re in the area, please stop by.

Stuff to do in the month of May

By / May 7, 2010 / 4 Comments

Today I will see Iron Man 2. It will be full of shiny explosions and not much to think about. This is good because my brain is ready for something not particularly thinky.

Balticon booth preparation: I need to ship merchandise to Balticon so that Howard has things to sell. At the end of the month I’ll have to help Howard pack so that he can go.

Balticon Art Show preparation: They’ve given Howard eight panels in the art show. This was at first a dismayingly large number. We could wallpaper a room with all the strips he has done, but that doesn’t look eye-catching in an art show. Fortunately I’ve communicated with the art show director and found a solution. We’ll be putting together the panels as something akin to a museum exhibit. There will be pictures of Howard’s workspaces, explanations of his process. We’ll also discuss the process I go through to ship out books and how the books layout is done. A whole panel will be devoted to the XDM project. Hopefully it will be educational and interesting. But I’ve got lots of work to do to get it ready and I have to mail it all to Baltimore by the end of next week.

The Quest for the Tavern: This is an XDM adventure module. Tracy has already finished a draft of the text. I’ve got to do preliminary layout so that Howard can see where the pictures need to go. Then I have to put in the pictures. There also needs to be lots of copy editing and probable text revisions. The whole process needs to be complete by the end of May so that the thing can go to print.

RMS pre-orders: We’ll be opening pre-orders toward the end of this month. Before we can do that, I need to line up t-shirt reprints and magnet re-prints, and poster re-prints. We want all of these things available in the store so that people can buy lots of stuff and combine shipping. But it means hours of prep time getting the store ready to go.

Conduit: I’m listed on the website. I expect to be doing presentations and panels. I’ll need to prepare and to schedule myself so that I can be where I need to be.

Family stuff: The end of school brings a multitude of closing activities. There are a school carnival, field day, dances, birthday parties, mother’s day programs, and end of school homework projects.

Writing: Hah. I want there to be writing. I’m just not sure where I can possibly fit it in.

Listening to the voices in my head again

By / April 12, 2010

Why does it matter? What do you write for? Why would anyone other than you want to read it anyway?

These thoughts come in the wake of two months when the only writing time I find is after I’ve already burned out my creative energies on book layout or parenting crises. In the middle of it all I had a pounding certainty that it was time for me to begin the query process. I felt I needed to get moving on submitting my book to publishers. So I put together a query and gave it to a friend to critique. Sending out queries sounded lovely, because then the fate of the book would be out of my hands for awhile. I would be allowed to rest because nothing I could do would make a difference. Sometimes that powerlessness feels awful, but lately my life had been full of things which depended upon me. The thought of having one piece finished and waiting on someone else sounded heavenly. Then the critique came back. And it was an excellent critique. And I saw that the whole project needs much more revision. This is not something I can hurry up and finish. This is something I need to take time and do right.

So the voices are fed by my fatigue. If the writing doesn’t matter, then I could let it go. I would have one thing less to do.

It matters. What you write matters.

The other voices whisper and chatter at the edges of my brain. This one resonates from the center. It is like a drum so large that it is more felt than heard. I believe this voice. But I can’t understand why. Why should it matter? Having it not matter would be a comfort in a way. But I know that it does matter, that writing will always be something that is part of my life. Writing will wait patiently during the times when I have no attention to spare and it will pounce on me when time is available again. I also know that I must finish this blog/essay book project. I need it to be complete, although again I don’t know why. I am tired when I think how much more work is involved.

This circle of thoughts is not new. I’ve been on this ride before. The same set of doubts and fatigue have besieged me over parenting, and gardening, and shipping, and just about every other piece of my life. Nor do I imagine I am alone in this. Doubting the value of our labors seems to be built into the human psyche. Knowing I’m being taken for a ride does not make it easy to climb off the carousel. All I can do is tune in to that drumming voice in my center. It is hard to hear, but if I can just follow that voice I’ll be fine.