Month: January 2018

Write in the Morning to Maximize Productivity

Every morning, I wake up, get the coffee beans ground, get the water heating, and then I sit down and write for an hour. At the end of that session, I check my “session target” bar in Scrivener, and a satisfied warmth suffuses my brain. I’ve discovered a couple of things about writing first thing in the morning. 1) It’s getting easier. 2) It seems to lead to more productive writing in the afternoon.

Becoming a Morning Person

I don’t particularly enjoy getting up at 5 AM every day. It’s a new habit I’m trying to cultivate as part of a synergistic new year resolution I made with my spouse. Get up early, engage in some form of exercise for 20 or 30 minutes, then write for an hour. That’s the goal, and so far I’ve succeeded with only a couple of slip-ups (one of which I fully blame on the Bombogenesis of 2018).

The actual getting up part of this is, slowly, getting easier for me due to some tremendous positive reinforcement (I’ll get to that later). The exercise part of things… ummm, yeah. No. I’m not. I should. But I’m not. Do I feel bad about that? Yep. Am I going to build the working out part back into my morning routine? One day, yes. That day is not close, though.

Regarding physically getting up and getting my day going, though? That’s getting easier.

The neuroscientists reading my blog (hey, they could be) are nodding their heads. There’s plenty of science to back up what I’m experiencing: doing something over and over makes it easier to do. Charles Duhigg wrote a book about it called The Power of Habit. I haven’t read it, but I did read this NPR article: Habits: How They Form and How to Break Them that shilled for his book. I’m glad I did because it made me realize that I’ve accidentally included something into my morning routine that’s pretty clutch when it comes to habit formation: CONCRETE AND IMMEDIATE REWARDS.

In my earlier post, Writing is Like Baseball: You Gotta Swing for the Fences, I talked about the fact that I’m trying to write an entire first draft of a novel by April 9th. Scrivener has allowed me to set a deadline date and a word count goal. As I write, Scrivener calculates how many words I need to write every day to meet my deadline. This, friends, is where I have accidentally been rewarding myself.

Session Targets are My Friend

Take a look at that picture over there on the left. That green bar is pretty, isn’t it? That was my session target bar at 4:23 PM yesterday afternoon. Not too shabby. I try to make sure that I’ve hit my daily word count goal before I head on home to my family after work because when I get home, writing gets really difficult.

Anyway, I have always, always responded well to extrinsic feedback and rewards. I’m terrible at doing things for myself, but I am great at doing them for someone (or something) else. Scrivener is my external motivator. I will write that session target into the green and love every minute of it.

If I’m slogging along in a scene and the words aren’t coming quickly and I feel tempted to just close up shop for the day and quit, I can open up that session target and get re-motivated to push for those last couple hundred words. It works every single time. I’m not saying the words are fabulous. I’m just saying this feature helps keep me writing when I might otherwise stop.

In the mornings, I’ve been writing forward in my current novel project. It’s only an hour, and this is right after I’ve gotten up, remember. I’m not breaking any productivity records here. But check it out: when 6:30 AM rolls around (I have a timer to make sure I don’t fall into the page and get lost), I open up my “Session Target” bar and have a little peek to see how I did.

The kids aren’t even up yet, and I’m halfway done!

That sight, that glorious yellow bar reaching more than halfway across the screen, well it just makes me smile. Seriously, I close up my computer and finish my 5:00 AM writing session feeling like a character from the LEGO Movie (everything is awesome!) The kids aren’t even up yet, and I’m already halfway toward achieving my daily word count goal.

If that isn’t a concrete and immediate reward, I don’t know what is.

Write Earlier to Write More Later

Something else happens when I knock off 300 to 400 words first thing. In addition to flooding my brain with dopamine like some literary addict, I also prime my imaginative pump and set myself up for my afternoon writing session.

All day long, I find myself thinking about my story and wanting to get back to it. My morning session takes my project and moves it to the front burner of my mind. Come afternoon, I’m more than ready to sit down and dive back in, and I think that those afternoon sessions are becoming more productive, too. There’s probably some science to support that observation, but I don’t know what it is. I could Google it, I suppose, but really, this post is eating up too much of my time already. It’s 3:15 PM. I’ve got an itch that needs scratching. It’s time to knock out those remaining 332 words and fill that bar with glorious, goal-oriented green.

This whole get-up-early-and-write thing seems to be working out for me so far.

Do you write in the mornings? Have you always? If not, would you ever give it a try?

January 23, 2018
Writing is like Baseball: You Gotta Swing for the Fences!

Writing is like baseball. Most of the time, you recognize the pitch coming in and you manage a solid single when you swing at it. Occasionally, you strike out. Every once in a great while, though, you hit a grand slam. Or, if you’re new at it, like me, you dream about hitting a grand slam and when it’s your turn at bat, you give it everything you have and swing for the fences.

Between now and April 9th, I’m going to try to crank out an entire novel, start to finish. It’s okay, coach told me to do it.

Here’s the Pitch

I just got back from my amazing, energizing, mad-capped Residency at Lesley University. This was my fourth and (almost) final trip to geeky writer’s camp for grown-ups. That means I have officially entered my fourth semester of a four-semester-long program. This is it, folks. Everything else was just practicing in the batting cages. The lights are up, the bleachers are packed, it’s the bottom of the ninth inning and the bases are loaded. I’m going to use a bunch of baseball metaphors in this post in case my Thesis Advisor, Chris Lynch, catches wind of this post and reads it. You know him. He wrote Inexcusable, Irreversible, Killing Time in Crystal City, Little Blue Lies, Gold Dust, and a bunch of other incredible award-winning novels.

Anyway, residency is a mixture of seminars, panel discussions, and workshop sessions in which a bunch of us sit around and give critical feedback to each other on pieces we submitted at the beginning of December.

The workshop sessions are one of the highlights of residency for me. I absolutely love reading other people’s writing, digging into it deeply, and then discussing it with other serious and passionate writers. I also love receiving feedback on my stuff. Even when folks point out more problems than positives in my work, I find the experience hopeful.

This time around was a slightly different workshop experience for me for a couple of reasons.

First, I’m entering my “Thesis Semester.” On May 7th, I must turn in between 100 and 120 pages of a “finished” piece of writing to someone who has never set eyes on it before–Jason Reynolds. Ever heard of him? Of course you have, you’re using the internet and you’re reading a blog about writing.

So, yeah. No pressure, right? Riiiiiiight. [takes a moment to breathe into a paper bag] Okay, I’m good.

Most students entering the Thesis Semester have a working draft already completed, or at least a very solid chunk of it.

The second reason why it was a different experience was because Mr. Lynch pitched something at me I was not expecting.

A Curve Ball

Six days before my residency workshop pieces were due (we need to write two pieces, each between 3,000 and 6,500 words long), I contacted Chris Lynch with a question. It was via email, but this is how the conversation sounded in my imagination (I may have taken extreme liberties with the details).

“Hi, Chris.”

“Oh, hey, Kathy. Great to hear from you. I’ve heard so much about you from my colleagues. Can’t wait to work with you!” (He said none of that, by the way.)

“Thanks, Chris. Same to you. So… I’ve got two different books going right now.”

“Okay.”

“One’s a fun MG steam punk piratical fantasy adventure story. I’m enjoying it, but it’s not quite your style, I think.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The other is a gritty YA post-apocalyptic wilderness survival story. Totally up your alley, but it’s a hot mess at the moment. Needs a ton of work.”

“Right.”

“Maybe I could submit some of one novel for my Large Group Workshop and some of the other novel for my Small Group Workshop, and then you could tell me which one you like better, and we could use that for my thesis.”

“Hmmm… when are they due again?”

“Six days from now.”

“Yeah. Okay, so, why don’t you make up a completely new story from scratch and submit that for both your workshop pieces.”

[Eyes bulging with terror] “Are you sure?”

“Definitely. That’s what I want you to do. I’m your all powerful Thesis Advisor. Do you really want to say no to me?”

“Hahaha, no. No, definitely not. I mean, yes, that sounds great. I will totally do that for you. New story. Six days. Not a problem. Thank you so much.”

“You’re so welcome. Glad you called. Take care now. Bye-bye.” [click]

Did I freak out after I got his email reply? You bet your buttons I did. I wrote a post about it, actually. But then I did what he asked me to do and cranked out about 7,000 words of a brand-spanking new story. I wrote that sucker so fast and in such a panic that I didn’t stop to question anything. Setting, characters, plot, dialogue, point-of-view, nothing! I put my fingers on the keyboard, cleared my mind, and wrote Ouija-style!

Swinging For the Fences!

Turns out, the thing that fell out of my brain was… kind of cool. It feels a little weird to write that, but there you have it. Once I got over the shock of what I’d produced (a militant feminist world dominated by psychic women who are into all kinds of stuff our society has deemed taboo), I had to admit to myself that I kind of liked the story. Okay, I fully liked it.

I think all my pent-up rage from the past two years of… I’m not going to that dark place…came bubbling to the surface when Chris was all, like, “write me brand new stuff NOW!” My beloved called it my “man-hating” story. Chris called it a “black-widow feminist” piece. I’m calling it The 42nd Queen. Eh, it’s a working title.

Chris also told me I should make it my thesis project. In all fairness, he didn’t order me to do it. He’s not a monster, for Thor’s sake. I might even go so far as to say he’s a pretty awesome, inspiring, and kind guy. And, if I’m honest, what I wrote at his request (though I cursed him as I wrote it) is one of the first things I’ve written in a long time that gave me the feels as I was writing it. That means something, I think.

So, yeah. I’m going to make it my thesis project. Fourth semester shall not be my revision semester. It shall be my militant feminist, Ouija-style writing semester.

And if I’m going to take a swing at this, I’m going to swing for the fences.

120 page? Pshaw! Too easy.

Let’s try for a grand slam. An entire draft of a novel. In 82 days.

If I’m going to take a crack at this, I’m going to swing for the fences, Babe.

I mapped it out and it’s definitely possible. Assuming (perhaps naïvely) that I write 810 words every single day between now and then, I can hit 75,000 words (about 350 pages) by April 9th. There’s no guarantee they’ll be good words, but that’s beside the point.

The pitch has been thrown. It’s a curve ball breaking to the inside corner, and I’ve got a bead on it. The bat’s beginning to come around. My hips are cocked. Body weight shifting off the back leg. Here it comes.

Think I can do it?

January 17, 2018
From the Heart of the Bombogenesis

Before I dive into what “living through a Bombogenic event” felt like, allow me to begin by saying that as of this morning I failed at one of my three New Year Resolutions. If you’re curious about which one that might be, keep reading and see if you can figure it out, or click the link to the post where I laid them out.

I’m not proud of my failure in resolve and will power this morning, but I do at least have an excuse that (to me) feels less like an excuse and more like an explanation. I and my family spent the day dealing with a Really Freaking Big Snow Storm. Not blizzard of ’78 big. I’m not making a boast that ridiculous. I get to call it Really Freaking Big because of how it pitched my life sideways and what that felt like.

How Do You Stay Warm in a House with No Insulation?

Our house was built in the 1950’s on land that was part of a government veterans program post WW2 in which veterans were sold land for $1.00/acre. The program was a “Hey, thanks for doing that dangerous, deadly, horribly traumatizing thing for not just your own country’s citizens but for everyone pretty much everywhere” gift from US taxpayers. That was awesome, but in the 1950’s, insulation just wasn’t… good.

Imagine insulating a house by laying a piece of cotton felt between the studs and joists and then gluing a piece of aluminum foil to it. That’s about what we’ve got. The result is, heat bleeds out of our house at a prodigious rate.

We usually deal with this inconvenience by keeping our thermostat set to 55˚F, except for first thing in the morning when we indulge in a toasty 63˚F while everyone’s getting ready for school and work. Not so, when the Bombogenesis struck.

The temperature over the past two weeks has been abysmally cold. This morning, I heard a news reporter crow like a rooster that Boston was officially colder than Bismarck, North Dakota. Also, at what point did “who’s colder” become a thing to compete over? Anyway, we’re talking a two week period where temps regularly dipped or flat out stayed in the single digits. If you’re someone who lives where that’s a regular occurrence and you’re scoffing, I’d ask you to pause for a moment. Weather that cold is not a typical thing on the eastern coast of Massachusetts. Many homes (mine included) weren’t architecturally designed for such conditions. Freezing and bursting pipes is a genuine threat. The easiest way to avoid that happening is to crank the heat in your home.

Our heat-leaking home has had its thermostat set to 65˚F night and day for the past seven days.

What To Do With All That Snow And Nowhere To Put It?

Yesterday, ten inches of snow fell on us. It may have been more or less than that, but the wind was blowing so hard that there are bare spots in some places and giant snow drifts in other places. Point is, a LOT of snow.

I and the kids got a snow day, which we were all pretty stoked about.

All of Thursday, we listened to the wind roar through the trees around our house and slam itself against our northern face. We stood at our picture window and watched it drive sheets of snow almost parallel to the ground, so thick there were moments when we lost sight of the neighbor’s house across the street.

We stayed inside and sipped cocoa. I did some writing. The kids spent way too much time playing video games. My beloved got down into the studio and did some photographating. We cooked dinner and ate as a family and counted our blessings for being fortunate enough to have a warm home and plenty of food and electricity.

But today was (and I’ll get to the “was” thing in a moment) supposed to be my first day of my fourth and (almost) final nine-day-long, on-campus residency for Lesley University’s Low Residency Masters in Creative Writing program. Which meant we needed to get the cars dug out so I had a way to get to the train station this morning, because even if I wanted to walk the mile and a quarter to the train station, the sidewalks wouldn’t be dug out. No way I was going to walk the narrow, snow-plowed streets. I’d get creamed.

The photo really doesn’t do it justice. We also had to shovel our way down our front steps to even get to the cars.

So, after dinner, we ALL suited up and headed outside, shovels in hand and began the two-hour-long torture session of shoveling during the Bombogenesis. Odin, let me tell you, snowflakes sting like [insert preferred curse word here] when they’re pelting your face at 50 mph… in the dark… in single digit temperatures. I don’t usually post photos online of the areas in or around my house, but I think it will help give context to the volume of snow that we had to move and where we had to put it.

By the time we were done, I was done. Toast. Not physically sore, no. More like numb and flacid, as if my muscles had been replaced by jelly. I was moving slow, and it was an effort.

When the 5am alarm sounded this morning, my beloved (cut from a stronger cloth than I) rose to do our morning workout routine. I did not. I slept until 7am, when I was woken by the sound of the porch door being wrestled/slammed shut and someone stamping snow of their boots on the porch. Then the kitchen door opening and closing.

I went downstairs and learned that, during the night, plows had come by and undone most of what we’d shoveled the night before. And by undone, I mean they put back the 3′ high by 5′ wide mound of wet, grimy street snow that had blocked our driveway entrance. Instead of waking me and asking/demanding I help dig back out, my better half simply suited up and took care of things so that I could sleep in. Because today was my first day of residency, and it was going to be a long day for me. I know, I am blessed!!

But the Bombogenesis wasn’t finished with us yet.

No Insulation Plus A Ton of Snow Equals Ice Dams

As I grabbed my cup of coffee, sipped it, and strolled past our bathroom on the way to waking up my oldest child to let them know that their school had been cancelled for a second day, I glanced out the bathroom window and beheld an icicle as thick around as a grown man’s thigh streaming down glass like a frozen mountain stream.

Oh. My. God.

No one ever went out yesterday with the roof rake! Not once did it occur to me that with the heat up so high, all day long, the snow landing on the roof was melting, dripping into the metal gutter that was the same temperature as the air (9˚F) and freezing. We probably had an ice dam the size of Fort Peck sitting on our back roof.

I chugged my coffeed, and together I and my beloved suited back up and went back outside to deal with all the digging out we didn’t do last night. Luckily what at first appeared to be the mother of all ice dams ended up being a gigantic cornice of wind-compressed snow. We easily knocked off and then raked off the rest of the roof. Thankfully, it didn’t have a lot of snow on it because the wind was so fierce during the Bombogenesis. We shovelled a path to the basement door and cleared that out, then dug our way over to our dryer vent and cleared that out, then dug a path out to the middle of the yard so that our medium sized mutt could have a place to do his business without freezing his wiener off in snow up to his shoulders.

I may have slept in this morning, but I still got my workout in. Thanks mother nature.

Okay, potential ice dam crisis averted. I still had just over two hours before I had to catch a train into Cambridge for my first seminar of my Residency. How I was going to muster the physical energy needed to pick up a pen and write with it, I wasn’t sure, but I was ready. In fact, I was excited.

At Least I Had Residency To Look Forward To

Pretty much since December 1st, I’ve been counting down the days until my (almost) final residency. I’ve made some incredible friends through this program. They are spread out all over the country: Texas, Las Vegas, Seattle, Georgia, West Virginia, New York City. I get to see them face-to-face just twice a year for nine days during residency. For that reason alone, I’ve been looking forward to today. But, the program is so much more than that. The instructors, the seminars, the intensity of the learning process, the raw energy of being surrounded by other writers equally passionate about creative writing as I am? It’s intoxicating. It’s exhilarating. It’s nerdy writing camp for grown-up’s and it’s awesome!!

About a half hour before my train was scheduled to depart, I got an email from the director of my program stating that, because so many of the residency students and professors’ flights had been cancelled or delayed, today’s residency program had been cancelled. We’ll be jumping into Saturday classes on time tomorrow.

Well, Sugar Honey Iced Tea. That certainly does suck eggs. Glad I thought to check my email on last time before I took off.

Guess I’ll have to wait one extra day to see my friends again and experience the joy that is living, breathing, and eating all things devoted to the art and craft of creative writing. I still can’t wait.

In the meantime, since I feel I just need a few hours to recover myself, physically from lifting and throwing 15 to 25 lb loads of snow over and over again for a total of four of the past twenty-four hours, I thought I’d set up camp on my couch and blog about what it was like at my house during the Bombogenesis.

And by the way, please don’t be fooled by that term or by the giddy meteorologists dancing around up on top of big piles of snow singing the word at you. This Bombogenesis was just a typical New England Nor’easter with lower than typical temperatures. New Englanders are used to crazy and sometimes difficult to deal with weather. We deal with it.

Did the Beast of Bombogenesis impact you? Tell me about it in the comments.

January 5, 2018
IWSG January Post – Making the Writing Happen
This month’s IWSG post asks the question:

What steps have you taken to put a schedule in place for your writing and publishing?

How apropos.

Before I continue, I must give a shout out to this month’s most excellent hosts: Tyrean Martinson, The Cynical Sailor, Megan Morgan, Rachna Chhabria, and Jennifer Lane. Thank you all for hosting this month’s IWSG blog hop.

2018 is right around the corner, and in my household, it is a big deal. I and my beloved don’t usually enjoy marching to the beat of a predictable, trite, or clichéd drum, and the whole tradition of making new year resolutions certainly fits that description. That said, new year resolutions are, in fact, something we do, and we get jazzed about it, too.

I’m all about the power of positive thinking and positive visualization. Think forward, not backward, I say. What do I want my future to look like, I ask, and then I act to manifest that future. The first step in that process happens in my own mind.

The act of ticking over a new year on the first of January is, as I well know, an imaginary contrivance of human perception. Not to mention, it’s dependent upon which calendar you follow. Sumerian? Aztec? Norse? Celtic? Nubian? Heck, I could invent my very own calendar system and start the year on November 12th. Why not?

Okay, so the start of a new year is a fictitious concept, but it’s one that I enjoy celebrating, almost worshiping. It provides me with a stimulus, a prompt, a chance to pause and contemplate my accomplishments (and failures) of the past spin around Solaris, and look forward to imagine what the next spin might be like.

What am I proud of doing? What are my regrets? How can I transform those regrets into positives moving forward? What challenges can I throw at myself that will test me and improve me either physically, intellectually, or spiritually? That’s what celebrating the new year and making resolutions is all about in my house.

It’s serendipitous that this month’s IWSG prompt deals with finding ways to fit writing into my life because it’s already one of my resolutions for the new year.

2017 was an unacceptably sedentary year for me in which I got a lot of writing done, but not enough and it always felt shoved in last minute. Most of my writing happened in the late afternoons, at the end of a long day of teaching, or worse, after dinner when all I wanted to do was go to bed. It always felt forced. I was Sisyphus, standing at the bottom of the hill, hands against the boulder. Not good.

Here’s my plan for 2018:
1. Wake up at 5 am every day except Sunday, so that I have time to:
2. Work out for 20 to 30 minutes with my beloved, then:
3. Write for one hour.
That’s right, the big new year’s resolution for me is to become–wait for it–a morning person! My writing time will become part of an established routine. I’m not stipulating what I’ll be writing. It could be rough drafts, editing work, blogging, journaling, anything as long as it is writing.

The great thing about my plan is that I’m not alone in it. My beloved and I are engaging in this resolution together. We’re going to support each other, motivate each other, hold each other accountable. In other words, misery loves company, and I’m going to have some. Technically I already do, because I wrote this post on December 27th, but it won’t go up until January 3rd. By the time you read this, I’ll have three early mornings under my belt. Feel free to ask me how it’s going a month from now; most failed resolutions die in the third week of implementation. (Not me, not me, not me, not me <– see that? Positive thinking, baby!)

2018, here I come! If all goes as I’m visualizing it, 2019 will see me healthier and much, much farther along in my writing career.

If you’ve got a plan for getting more writing time worked into your schedule, or if you’ve already successfully done it, I’d love to hear about it in the comments!

Happy 2018, everyone, and happy writing.
January 3, 2018