Category: Creativity

My Interview for Arthur McCabe’s Website!

My Very First “Writer” Interview!!

Over on the website Interviews from the Void, I had the honor of chatting with Arthur McCabe about a whole bunch of interesting writing stuff. It’s a sign of how inept I am at professional marketing and blogging that I only just thought today of mentioning this on my own site.

In any case, Arthur and I talked about the neuroscience of engaging fiction, how evolving communication technologies are or aren’t changing readers brains, and how I use neuroscience both when I write for and teach science to teens. The questions were thoughtful and I revealed a lot about myself, I think, in the interview.

If you’re interested, check it out.

Interviews from the Void: Episode 24 – Katherine Karch

August 5, 2018
Refilling the Creative Well – A Must for All Artists

If you hadn’t yet realized, I’m a big fan of Julie Cameron’s book (and 12-week, self-guided course) The Artist’s Way. I took it as an interdisciplinary course my first semester in Lesley University’s MFA in Creative Writing program. It changed the way I thought about myself, about my creativity, and about the creative life in general. And one of the biggest lessons I learned in taking the class was this: creative individuals need to nurture their creative spirit by “refilling the creative well.”

The Act of Creation is Tiring

It is a common misconception among non-creatives and casual creatives that artists don’t “work” at what they do. From an outsider’s perspective, creation looks like play, and to some degree it is, but it is anything but casual play. It is active, and focused, and intentional, and draining.

That last point is essential to understand. Tapping into your creative mind is tiring, though many of us don’t notice that we’re fatiguing until we’re lying face down like a stick of butter that’s been left out on the counter in August. Letting ourselves reach that point is damaging and dangerous and difficult to recover from, so how we avoid it?

Try scheduling activities into your life that will nurture your creative spirit. Not use it, mind you. These are moments in which, as an artist, you receive rather than produce. Julie Cameron calls them “artist dates.” She advocates one per week. I agree, though I fall far from accomplishing that once-a-week schedule myself.

An artist date is anything that lets you to take in and enjoy the external world. Go out to eat at a nice restaurant. Go for a walk in the woods. Visit the beach. See an art installation at a local museum. Attend a concert. These should be private moments when you can be alone. For me, that’s difficult because my beloved is a visual artist. We tend to bundle our artist dates, which is fine but not ideal. Doing anything with anyone else necessarily involves moments of compromise, small or large. Artist dates are supposed to be 100% about you, so my co-dates aren’t ideal, but they’re certainly better than nothing.

Investing in Yourself as an Artist

The purpose of giving yourself an Artist Date is to “refill your creative well.”

Whether you’re a composer, a painter, a poet, or a novelist the act of creation uses energy. Literally. It also uses neurotransmitters. If you’re continually working on your art, you’re activating and reactivating the same neural networks in your brain again and again. The cells of those neural networks talk to each other via chemicals that are manufactured at night while you sleep. Over time, you can deplete your store of neurotransmitter by using them faster than you can make them.

That’s the fatigue that sets it. The lethargy, the creative block, the depression, the doubt. You’ve been working so hard creating beautiful art that you’ve exhausted the parts of your brain involved in the process. Athletes know this as “overtraining.” They avoid it by building “off days” into their training programs. Creative folks would be wise to follow suit.

I’m a writer, but I love the visual arts. Photographs, sculpture, painting. When I feel like my creative energies are waning, I hit up the Boston Museum of Fine Art or look for a local photography exhibit to attend. It gives me a chance to witness, take in, and be emotionally touched by what others have created without activating the pathways I use when I’m writing. Ideas enter from the outside world, not from the inside world. They get in there, bounce around in my subconscious, and mingle with my own ideas like colors swirling on the surface of a bubble.

The creative well begins to fill once more. When I’m ready to sit back down and start producing again, all kinds of new and exciting things might emerge from having experienced the products of other artists’ creative acts.

Art Festivals are Your Friend

When is the last time you attended a local art festival? Summer is upon us, folks. It’s the high season for art associations to exhibit their members’ works. I can’t recommend them enough as a place to go to be recharged and reinvigorated as a creative spirit.

This past weekend, my beloved and I walked into downtown Salem and got to see some fabulous art at the Salem Artist Festival. We also listened to talented musicians perform and sparkling dancers dance. The square crackled with creative energy and positivity. I soaked it up like a sponge and found myself breathing deeper and smiling more widely on the walk home. Life was, is, good. My creative well is brimming. Check out the photos I took along the way, and if you’re local try to get down there this weekend and check it out. You won’t be disappointed.

On my walk into town

Sometimes Salem reminds me of Copenhagen

Themes of mortality displayed in a gallery I passed by.

Arrived at the Old Town Hall, site of the art show

A great turnout at the artist reception and show

This wall was all oceanic, including the epic paper sea dragon!

Best artistic representation of cows I’ve ever seen

Look at the marvelous synergy between these two pieces

Hauntingly beautiful

Cycles of the feminine creative spirit captured in a repurposed clock

Mixed media painting of a paper mill. Note the paper mixed into the paint.

Outdoor dancing in the square

These women were amazing performers!

Festivities continued into the evening with live music.

Lovely evening shot of the harbor on my walk home.

When’s the last time you did anything to refill your creative well? What did you do? How did you feel afterward?

Thanks for stopping by, and happy writing to you!

June 4, 2018
Surviving the Creative Wilderness—Attitude is Everything

How Not to Die in The Woods

I own a book called “Tom Brown’s Field Guide to Wilderness Survival.” It’s a great book. It doesn’t teach you how to read a map or use a compass. It doesn’t explain what gear is essential for an extended wilderness trek. It does explain how to keep yourself alive in the wilderness if you have absolutely nothing with you but the clothes on your back. And for creative folks navigating this life, isn’t that a great analogy for how we must exist? We’ve got nothing but the clothes on our back. Metaphorically only, I hope.

Tom Brown’s book is divided into four parts, arranged in order of importance from the perspective of not dying. Parts two, three, four, and five are (in this order): Shelter, Water, Fire, Food. If you stop and think about it, that order makes perfect sense. You could die of exposure in the first few hours without shelter from the elements. You could die in three days without water, give or take. You can go for a long time without food, but most of it will kill you if you don’t cook it first, so fire comes before food.

The first part of the book, and therefore the most important in terms of not dying when lost in the woods, is Attitude. It’s all about psychology. About the inner voice that gets louder and louder as things get tougher and tougher, whispering, stating, screaming that the situation is hopeless and we’re stupid, that we deserve to die out here. Tom Brown argues that most people who get lost in the wilderness and die do so because they give in to a creeping attitude of defeat.

Why, you might ask, am I writing about a wilderness survival guide? Because I’m a creative writer. I’m a creative person. I spend a lot of time wandering around in the wilderness of my psyche. And, like all creative artists, I find myself, from time to time, lost in those woods. Tom Brown is right. Whether the forest is real or psychological, attitude is the first and most important determiner of whether we’re going to make it out alive or not.

The Creative Life is a Hostile Wilderness

Between January 8^th and May 7^th, I wrote and revised 51,000+ words of a YA fantasy novel for my MFA thesis project at Lesley University. My goal was to finish an entire first draft of the novel by April. That, I’m sad to say, did not happen.

The writing process for grad school is interesting, especially during the thesis semester. Most students enter their final semester with a first draft of their thesis already written. They’ll spend four months revising it before submitting it. They’re traveling a well-worn path by that point.

I didn’t do that. I started from scratch. I took the road less traveled.

Let me tell you, the less-traveled path is not easy-going. It’s grown in and full of brambles and twisting roots to trip on. It’s hot and buggy, and most of it is uphill on a treacherous slope. There are many places where the trail just peters out and vanishes. And there’s quicksand. No one tells you about the quicksand!

My most excellent mentor!

For this final semester, I found myself wandering, slightly lost in the forest, losing the path and then stumbling upon it again. And as someone who does not plot well, I rarely knew in which direction I was traveling. But, I did manage to write 51,000+ words of a story that, with the help of my incredible mentor—Chris Lynch—was of graduate-level quality. I’d bushwhacked my way through some pretty dense, unforgiving territory.

I formatted everything according to spec, typed up the synopsis for the rest of the story as I imagined it, the path I thought lay before me, and I sent it off. I was out of the woods!

Losing the Way

And then I stopped writing.

Which wasn’t supposed to happen.

See, in my head, I’d have the rest of the novel written by June 1^st. It was going to be excellent. But, my brain was experiencing a level of fatigue I wasn’t prepared for. I just… couldn’t do it. Couldn’t even write a blog post. I looked around, and realized that I wasn’t out of the woods quite yet, as I’d thought.

A week went by. Okay, I thought, Time to get back to it.

Nope.

Two weeks. Surely, now. Two weeks must be enough time to recover from the mad dash I’d just been through, but no. In fact, something new had snuck into my brain to replace my mental exhaustion. As I stood looking around and what now seemed frighteningly unfamiliar territory, something snaked its coils around my chest and started to squeeze.

Fear.

Each time I thought about sitting down to work out the details of the next chapter of my story, my pulse quickened, and not with excitement. I started shying away from the story out of fear, though fear of what I didn’t know. Heck, I didn’t even know what was happening at the time, only that it had suddenly become very important that I not work on my writing. My writing was stalking me like some unseen creature in the underbrush.

As the days continued to slip by, a horrible pressing guilt settled on my shoulders. I should be writing, I chided myself, but I’m not. I’m failing. This is me, failing. I’m awful. I’m a loser. A joke. I’m never going to succeed at this because I’m supposed to be writing and I can’t even muster the simple will power needed to do touch my fingertips to a keyboard. It became a nasty feedback loop. Each day I didn’t sit down and write made it that much harder for me to get back to the chair, sit down, and write. I started hating myself. I stopped trying to get my bearings. I sat down on the cold, wet ground and started to let the ruinous forest of my blackest doubts leech from me my will to continue.

Odin help me, I was lost! Lost in a hostile forest, with the shadows of fear, doubt, and self-hate blinding me so that I couldn’t see a path forward, couldn’t even remember how I’d gotten there. I was becoming more and more certain that my journey was at an end. It was awful, and it felt inevitable.

The thing is, getting lost is a hazard of living a creative life. In some ways, getting lost really is inevitable, because the creative path is not well-travelled. I’d argue that if you’re doing things right as an artist, you’re blazing a new trail through the deepest, darkest woods of your own psyche. There are no paths here, children. Only shadows, and stones, and giant trees that might eat you if you get too close, and creatures too beautiful and terrible to look at directly. And, wait, haven’t I gotten snagged in this same bramble patch before? Oh, Thor! I’m going in circles! I’m lost, and it’s cold, and the sun’s getting low, the night creatures are coming, and I’ll never find my way out of this forest. Why did I think this was a good idea? I’m an idiot. I’m going to die in these woods, and no one will mourn my demise.

Countless talented artists wander into the creative forest with good intentions and never make it out again. They get lost, hit that moment of doubt and despair, give up, and die. Metaphorically.

For me, May has certainly felt like a slow death in a wild and inhospitable landscape.

Finding My Way Back

But then I received my feedback letter from my thesis reader—Jason Reynolds.

That’s him, the self-professed hater of fantasy stories. And the guy who got me moving again!

Quick back story. At the residency program back in January, Jason sat in a classroom with a bunch of us from the Writing for Young People concentration, and went off on a (gentle) tirade about how irritating he found the fantasy genre. Details are not important here. Suffice it to say, the man is not a fan. As he spoke, I sat with a polite smile cemented to my face and did my best not to freak out. You see, by that point, I already knew I was going to be writing a YA fantasy story for my thesis, and I’d already requested him as my thesis reader. A guy who hates fantasy is going to put final eyes on my fantasy thesis. Fantastic.

Anyway, four months later, I’m slipping into creative hypothermia, curling up in the fetal position, and making peace with my end, when I open his feedback letter and read it.

I was expecting lukewarm but professional feedback on my prose, my character development, my pacing, scene structure, etc. You can hate a story, after all, and still give constructive feedback on the writing, right? Lukewarm but professional feedback was not what I got.

For almost three weeks at that point, I’d been lost in the shadowy part of my self-made forest, under thick canopy, feeling the slow creep of horror setting in as I realized that the trees were endless and I was a hopeless, pathetic fool. Jason’s feedback was like discovering a high-powered flashlight in my back pocket, switching it on, and finding out that I’d been following a path the whole time without realizing it.

I can see again. Maybe I don’t have to die out here all alone in the cold, unforgiving forest of my mind. The book I’m writing is my destination once again. Chris Lynch had been my shelter. A few close writing-friends I’ve connected with through the program had been my water, my spouse is my fire, and all the fine books I’d been reading this semester have been my food.

So, with the help of Jason Reynold’s incredibly generous and encouraging words, I’m standing up, brushing the duff off my backside, and moving forward again. Sun’s up. The canopy is starting to thin out again, and I’m pretty sure this trail is not leading to pit trap filled with poison-tipped spikes. If it is, I know I can find a way to disarm it. I’ve shifted my attitude. I’m getting out of this alive.

Have you ever gotten lost in the darker parts of your creative forest? How long did you wander before finding your way out?

May 29, 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
The Plot Bunnies Are Winning!

I’m usually pretty good at handling the plot bunnies when they take up arms and attack. At least, that’s what I’ve always told myself. Upon reflection, however, I’ve reason to question that.

Trish Marie Dawson wrote a funny little blog post on this topic (I grabbed the drawing from her article). Check her out, folks. Very talented.

Trust not the adorable plot bunny!

But back to my dilemma. They’re sneaky, those bunnies. They usually hit me when I’m not paying attention. In the middle of a basketball game, or while I’m proctoring a test, or (most often) while I’m driving home from work. Never in the shower. Not sure why.

My strategy for dealing with them is to keep a notebook with me at all times. Except in the car, this doesn’t work, and the bunnies have finally figured this out, I think.

Anyway, a story idea will strike like an invisible punch to the face. I’ll gasp, get wide-eyed with excitement, garner a few sidelong glances from anyone nearby, then whip out my notebook and begin scribbling as fast as I can. A tricky feat when I’m supposed to be running the clock during the JV Boys basketball game, but I’ve only had folks scream “start the clock!” a couple of times, so it’s all good.

It’s the drive home that’s killing me. With no notebook handy (and I don’t use a dictation app because my brain isn’t good with verbal stuff), I have no shield to protect me from the bunnies. They attack me, defenseless, and burrow in deep. I spend twenty or thirty minutes mulling over the “what if,” inventing characters, hearing snippets of dialogue, visualizing a setting, a scene, an entire world.

By the time I get home, it’s too late. I can’t let go of the story. Even if I head straight to my desk, plop down in the chair, whip out my notebook and start writing it all down, the bunnies have nested.

The result? My current project loses appeal. It fades, becomes uninteresting. I’ve got something new and shiny to play with. Am I playing with it, or am I being played? I don’t know. Either way, the outcome is the same. I accumulate unfinished projects.

I try to make myself feel better about this nasty tendency to start stories, write like a demon, and then abandon them to start something new. It’s a bad habit, but I tell myself, “I’m a new writer, which means I’m also sort of a crappy writer. These story ideas are great, and in a few years, I’ll have gotten the whole storytelling thing figured out well enough so that when I finally go back to them, I’ll be able to do them justice.”

So really, I’m just building up a library of great ideas and practicing my writing skills as I do it. I’m still in control. I’m still winning. The plot bunnies aren’t the boss of me. Just let me have it, okay.

Meanwhile, I now find myself in the irresponsible position of juggling three novel projects simultaneously as I approach my (almost) final residency for my MFA in Creative Writing program at Lesley University. Dystopian YA, Steampunk Piratical Fantasy MG adventure, and now let’s add Feminist YA Epic Fantasy to the mix. Sure, why not?

Don’t blame me. Blame those adorable plot bunnies.

December 15, 2017
Good News, Bad News, and Trouble in Writing Town

I’ve got a thirty-minute break before my next parent-teacher conference, so I thought I’d use this time to do some writing. I know I won’t be able to get any meaningful creative writing done, sandwiched as this moment is between long and stressful blocks of trying to calm down nervous parents and stressed-out students. My stress levels are elevated today, too. Not a great place to be, mentally, when you want the ideas to flow. The doors of my imagination just can’t swing freely on their hinges at the moment.

Since I’m currently stress-blocked and don’t feel up to generating anything creative right now, I figured I’d use this time to sneak in a blog post and try to unpack a problem that has been dogging me of late.

Creative Constipation

Over the past week, forward progress on my WIP has slowed to a snail’s pace. I need to figure out what’s going on. What has changed? What can I do to unblock myself?

You know how everyone always says stuff like, “You can’t edit a blank page,” or “The first draft is supposed to be terrible?” Of course, you do, if you’re a writer. It’s inescapable, especially during the month of NaNoWriMo. I firmly buy into those clichéd tidbits of advice. If I had more time (hahaha) I’d needlepoint it onto a cushion and then sit on that cushion as I wrote.

However, something happened on the 15th that seems to have changed things and not for the better. We (being the folks in Lesley University’s MFA in Creative Writing Program) received our mentor pairings for next semester. Fourth semester students (like me) work on one thing and one thing only: our creative theses. Or, in layman’s terms, we’ll be trying to shine up a reasonable draft of a book. Up until last week, I was feeling pretty good about that. Looking forward to it, in fact.

Good News, Bad News

Then, we got our pairings. Good news: I got my first choice for a mentor. The esteemed Chris Lynch, author of Inexcusable, Little Blue Lies, and Angry Young Man, and others. I also got my first pick for my Thesis Reader: Jason Reynolds, author of Patina, When I Was the Greatest, and All American Boys among other books. To invoke Chandler Bing, “Could I be more excited?” Maybe, but it would be difficult.

Anyway, I got that news and fist-pumped the sky, did a dance of joy, and then froze. Oh, sugar-honey-iced-tea. Chris Lynch and Jason Reynolds are going to see my story. Turns out the good news is also the bad news.

Here’s what that sudden, stark realization felt like. Imagine you’re at the grocery store, heading back to your car carrying two extremely heavy and overpacked bags of foodstuffs, and you’re feeling stoked because you hit some sweet sales and managed to stock up for the week and then some. You’re crossing a busy throughway in the parking lot when the bags let go. All at once, the bottoms rip wide open and vomit your stuff all over the pavement. Cans are rolling everywhere. The milk carton is ruptured. A white puddle expands at your feet. Dented boxes, broken eggs, bruised apples racing away, and cars coming at you from both directions. What you thought of just moments ago as an awesome bundle of tasty treats now looks like an embarrassing heap of trash.

My “book” now feels like those groceries lying broken and hopeless and ugly on the pavement, and Mr. Lynch and Mr. Reynolds are the drivers who have to stop and get out of their slick cars to help me to scrape all my crap up off the ground. They know how to bag groceries. This would never happen to them. I’m a schmuck, and now they have to deal with my foolishness.

Perception versus Reality

I’m not saying that’s my actual situation. Maybe my “book” isn’t as big a mess as all that, but that’s how it feels right now.

I’ve got this thing, this rough draft, and it’s terrible in all the ways that I usually tell myself a first draft is allowed to be. But…

Two authors whom I respect (and, okay yes, idolize) are about to put eyes on it. All of a sudden it no longer feels okay for my rough draft to be messy. I want to turn my work-to-date over to Chris, have him read it, and then get an email from him expounding upon how wonderful it is and how excited he is to help me cut and polish this diamond of a story.

I want that, but I don’t have a rough diamond to give him. I’ve got a pile of ruined groceries hastily scraped up off the blacktop, possibly destined for the garbage. And he’s going to judge me!

He’s not going to judge me.

The man is amazing. So is Jason, who will read my “finished” product at the end of this semester and either give it the thumbs up (I pass) or thumbs down (I still pass, but let it be known that I am a talentless hack). Every student who has worked with these two men has sung their praises.

The point is, I no longer feel okay with my rough draft being terrible. In my desire to impress two incredible authors, I’d want it to be perfect, spotless, shiny. Glittering to the point of blinding in its utter fabulousness. Is that too much to ask?

We’re Our Own Worst Critics

Yes, as it turns out. Perfection is too much to ask, and my self-imposed, unattainable new expectations have bogged down my writing process. My muse has curled up in the fetal position at my feet beneath my desk. She’s utterly useless under pressure, I guess. Meanwhile, I am getting hung up on every single sentence I try to write. Is this description strong enough? Are these verbs punchy enough? Am I rambling? Should I cut this? Do I need to elaborate here? Why’s there so much dialogue in this scene? What the H am I doing?

That’s me, snail-crawling along, doubting EVERYTHING about my writing and my characters and my story. Whereas I normally can pump out a solid 1,500 to 2,000 words a day, I’m now down to less than 500.

Which I guess would be okay if it weren’t for the fact that I’m supposed to turn in 13,000 words of new material on December 1st in preparation for my January residency. I’ve only got 6,200 words so far, and that has taken me almost two weeks to generate. And it’s all rough draft quality work.

Sigh.

This really should be an IWSG post, because I am feeling more insecure about my writing than I have probably ever felt before in my entire life. It’s cool. It’ll pass. I’ve doubted myself before this, and I always get over it…

Eventually.

Until then, I’ll continue to plug along and hope that, with the help of an incredibly talented (and patient–dear Freya, please let them be patient) mentor and reader, some of my groceries will turn out to be salvageable. Because what else can to do? It’s part of being an aspiring writer, right? I either quit now, or I push through the doubt and continue to dribble the words onto the paper.

Okey-dokey. Break time’s over. Back to the day job.

Has anyone else had nearly paralyzing moments of doubt brought on by the prospect of having a legitimately talented author/agent/editor reading your stuff? Please, tell me I’m not the only one.

November 21, 2017
The NaNoWriMo Debate: Are You “For” or “Against” It?

The Debate Rages On: Is NaNoWriMo a good thing or not?

Emotions run high when this question is asked. I mean, folks get seriously heated. Fans of NaNoWriMo start heating the tar and gathering the feathers whenever someone suggests that maybe NaNoWriMo isn’t the best thing ever. Critics of NaNoWriMo sharpen their pen nibs in preparation to eviscerate the works produced by anyone during the event. It’s a little crazy, to be honest.

NaNoWriMo Explained

Okay, let’s pause for a moment. If you don’t know what NaNoWriMo is, let me explain. No, there’s too much. Let me sum up. The acronym (which I’m too lazy to type yet again because of the annoy placement of capital letters) stands for National Novel Writing Month. Folks can go to the website, create an account, announce a novel project, and then attempt to write 50,000 words of material in a single month. That averages out to 1,667 words a day. I won’t bore you with the history of how this international phenomenon got started. For that story, click here.

For or Against?

I am FOR!

With some qualifications.

I agree with many others that NaNoWriMo is not a good fit for everyone. Justin Brouckaert articulated my feelings pretty well in his guest post on the Submittable blog titled A Case Against NaNoWriMo. Despite what the declarative title suggests, Justin is not vehemently anti-NaNo. He just wrote a horrible piece of trash (I’m paraphrasing him) in NaNo and thought he was going to go nuts from the pressure.

Different people have different writing processes.

Some folks absolutely adore extrinsic motivators, which is pretty much exactly what NaNo is. Other folks fold like a wet napkin in a high wind at the first sign of pressure.

Some writers thrive on establishing a rock-solid daily writing habit. I like to write every day, no matter what. (Not that I always get to do things the way I want to. See my earlier post about my kids for more details on that front.) Other people tend to write best when they produce work in a more accordion style, with long stretches of empty pages followed by rapid bursts of prolific words.

Some folks are communal writers. They love talking shop with other writers, joining up at coffee shops or in library meeting rooms to sit and write together, posting updates on all the social media platforms. Hooray for the global connectedness that is the internet! Other writers, though, are solitary people (when they’re creating, at least) and find the whole social, communal aspect of NaNoWriMo repellant.

My Own Experience With NaNoWriMo

All I can say is this: for me, there are more positives than negatives in participating.

For starters, participating in my very first NaNoWriMo taught me that I have the capacity for self-discipline needed to write an entire novel.

Also, the stamina. I mean, people! Writing a novel is like running a marathon. That might be too gentle an analogy. It’s like taking part in an Ironman competition. I went into that first NaNoWriMo all, “Yeah! I’m going to write a whole novel in just one month!” Well, that’s not what happened. I did “win” the event by writing 50,000 words in the month of November, but I was startled to discover that my book was far from finished. I continued writing (every day, thanks to the habit I’d cultivated during November) and proudly finished up my book in March of that year. It topped off at just over 96,000 words.

It was a disgusting beast of a first draft. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it was a horrible piece of trash. But it existed. I’d done it. I’d written a full draft of a novel. If nothing else, I now knew that I had the sheer stamina necessary to write a book. I tucked that draft away in the bottom drawer of my writing desk, where I shall probably keep it until my dying day.

See, I think of NaNoWriMo not as a chance to pen a masterpiece, but as an opportunity to simply practice the art of writing. It inspires me. It excites me. Heck, it bolstered my confidence enough join the North Shore Writer’s Group to apply to the MFA in Creative Writing program at Lesley University. NaNoWriMo exposed me to new people and new ways of thinking and new opportunities.

So, yes, I think NaNoWriMo is a positive force for creativity, despite what some might say.

What do you think about NaNoWriMo? Have you participated? Will you again? Why or why not?

October 9, 2017
#IWSG: Creative Insecurities, Community, and Surprises!

Creative Insecurity:

Creative people of all types tend to be insecure folks, I think. Creative folks are bold, daring, maybe a little crazy. They push the boundaries, lean into the unknown, risk failure. But because of that, they occasionally run afoul of moments of doubt and insecurity.

Unfortunately, those are the moments that, from a psychological standpoint, really sting. Those nagging thoughts are what our brains remember, obsess over, amplify in orders of magnitude until we can’t see beyond them.

That’s how it is for me at least. Most of the time, I’m good. Like, 80% of the time. 20% of the time I feel like a fraud. I’m wasting my time. What I’m trying to do is ridiculous and unattainable because I have no talent whatsoever and how could I have ever thought that I could succeed as a creative writer. Chuck Wendig wrote a great post about this over on his Terrible Minds blog. (Be warned, his language is fabulously profane).

The life of a writer can easily become a life of solitude, one in which the only people you can talk to are the voices in your head, most of which are nasty jerks who thrive on negativity and despair. I’ve sort of given up reaching out to friends and family members for reassurances. I’m lucky in that my friends and family members are supportive, but they also don’t really get it, so I never quite trust their words of encouragement, and my insecurities remain.

Building a Community of Supportive People Who Get It:

To help me cope, I’ve sought out other writers who are down in the creative trenches, pushing their own boundaries and taking risks. They’ll understand. They’ll know. Their support and encouragement carry more weight and really do help to dispel those horrible moments of insecurity that sneak up on me here and there.

For the past year and a half, I’ve been a member of the North Shore Writer’s Group in Massachusetts. I can’t begin to tell you how great it has been for me as a writer and as a creative person in general to be able to gather in a room with a bunch of other writers twice a month to chat about life, our creative struggles, and then discuss our work.

Online writing groups are great, too. I recently discovered The Insecure Writer’s Support Group. What a cool organization/site! Their mission is to recognize the dark moments of the writing process and the writer’s life and connect people to each other. They help writers find and build a support network. One of the many things they do over there is to host a monthly blog hop. Budding and established authors are all welcome to participate (I current fall into the former category). The group posts a monthly prompt, and we can use it to spark a blog post.

IWSG Question of the Month: Have you ever surprised yourself with your writing?

Yes, definitely. Frequently, in fact. On the spectrum of plotter/pantser (pantser is a term I don’t care for, by the way. I prefer to call myself a “discovery writer.” Not my term. Picked it up from fantasy author Brandon Sanderson in one of his co-hosted Writing Excuses podcasts. Fabulous podcast. You’ve got to check it out), I’m pretty far over toward the discovery writer end of things. I’ll sketch out a loose outline of where I want the story to go, but mostly I just start with a “what if” premise, conjure up some imaginary person to throw it at, and see what happens.

A couple of weeks ago, I started writing a scene that came to me as I was drifting off to sleep one night. It had nothing to do with anything that had happened in the story or that I had visualized happening, but it was an intriguing “what if” situation.

I had no expectations when I started writing that scene. For all I cared, I could finish it up and trash it if I decided it wasn’t something I liked. No harm, no foul. Everything I write is an opportunity to practice my skills, and Gods know I have a lot that I can practice. Pacing, description, POV and perspective, character development, world-building, dialogue, even basic sentence structure.

So, I started writing. What the hay, kids. Let’s hop in the car and go for a drive. Why not? See where the open road takes us. We might stumble across something interesting.

What I stumbled across was an unexpected plot twist that I’m super, and I mean SUPER excited about pursuing.

When my explorations, my unsupervised road trip inevitably leads me and my characters down a dead-end street of ugliness, I will despair. My insecurities will breed like gremlins and grown in size until all I can see is how awful I am. But that’s okay because I’ve taken steps to find and connect with other creative writers. I have not one but several support groups who will help me defeat my doubts. The Insecure Writer’s Support Group being among them.

So, how about you? Do you have a support group of like-minded folks who help you keep pushing your boundaries, keep taking risks? And when you do stick your creative neck out, do you ever surprise yourself? I’d love to hear about it.

September 6, 2017
Chuang-Tzu, Things with Wings, and the Writer’s Life

At some point between 369 BCE and 286 BCE, western philosopher Zhuangzi (Chuang-tzu) wrote what is commonly known as The Butterfly Dream Parable. Here’s an excerpt:

“Once upon a time, I, Zhuangzi, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Zhuangzi. Soon I awakened, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man.”

The butterfly parable popped into my head today as I stood at my kitchen sink, gazing out at my back yard with unseeing eyes. This morning’s writing session was a darned good one. I’d written just over 1,200 new words and wrapped up a lengthy scene in one of my two current WIPs.

For weeks, I’ve been banging my head against this particular project. The first third of the story had its own set of wings. I mean, the story just flew out of my brain. It was great. Then… it stopped being great. I hit the dreaded “middle” of the plot, and mental quicksand sucked me down. What was the point? Where was it going? Ugh.

So, for weeks I ruminated and whined and avoided trying to write anything. The one scene I did write was absolute trash. I’m convinced it won’t survive the second draft. Frustrating? Oh, you bet.

Then, someone posted something on Facebook about Mary Carroll Moor and the idea of writing “islands.” The general idea is to abandon the process of writing a story chronologically from scene to scene when you run up on writer’s block. That’s the moment, this person said, that one might benefit from writing whatever scene happens to bubble up into your mind without worrying about where it would fit into the story, or even whether it will end up being part of the finished product. It’s a form of discovery writing, I guess. Since I discovery-wrote that first smoking hot third of my WIP, I figured I’d give the island writing thing a try.

A few night’s ago, a flashbulb scene popped brightly into my brain, of my characters attempting a hairy river-crossing. The scene in my head was only a few seconds long, but it was incredibly vivid. For the past three days, I’ve been writing that scene. Today, it sprouted wings, caught an updraft, and took off. I disappeared into that scene completely.

When I returned to myself near midday, I felt a little hazy, like I was in that half-awake-half-asleep place. Which brings me to my moment at the kitchen sink and Chuang-tzu’s butterfly parable.

As I stared out into my back yard, it occurred to me that I have spent very little time in the outside world this summer. Sure, there have been a few days when I’ve set up camp at the teakwood table in the shade of our massive maple tree. Even then, though, I was elsewhere. I was inside my writing, my other world.

It can be easy for writers to disengage from the real world, to forget about it as they immerse themselves in their self-generated fictional worlds. On the one hand, it’s a wonderful feeling when the writing comes alive so vividly that you don’t want to leave it. On the other hand, my doctor informed me at my July physical that I have a vitamin-D deficiency.

My back yard is gorgeous. We’ve had a good amount of rain this summer, so the lawn has stayed green, and all of our flowers and fruit trees are lush and vibrant… and I’ve barely noticed any of it. Maybe I should take a moment to wake from my fictional world and spend some time in my non-fictional world.

So, I spent a bit of time outside today, and I took some pictures of all the beautiful things I’ve been missing. Here they are.

Have you had the experience of vanishing into your writing? Do you ever struggle to come back from that place? How do you balance your two worlds as a writer?

August 15, 2017