Growing as a Writer

Gaia's Hands, the novel I've gone back to revise, was my first novel, and it's been a problem child since its conception. I have amended it, added to it, subtracted from it, tried it as a novella, and still it's been not quite enough.

It's always seemed like a small novel, one in which not much happened, even though a lot happened. A novel in which a relationship developed and then, after a few chapters, Jeanne's getting persecuted by her department, and then ... 

Almost like there were two halves of the book -- first half relationship and second half disaster.

Why didn't I figure this out sooner? 

I've been growing as a writer. Those rejections from agents and publishers have helped me to seek out improvement. My dev editor, Chelsea Harper, has helped me to see where I can improve. The rewrites have helped me to see what I can become.

I don't know that I would have gone through this process of improvement if I'd gone straight to self-publishing. I'm glad I have to work hard for my dream.
 

Routine and Discipline

Scheduling writing has been a pain lately. Remember yesterday, when I was so excited to write? By the time I drove around Kansas City, visited an intern, and wrote a major homework for my online class, I was no longer in any shape to write.

But that's why I write the blog every morning -- so at least I've written something. No matter how short, no matter how trivial, no matter how moody. No matter how much I don't feel it.

Without routine, I would forget I was a writer during busy times like these. I would forget how to write and all the lessons I've learned along the way. I would lose my identity as a writer. 

In other words, even when I don't write, I write.

Excited about Editing

I really want to get done with my work today (readings for online class, taking the Introduction to National Incident Management System course and exam, driving to Kansas City, visiting an intern). I REALLY want to get done with my work today.

I'm very excited about where Gaia's Hands is going.

I knew there was something wrong with it before, but I didn't know what. But after editing Apocalypse and understanding that it got into the plot too quickly, I realized that Gaia's Hands needed buildup in the early chapters as well, but in its case, the beginning meandered and the plot appeared out of nowhere.

So I'm excited about the editing. I'm excited about seeing what is possible for the book now that I have a handle on editing. There's going to be a bit of editing. 

But I'm looking forward to editing.

My routine is anything but.

Back from the conference, and back to my routine -- 

No. I have to go to Kansas City for intern visits on Wednesday and Thursday. Hope to find some time to hole up and write some more and ---

OMG! I forgot to tell you! I figured out how to fix up what was wrong with Gaia's Hands!

Interestingly, it was the same thing wrong with Apocalypse -- not enough of a ramp-up. This time, however, there was too little going on at the beginning -- a lull -- rather than a too short ramp-up and there's the battle. So there's a long-overdue revision.

Richard and I laid out the revision of the first part of the book (other parts need revising but not whole chapter rewrites) and the challenge of course will be time, energy, and patience.

Wish me luck.

Powered by Science and Coffee

I need coffee.

I'm still at the conference; I will be presenting my poster on "Do Euphemisms Influence Car Buying?" (The answer is No) this morning and maybe get to the zoo this afternoon. 

I'm getting everything done except my writing/editing but that's to be expected. Not enough brain cells for the writing. 

But at least I'm getting this out today. 

The Very Busy Caterpillar

I'm at the annual Association for Psychological Sciences conference in Washington, DC. It's a huge, busy conference, but it's also a huge, busy venue especially during Memorial Day weekend. And I want some writing time, and I want to go to the zoo, and the botanical garden (I'm saving the Mall for another administration) and I have homework to do.

I'm beginning to long for a staycation.

Honestly, my summers aren't usually this busy. I still have to (religiously) schedule my one hour writing/editing daily just for the discipline.

But look at this presentation panel title!
"Tension, Conflict, and Paradox: The Science Behind Creativity". Talk about dovetailing two interests -- psychology and creativity! 

Well, off to -- well, one of the gazillion things that's on my calendar.

Discipline in a time of busyness

I might write irregularly over the next few days, as I am traveling to a conference in Washington DC to present a poster. This is for my day job, being a professor of human services and the internship coordinator for the department.

This summer is proving busier than I had counted on. Evidence:

• Richard and I have two moulage gigs this summer, one in August and one right around the corner on June 4-5th. 
• I have twenty interns to supervise; next week I'm spending an overnight in Kansas City to visit two or four of them.
• The garden! It's not quite done yet; I'll be spending next Tuesday finalizing it. 
• The summer class I'm taking (Management of Disaster Mental Health, which is more interesting than I thought) rolls right along like a Mack truck, and I'm working hard to keep it from rolling over me.

• Writing? Writing! I almost forgot about that! I will write any chance I get -- if nothing else, I'll write in the blog at least once.

It's all about discipline. I am a writer because I keep the discipline to write. I write at least the half-hour a day it takes to maintain this blog, and hopefully at least an hour of writing/revising a day. 

I notice myself improving, and that's a good thing.

wheee! pain meds!

Yesterday's plans went to hell fast.

I stopped at the dentist to have what I thought was a minor crown issue and came out with an extracted tooth. And really good pain meds. 

The really good pain meds make work impossible. My reaction to pain meds is to stare at things (my gardening, my writing) and poke at it without actually accomplishing anything.

This morning I'm still a bit groggy and wondering what to do with myself. I finished my homework due today and am hoping to wake up enough to garden or write. Maybe a nap will help. 

Rewriting another novel

I finished my rewrite of Apocalypse, and currently I don't have enough distance from it to look at it objectively anymore, which is why it will go back to dev edit shortly. 

So where does that leave me relative to writing? I can either start a new book, figure out what to do with the idea for Gods' Seeds (I'm struggling with that -- there's so much I want to do that it could be two books, my usual problem) or I could look over the post dev edit on Gaia's Hands and see if I can feel better about it.

I've decided to work on Gaia's Hands. If (when?) I get Apocalypse published, Gaia's Hands would be a prequel. As such, I'd like to get it polished while I have the time to and before I come up with any other bright ideas. Whose Hearts are Mountains, which still needs a developmental edit, would be the next novel after that.

Yes, I have a plan. All I need is for the stars to align so that I can actually get something published. If you pray, put in a good word for me.

Every which way

I'm sitting on my couch, before the day's meetings and errands and editing (and no gardening as we're on a flood warning with rain expected. My mind is going every which way:

•  So much to do these next couple days -- meet students, prep for conference, plant stuff, write, prep for conference ...

 

• I am in a holding pattern for Making Things Happen. I don't want to requery Prodigies until my dev editor has another shot at it (in June), I don't know if I want to requery (this is now a word) Voyageurs at all (don't know if it's viable), can't get re-written Apocalypse to the dev editor till June ... when I send queries out, I get out of my funk because of this concept of possibility. I'm not really looking at any possibilities right now except for one big long shot.

 

• I think I'm going to be rejected by TSA precheck. I don't know why, unless it was those anti-war protests I participated in during the Gulf War or the guy I dated, equally long ago, whose father was a card-carrying member of the Communist Party. Or the fact that I'm a Quaker, or that I have a metal bar in my left leg that guarantees I'll be patted down like a terrorist.  The website says "Eligibility Determined" but does not give me a code number. 

 

• I'm pretty sure my last query out is going to be rejected. As I said, I shot big with that one.

 

• I'm not feeling good about my writing lately. I hear this happens.

 

• It's just feeling like an unlucky day. My mood needs to be kicked in the butt, I'm sure, but not sure how to do that. The problem with feeling down is that feelings are so vivid that they take on the weight of truth.

In Praise of Dev Editing

I'm almost ready to send Apocalypse to dev edit again. 

Almost.

That's not saying it's flawless, just that I will get to the point that I can't find any flaws myself. That's why I need editors -- because they're new eyes on my work. Because they can see things I don't. Because they've read enough that they know what the shape of a novel looks like. Because I want to be read.

I am about at the place where I need to send Prodigies out for queries again, but my dev editor wants to work with me first to find a new angle.

So I prep and I wait till June, when she's ready to work with me on my books again.

I've learned so much about myself and my writing since I found a developmental editor. Here's to improvement!

My Brain is FULL!

I need to get back to regular journaling. It's been tough lately, what with planting the garden (Asian vegetables! Weeding! Cherokee purple tomato and lots of basil!), editing Apocalypse to make my dev editor proud (and to be ready for another edit), taking my online class (with a 187-page reading for the first assignment), getting ready for professional conference travel, fielding emails from interns ...

My brain has been quite full. And it's summer! It's not supposed to be this full!

It's a good thing. I don't like sitting still. I like making things happen. And I have time to do it. Do I have the energy? Not so sure, but ...

I have edited Apocalypse down to 70k words. Not that I want it to have fewer words, but I did have to cut out things that meandered (and as this document had been written five-six years ago and squished together from two different novels and -- you get it. I will try to add some back.

I go from feeling really good about the document to wallowing in despair. I wish I could get more words in it, but I (and my dev editor) would rather it be tight than verbose (and I excel at verbose, my friends.)

So today's tasks: I've already written a response to Assignment #1 (#2 is due Thursday) and written this blog entry; other tasks include writing for a while (starting at 11) and a little planting (this evening). 

Wheeeeeee!

Lack of Sleep

Bad things happen when I get only three hours of sleep.

I view life looking through the telescope backward, and the world is a tiny pinpoint surrounded by black. My body feels like it is wavering in space, like heat shimmers on the road.  My brain gets overwhelmed by my ears ringing, and my emotions heat up for a confrontation.

That's where I was yesterday, on a trip to Kansas City. I didn't feel tired, or even exhausted -- I simply didn't feel anything inside my cocoon. My words were variations on "how dare you not see that we shouldn't have come down here?"

Lack of sleep is a dangerous condition for me, because it kicks off hypomanic attacks, where I drag myself through life trying to accomplish everything, sleeping little while watching words and phrases put themselves together like train cars in a railyard. I will probably not be going there thanks to my medications and a twelve-hour nap last night. Still, I fear that place enough that I take care of myself and follow instructions.   

This morning feels better -- I overslept for an extra hour and I still feel groggy, but it's time for me to wake up and write. 

A Productive Day

I spent a productive day yesterday editing Apocalypse.

My task was to take away all the filler (of which there was quite a bit, because I wrote the originals about three years ago when I didn't know as much as I do now) and to get rid of some of the gazillion points of view, because my dev editor said it's not a good thing to follow that many characters, even in third person omniscient. So I guess third person omniscient isn't that omniscient?

I'm not done yet. I need to ratchet up some of the suspense. I need to add back a couple things I took out. I need to see if I'm going to put back the Amarel/Batarel/Natalie subplot. (I'm not. No matter that it completely guts another novel I wrote. It isn't a good turn of plot, although it made a good philosophical point.)

So I'll be busy writing, in-between bringing the dead bat to Public Health and writing to my new teaching assistant.

The Flow Is Not Happening

So I made my summer schedule nice and neat -- only to have to revise it already.

Rain, of course. A visit to the acute care clinic. Best intentions gone to hell. 

I wonder if my schedule's too strict. I wonder if it's just me being reluctant to follow a schedule. At any rate, the flow is not happening.

I'm second-guessing my schedule just like I'm second-guessing my editing.

I'm editing the bulk of Apocalypse, trying to cut out what isn't necessary, and I'm struggling between "burn it to the ground" and "I can't kill my darlings!" Some good quality time writing should solve that quickly -- or perhaps slowly. If I get the hang of what should stay and what should go, I should be done by June 1 because the story has good bones. 

I guess the motto is to try for excellence and not perfection. Perfection has me chasing my tail and getting nothing done.  

Flow doesn't happen when I'm nitpicking details. 

Rain, I love you -- now go away.

I love rain -- except for today. Today I don't like it so much.

I have so much left to do in my garden. Richard needs to rototill beds for the Three Sisters experiment (Jerusalem artichoke, squash, bean) and the moon garden (the exotic and toxic corner of my edible landscaping). I have to plant several raised beds with Chinese vegetables, weedy greens, nightshades (tomatoes, peppers, eggplant, NOT deadly nightshade), and root veggies. 

I can do most of the planting tomorrow afternoon if I need to, except for those new beds. If we can't get to those today, we might be another week in the works.

Yes, I know it's stupid to expect the weather to cooperate. But, like most humans, I do. 

I guess it's time for Plan B. Writing.

Teasing you on Apocalypse

Adam settled himself in his corner of InterSpace, wondering whether it was truly his corner or whether it was the recycled molecules of someone else’s materialization. He pulled the black crystalline walls closely inward, with the only furniture a futon he had materialized. He lay on it, looking at the fathomless ceiling, and reached out with his mind to another Archetype, one who he knew well.

I have taught Laurel how to transport. It did not take much teaching, Adam spoke, feeling the granite and heath of the Archetype he addressed.
 
What does she remember? The other asked.

She doesn’t remember much. She mindspeaks, but she doesn’t remember that she has known my signature before. She transports, but she doesn’t remember where she has transported before. She doesn’t remember me. 
 
She doesn’t remember you, the other repeated. She will not remember us, either. We need to awaken her, but there’s the chance that we damage her if we awaken her too quickly. We can’t afford that. The mindvoice spoke tersely, but Adam understood the carefully concealed swirl of emotions behind it. Emotions could be dangerous if not banked; one of the realizations of the renegade Archetype.

I want her to remember, Adam admitted. I want her to remember me.

You’re asking for a lot. She doesn’t even remember the last ten years, and you want her to remember her origins. She will, eventually, remember when we bring her back into the fold. But first, she needs to remember her exile, if not the reasons for it.

I know, Adam sighed. It just hasn’t been the same without her.

Take care of her. Adam felt the rugged edge of the Archetype’s warning fade behind his words.

Adam lay on his futon for a while longer, listening to the wooden flute he favored. He paid attention to his breathing, feeling each inhalation and exhalation, turning his attention away from the roiling thoughts.

He had learned the meditation a long time before, as a refugee from InterSpace, hiding from his heritage in a Buddhist temple in the south of China. There he learned to draw upon the unemotionality that was his heritage as an Archetype, to hide the human turmoil that represented the special circumstances of his creation.

Breathe in, breathe out. Let go of the longing, the impatience. Let go of the very human frustration. Let go  …

Six thousand years of existence, bouncing between the monastic cell of InterSpace and the Buddhist temple, and the civil service in a beautifully cultured Luoyang, and the days set laboring on the railroad that eventually stretched across the States. Hiding in plain sight despite his unearthly beauty and his freakish strength. 

Six thousand years of existence, and his mind still wandered back to one day, the day he was created, his first glimpse Earthside. A verdant landscape, with a riot of flowers, an oasis in a dry land.
The only time in his life — moments, it seemed -- he felt accepted for himself.


After a long time, Adam awoke from his reverie, and he thought about Laurel.

Laurel looked like she hadn’t aged a day. Of course she did, Adam countered; Archetypes didn’t age unless they committed evil against their charges. She had stayed pure despite her exile, despite the centuries she had spent, as he had, Earthside.

He had kept track of her when he could, staying out of her sight. He realized there was a word for his behavior in the modern day — stalker. He could not help it, however; he had been charged with her safety. And the safest thing for her those millennia was to not remember him.

She had done a fine job of taking care of herself. She had remade herself many times, as he had: as a hedgewitch, as a cloistered nun, as a nanny, a shopkeeper, a manual laborer. She had studied human cultures, much as he had, trying to find a home and never quite finding one. She had never found a partner, just as he never had, because she knew instinctively that sex would result in half-human Nephilim, a taboo for their people.

But he had been instructed to bring her back to herself gently, for reasons he didn’t understand. He felt the ambivalence rise in him, wondering if she should be left alone, wondering if she would remember him and what she would say if she did.

Thoughts on a Cabin Retreat

If I tried to live in a cabin for real, I would probably complicate it unnecessarily. I possess too many clothes for a small dresser and a short clothes bar on the wall, and like many middle-class Americans, I have too many possessions that do not give me joy but I might need someday.

If I lived in a cabin for real, I would have to pick one with a good patch of full sun so I could garden. A patch of woods at the back would be dreamy; I could forage for mushrooms if I trusted myself to pick the right ones.

But I could see myself buying all the accoutrements for an upscale, organic backwoods lifestyle -- an electric composter, solar panels, a small tractor and plow for the big garden patch ... and my life would not be any simpler. The so-called simple life could get expensive.  

And living in a cabin wouldn't be like having a retreat there, because after a while I'd get used to the four walls and want somewhere else to be inspired.

However, if someone has a camper they can lend me for a summer, I'd strongly consider camping at the RV park here for a season. Just sayin'. 

Writing Retreat Goal Achieved!

My goal for writing on this two-day retreat was to complete the building/writing of the first third of Apocalypse, which went entirely too fast (and was a lot shorter) in the original product. This was the hardest item in the rewrite, because it required writing some 18,000 words from scratch that nonetheless segued into the rest of the book (which needs severe revision).

Other things I needed to do: not give away the secret identity of one of the leads, develop the antagonists so they weren't so black and white, put some tension between the male-female main protagonist pair (and it's going to get worse before it gets better). 

I'm done with this part! My writing retreat kicked me into some creative thinking!

More Rain

I am blessed, sitting in a small, knotty pine cabin in front of a fireplace while the thunder booms outside. What a delicious writing retreat. Oh, and there's coffee. 

If I could do this every day, it wouldn't be a retreat, would it? No, this is special time. This is a change of scenery that hopefully will let me see my writing develop. The goal for today is to finish the massive rewrite of the first third of the book. That's no more than 3000 words in my estimation, but it's a thoughtful three k.  

Time for me to quit staring at the fire and start writing.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Rain

I sit in my favorite Maryville coffeehouse, the Board Game Cafe, and watch the rain outside. 

I love rain. I love gloomy skies and the hiss of car tires on the pavement. I love gentle rain misting the garden. I love watching gullywashers as the torrent of raindrops sheet across the street. I love the patter of the raindrops on the metal garage roof and the boom of the thunderclaps. I love the feeling of resignation I get when I'm so drenched there's no use in dodging the raindrops anymore and I love the warmth of the indoors.

Rain reminds us that we don't have total control of our lives, and that's a welcome realization to me. We plan, and then we miss something, like what to do when the picnic is rained out, or whether we packed an umbrella in the car. Not only do we not have to be perfect, but we can't be perfect, because we can't predict everything. 

Like, for example, the rain.

 

Make time

I need to start writing today!

I've spent the last couple of days prepping and planting in the garden (there will be more to come) and not touching the edit of Apocalypse. But I'm close to done with the beginning part, which is the part I had to add to the manuscript. I don't know if rewriting the second part with its many faults (point of view confusion, dragging plot places) is going to be easier or harder.

I'm going on a writing retreat tomorrow afternoon through Thursday morning at Mozingo Lake. That will get me away from the many distractions here (including cats, which my husband will take care of before joining me). 

I suppose the break was good for me, although I feel like if I don't write today, I'll find something else to do like making plant labels. Or shopping for more plants -- stop it! 

I still have to make myself a routine so I don't spend the summer surfing. I'm going to have a TA to help me organize classes, so I need time for that. And my summer class next week ...

I'm obviously an extrovert, because I'm thinking with my mouth open -- or, more accurately, while typing. But there's an important lesson here for writers: Make time.

Garden update

I've been fighting depression again lately, and a touch of illness, but --

I get to plant things today!

I just got a plant order in from Richter's Herbs in Canada, a combination of prosaic (Italian parsley and lavender), intriguing (nepitella, which tastes a bit like an oregano-mint) and fun (scented leaf geraniums). Most of these will go on "the hill", a dirt-covered rip slope whose sparseness actually duplicates the origins of many of the herbs we love.

I also have to harden off my indoor seedlings so they can be planted without sun damage. Tomatoes and peppers and flowers and more herbs! 

I will probably plant my roots and greens this week, which is the breathing room between end of semester and internships/online class/other things I need to do. Then I will spend an hour each morning making sure I give my plants the attention they deserve -- weeding, picking produce, etc. 

Some of the weeds we will eat. Lamb's quarters taste better than spinach when cooked. I considered eating the poke sallet that keeps infringing on the shady spot I want to transform into a hosta garden, but I just can't warm up to a green that you have to cook three times over to make it non-toxic. I've also not cooked dandelion greens this year -- by the time I notice them, they've flowered, and they're too bitter to eat.

The other thing I should mention -- everything I plant is edible, one part or another. This year there will be an exception -- I am putting in a moon garden by request of my husband. The moon garden will be romantic but deadly, which sounds like a stock antihero in fiction, doesn't it?

 I am hoping the summer hours and the gardening will get me out of my depression. I don't tell you a lot about what the depression is like, so you'll have to take my words for it. Wish me luck.

Summer productivity

My school year officially ended at noon yesterday, after I finalized my grades and finished my office hours. Now I'm officially in summer mode. 

That means I have some uninterrupted blocks for writing. This doesn't mean I'll only be writing this summer. I have a class I'm taking in administration of disaster mental health programs, I have at least twenty interns to supervise, I have research I should do, I have classes to put together for the summer, I have my gardening ...

Professors don't really have the summer off, we just have more freedom to schedule things as we need them.

So, writing. I'm celebrating the end of the semester with a writing retreat in a cabin at Mozingo Lake next week for two nights. I'm hoping the change of scenery will help me get ahead on the rewrite for Apocalypse.  

I'm talking this all out loud because the concept of planning out this summer productivity is new to me. Before my bipolar diagnosis, I pushed myself hard at the end of the semester, usually swinging between hypomanic and depressed, then collapsed on the finish line and slept for two weeks. Or longer. A lot of summers went by when I could barely function to do my summer work. 

Being able to enjoy productivity on my own terms is a very new concept for me. And I plan to enjoy it.

Self-esteem, according to Positive Psychology

This essay is my answer to an essay question I gave my personal adjustment class on their take-home final:


In positive psychology, there are two theories of self-esteem, and they lie at polar opposites to each other. One is sociometer theory, which says we get our self-esteem by how others see us, and the other is self-affirmation theory, which says we get our self-esteem by what we tell ourselves. 

The general belief in popular culture that affirmations can help our mood is based on self-affirmation theory. I will admit that my daily affirmations -- "I am worthy of love/I am worthy of luck/I am worthy of success/I am worthy of good things" make me look at my life more positively. 

But my gut tells me that sociometer theory may be dominant in explaining self-esteem. We have a natural need to fit in. It's a survival mechanism, so it's only natural that we base our self-esteem by the ability to fit in. When we look at bullying and its relationship to teen suicides, we see sociometer theory at work, because bullies target the victim's need to look outward for self-esteem. 

On the other hand, society needs outsiders as well, people who don't fit in, because that's where societal change happens. Maybe those people (and I consider myself one of those people) use self-affirmation to have the strength to live their lives courageously. I find myself longing that I could fit in, because it would be so much easier, but I work hard on my self-affirmations so I can continue to function.

Writing in the Middle of Finals

I've been pushing myself to write at least 600 words a day on the novel despite finals week. That's not a lot of words per day to be honest; in November (NaNoWriMo month) I can write 2000 words per day easily.  

To write, I need to have at least two hours blocked off. That's not a big problem finals week, because I have fewer classes and more flexible time. The big problem is unfettered time to think. During finals week, especially Spring semester, everything seems urgent: Grade all the end of semester student work. Write and grade finals. Prepare end of semester/end of year paperwork. Pledge to do things differently next semester.

So this week I don't have the space in my brain for ideas to flow. The ideas feel frustratingly compartmentalized. I check Facebook entirely too much.

This too will pass, when I take a deep breath after turning my grades in, and then schedule a summer routine where (between interns and a class I'm taking) I will schedule time to write.