Two days later, I finally found a way into this chapter. It's that same old first lines issue I tend to have: if I don't have an opening line, I find it really hard to just skip ahead and write the chapter. Last night, while driving down dark, winding country roads to tutoring gig #2, I talked out loud to myself about the chapter and what I want it to achieve, and came up with a tentative first line. It's only 8:15am, but I've already smoothed out that line and written a total of 138 words while The Son ate breakfast. We're snowed in today, but I'm going to try to get in an hour of writing time during quiet play time.
So my word count situation hasn't improved. But I did work on EN during the two days of no forward motion. I have this list of little changes to make to what I've already written, little notes to myself that say things like, strike all references to x, or, plant two mentions of y. The list had swelled to 20 items, and I managed to cross out 15 of them. No one thing on the list requires a lot of effort or deep thought, but taken together it's a time-consuming bunch of chores. It's a relief to have three-quarters of it done.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Man, I Missed Editing
So I actually edited a scene yesterday. Technically, this whole draft is supposed to be editing, since it's the third draft and all. But for the last 20,000 words, I've been writing from scratch. In every draft, that chunk of the book was always the weakest and most poorly-conceived section. I knew something had to happen during those years of Somi's life, but for a long time I didn't know exactly what it was, or how to make it interesting, or how to tie it in to the rest of the plot. I'm happy to report that I think I've pretty much fixed that problem.
But it sucked not being able to edit. I kept thinking the last draft would have at least skeletons of some of these scenes, and then I'd look, and nope. The scene existed only in my mind. But then yesterday I hit a portion of the book that I do have usable scenes written for. It was seriously heavy editing, nothing like the shuffling and polishing I did to the first 35,000 words of the book. But it was still a relief to have that skeleton to hang the meat on, so to speak.
One thing that's really struck me is how much my dialogue sucks in that second draft. Now, when I wrote that draft, I wasn't trying to make it "sound good"; I was just trying to get the story written. But still. I'm not having any trouble rewriting it to be what I think is actually good dialogue; I'm just continually unsettled by how startlingly, aggressively bad it is. It sounds like a sequel to The Lord of the Rings written by an 8th grader.
I'm at 9,190 for the month. I just finished a chapter, and don't have a first line for the next one, so today will probably be a lot of work for not that many words. Unless the childcare fairy visits me and I get a magical full day off from life between now and next Monday, I'm probably not going to reach 15,000. But I'm not beating myself up for once. Progress is progress, and I'm proud of myself for sticking with it this month despite all kinds of obstacles. Go me.
But it sucked not being able to edit. I kept thinking the last draft would have at least skeletons of some of these scenes, and then I'd look, and nope. The scene existed only in my mind. But then yesterday I hit a portion of the book that I do have usable scenes written for. It was seriously heavy editing, nothing like the shuffling and polishing I did to the first 35,000 words of the book. But it was still a relief to have that skeleton to hang the meat on, so to speak.
One thing that's really struck me is how much my dialogue sucks in that second draft. Now, when I wrote that draft, I wasn't trying to make it "sound good"; I was just trying to get the story written. But still. I'm not having any trouble rewriting it to be what I think is actually good dialogue; I'm just continually unsettled by how startlingly, aggressively bad it is. It sounds like a sequel to The Lord of the Rings written by an 8th grader.
I'm at 9,190 for the month. I just finished a chapter, and don't have a first line for the next one, so today will probably be a lot of work for not that many words. Unless the childcare fairy visits me and I get a magical full day off from life between now and next Monday, I'm probably not going to reach 15,000. But I'm not beating myself up for once. Progress is progress, and I'm proud of myself for sticking with it this month despite all kinds of obstacles. Go me.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Genre Rant
I belong to the writing community WriYe, and while I don't participate in the yearly challenge or post very often, I do wander over to the forum once a week or so and check out the posts. Now, WriYe's membership is largely high school and college age writers, mostly female, mostly writers of Young Adult Fantasy. They are a lovely, bright, dedicated bunch. Many have little or no support for their writing from either family or school.
One posted that she recently got an idea for a story stuck in her head, started writing it, and realized to her surprise that she was writing ChickLit. After several sources gave her grief about ChickLit being trivial and "unworthy", she posted a question: do you think ChickLit is worth writing?
Here is an expanded version of my reply:
Anyone who would declare an entire genre Unworthy of being read or written is an elitist jerkwad. Are there crappy chick lit novels? Of course. Are there well-written chick lit novels that are in their own way the equal of the best of other genres? I would be astounded if that weren't the case.
Literary snobbism irks me like few other things. High school teachers refusing to allow Fantasy for independent reading because it's "garbage"? College creative writing classes with a "no genre fiction" rule? Literary critics using terms like "bodice ripper" and "space opera" to dismiss all of Romance and SF? Bullshit, all of it. In the first place, all fiction is "genre fiction", dumbass. Second, aren't we supposed to, like, encourage young people who actually choose to put down their iPhones and read or write something, instead of shaming them for their preferences? I'm pretty sure I read that in an education manual somewhere. And third, the whole concept of genre as a measure of literary merit belongs back in the day when the term "The Great American Novel" could still be uttered without irony, when we actually believed one white guy's experience could sum up everything for all of us.
Even more depressing is when writers themselves buy into the idea that genres can be ranked. The SF crew look down on the Fantasy folk, and both of them scoff at the Romance gals, who sneer at the Erotica crowd... and everyone picks on the poor Fanfiction bastards. And looming above them all, sitting smugly in their castles made from old copies of The New York Times Review of Books, are the LitFic elite, the genre so cool they won't even admit they are a genre-- never mind admit that they can write some seriously crappy books themselves. They also have no problem pillaging from the hacks when it suits them. Most forms of Literature-with-a-capital-L include some elements of "genre". The brilliant SF and Fantasy writer Lois McMaster Bujold once referred to Romance and Mystery as literary "universal donors"-- everyone takes from them. But one of the big tricks of LitFic is that when yousteal borrow from a genre, everyone acts like you invented it. As a Science Fiction reader and writer, it bugs the shit out of me that when Margaret Atwood or Cormac McCarthy write about the future it's not genre, it's "a daring exploration of form". It's also a fucking Science Fiction novel, and not a particularly original one, so get the fuck over yourselves.
Most infuriating of all, the ones that go around unilaterally bashing another genre have usually read virtually nothing--or sometimes just plain old nothing-- from that genre. Hey, who needs to read it, right? Everyone knows that Science Fiction/Fantasy/Romance/Mystery/Erotica/Inspirationals/Young Adult/Fanfiction is crap. And get a load of that cheesy cover! If it doesn't have a black-and-white photo of an abandoned doll and the words "A Novel" on the cover, it ain't Lit'rature. I learned that in grad school.
I think I hate this crap so much because I used to be a believer in it. In college I was a poet, and then a writer of contemporary short stories. Then I attended an M.F.A. program that was All LitFic, All the Time. I rolled my eyes at entire sections of the bookstore. And then, as a lark, I started writing Science Fiction... and then quickly figured out I had to start reading Science Fiction, too. To my shock, a lot of the novels were actually good. Some of them were actually better than the LitFic stuff I'd been reading. My little mind was blown, and I have never been the same since. So when I see smart people who should know better clinging to these ridiculous outmoded ideas of genre, I want to slap them, hand them a copy of Four Ways to Forgiveness, and challenge them to explain to me why that book is not Literature.
Look, I'm not saying that everyone has to like everything. Subject matter can turn you off; nearly every woman I've mentioned to that I'm writing a SF novel has told me that they don't like SF. Every genre-- including LitFic-- has its conventions, and sometimes they're just not a good fit with your reading preferences. I don't care for Horror, most Mysteries, Fanfiction, Mainstream, contemporary Romance, or Chick Lit. But I have faith that when readers tell me there are sublimely written and deeply satisfying examples of these genres, they know what they're talking about.
I have a dream. I dream of a day when the best books of every genre will share the right to be called Literature; when writers let go of using junior high school lunchroom politics to rank their fellow artists; when Science Fiction and Romance are reviewed alongside LitFic and Memoir; when no young person will be told by a teacher, a reviewer, or another writer that the books they love to read and to write are Unworthy.
In conclusion: yes, I think ChickLit is worth writing, if that's the story you have to tell, and you tell it well.
One posted that she recently got an idea for a story stuck in her head, started writing it, and realized to her surprise that she was writing ChickLit. After several sources gave her grief about ChickLit being trivial and "unworthy", she posted a question: do you think ChickLit is worth writing?
Here is an expanded version of my reply:
Anyone who would declare an entire genre Unworthy of being read or written is an elitist jerkwad. Are there crappy chick lit novels? Of course. Are there well-written chick lit novels that are in their own way the equal of the best of other genres? I would be astounded if that weren't the case.
Literary snobbism irks me like few other things. High school teachers refusing to allow Fantasy for independent reading because it's "garbage"? College creative writing classes with a "no genre fiction" rule? Literary critics using terms like "bodice ripper" and "space opera" to dismiss all of Romance and SF? Bullshit, all of it. In the first place, all fiction is "genre fiction", dumbass. Second, aren't we supposed to, like, encourage young people who actually choose to put down their iPhones and read or write something, instead of shaming them for their preferences? I'm pretty sure I read that in an education manual somewhere. And third, the whole concept of genre as a measure of literary merit belongs back in the day when the term "The Great American Novel" could still be uttered without irony, when we actually believed one white guy's experience could sum up everything for all of us.
Even more depressing is when writers themselves buy into the idea that genres can be ranked. The SF crew look down on the Fantasy folk, and both of them scoff at the Romance gals, who sneer at the Erotica crowd... and everyone picks on the poor Fanfiction bastards. And looming above them all, sitting smugly in their castles made from old copies of The New York Times Review of Books, are the LitFic elite, the genre so cool they won't even admit they are a genre-- never mind admit that they can write some seriously crappy books themselves. They also have no problem pillaging from the hacks when it suits them. Most forms of Literature-with-a-capital-L include some elements of "genre". The brilliant SF and Fantasy writer Lois McMaster Bujold once referred to Romance and Mystery as literary "universal donors"-- everyone takes from them. But one of the big tricks of LitFic is that when you
Most infuriating of all, the ones that go around unilaterally bashing another genre have usually read virtually nothing--or sometimes just plain old nothing-- from that genre. Hey, who needs to read it, right? Everyone knows that Science Fiction/Fantasy/Romance/Mystery/Erotica/Inspirationals/Young Adult/Fanfiction is crap. And get a load of that cheesy cover! If it doesn't have a black-and-white photo of an abandoned doll and the words "A Novel" on the cover, it ain't Lit'rature. I learned that in grad school.
I think I hate this crap so much because I used to be a believer in it. In college I was a poet, and then a writer of contemporary short stories. Then I attended an M.F.A. program that was All LitFic, All the Time. I rolled my eyes at entire sections of the bookstore. And then, as a lark, I started writing Science Fiction... and then quickly figured out I had to start reading Science Fiction, too. To my shock, a lot of the novels were actually good. Some of them were actually better than the LitFic stuff I'd been reading. My little mind was blown, and I have never been the same since. So when I see smart people who should know better clinging to these ridiculous outmoded ideas of genre, I want to slap them, hand them a copy of Four Ways to Forgiveness, and challenge them to explain to me why that book is not Literature.
Look, I'm not saying that everyone has to like everything. Subject matter can turn you off; nearly every woman I've mentioned to that I'm writing a SF novel has told me that they don't like SF. Every genre-- including LitFic-- has its conventions, and sometimes they're just not a good fit with your reading preferences. I don't care for Horror, most Mysteries, Fanfiction, Mainstream, contemporary Romance, or Chick Lit. But I have faith that when readers tell me there are sublimely written and deeply satisfying examples of these genres, they know what they're talking about.
I have a dream. I dream of a day when the best books of every genre will share the right to be called Literature; when writers let go of using junior high school lunchroom politics to rank their fellow artists; when Science Fiction and Romance are reviewed alongside LitFic and Memoir; when no young person will be told by a teacher, a reviewer, or another writer that the books they love to read and to write are Unworthy.
In conclusion: yes, I think ChickLit is worth writing, if that's the story you have to tell, and you tell it well.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Don't Mind Me. Just Writin' a Novel in My Car.
It's weird how sometimes adversity will totally derail my writing, and sometimes it'll make just make me more determined to succeed. I've been such a whinypants lately about my cold, the snow, and the demands of motherhood conspiring to attack my word count. But while all that stuff really was going on, I think my less than stellar February has more to do with the Mid-Novel blues than any external factors.
But now I'm on a roll. The last few days the writing has gotten better and easier and more every day. And then I come to today, which has been ripe with excuses not to write. I had my first night at tutoring gig #2 last night, got to bed late and then had terrible insomnia, so I'm operating on a major sleep deficit. I just got my period and am in pain. (Side note: Hello, menopause? I'm ready whenever you are.) The Son had gymnastics camp again today, but when I went back to the lovely little coffee shop where I wrote yesterday, they were blaring Harry Connick, jr. (seriously, jazzy standards were not meant to be played at speedmetal decibles) and I knew there was no way I could work there-- and nothing else nearby is open yet at that hour. Then Oberon the laptop started acting up; there's this horrible screeching motor sound when he boots.
A few days ago, I would have said fuck it. But I wrote through the sleep deprivation and the cramps. When the coffee shop was too loud, I drove to library and worked in my car while I waited for it to open, while people walking their dogs gave me WTF looks. When Oberon started freaking out, I transferred the files to the desktop that's still set up in the dining room from my last laptop emergency, and wrote there during quiet play time. And I have 840 words so far today.
If I could just figure out how to be this tenacious about my writing every day, maybe I could finish a novel in less than a decade.
But now I'm on a roll. The last few days the writing has gotten better and easier and more every day. And then I come to today, which has been ripe with excuses not to write. I had my first night at tutoring gig #2 last night, got to bed late and then had terrible insomnia, so I'm operating on a major sleep deficit. I just got my period and am in pain. (Side note: Hello, menopause? I'm ready whenever you are.) The Son had gymnastics camp again today, but when I went back to the lovely little coffee shop where I wrote yesterday, they were blaring Harry Connick, jr. (seriously, jazzy standards were not meant to be played at speedmetal decibles) and I knew there was no way I could work there-- and nothing else nearby is open yet at that hour. Then Oberon the laptop started acting up; there's this horrible screeching motor sound when he boots.
A few days ago, I would have said fuck it. But I wrote through the sleep deprivation and the cramps. When the coffee shop was too loud, I drove to library and worked in my car while I waited for it to open, while people walking their dogs gave me WTF looks. When Oberon started freaking out, I transferred the files to the desktop that's still set up in the dining room from my last laptop emergency, and wrote there during quiet play time. And I have 840 words so far today.
If I could just figure out how to be this tenacious about my writing every day, maybe I could finish a novel in less than a decade.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
I Think I Hear the Quittin' Bell
I'm at 1,572 words, and I think I'm going to stop for the day. Somi and the main antagonist are having a nice little chat by the hearth, and I need to do some thinking on how the rest of it is going to unfold.
No Luxury Like Time
I dropped The Son off at gymnastics camp this morning and then went to a café and wrote 746 words in just over an hour and a half, which is a blistering pace for me. Picked The Son up and dropped him with grandma, who plans to take him swimming. I bet he falls asleep in a matter of seconds tonight. I just had lunch and am now going to wash my hair, and then will settle down for another 1.5-2 hour writing session.
It's such a luxury to have the kid-free time to work. The Son has an hour of quiet play time every afternoon, but when I write during it there's always a part of my brain that's in mom-mode, going, Oh, crap-- what was that big crash? It's just not the same as how I can concentrate when he's out of the house, being cared for by someone else.
I have my first evening at tutoring gig #2 tonight, so I might not be able to check back in with the day's word count total until tomorrow.
It's such a luxury to have the kid-free time to work. The Son has an hour of quiet play time every afternoon, but when I write during it there's always a part of my brain that's in mom-mode, going, Oh, crap-- what was that big crash? It's just not the same as how I can concentrate when he's out of the house, being cared for by someone else.
I have my first evening at tutoring gig #2 tonight, so I might not be able to check back in with the day's word count total until tomorrow.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Priming the Pump
EN is off its ass and moving again, to my massive relief. I hate that "stuck in molasses" feeling. I got 528 words today, and probably won't get any more than that tomorrow. But if everything breaks my way, on Thursday I should have essentially the whole day to write. Getting some words down before then helps to prime the pump, so to speak.
I haven't abandoned my goal of 15,000 words this month. I might not make it, but gosh darn it, I'm gonna give it my best shot.
I haven't abandoned my goal of 15,000 words this month. I might not make it, but gosh darn it, I'm gonna give it my best shot.
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