Portrait of a Writing Session

The intent is to get to work early.  Well, okay…early-ish. So I strive to eliminate all the chores that have cropped up in order to approach the writing session without the clamor of “you should be doing this, you should be doing that” in my head, like bats flapping and screeching at me.

4:30 a.m.

Return from walking dogs.  Feed them. Answer emails.  Leave email window open just in case the President suddenly decides he cannot survive another day without my input.  Check Facebook to see if there are any comments to be left.  Read through my blog list.

Oh, it’s time to take the pups outside again.  While we’re walking, think about the day’s writing.  That’s quickly driven from mind by the gorgeous sunrise.

5:30 a.m.

Return home.  Breakfast.  Egg whites and an “everything” bagel.  Rinse dishes and put them in dishwasher.

6:00 a.m.

Time to shower.  Can’t stand my own stench.  Dogs hide in case I suddenly decide they need baths, too. Pretend I’m Ferris Beuller and make funny hair-dos.   While standing under the warm flow of water, think about how to approach the next scene in the novel.  Ow, holy crap! Soap in my eyes!  Soap in my eyes!

6:30 a.m.

Answer emails.  Check Facebook.  Read more blogs.  Aimlessly surf the web.  All the while, an idea tickles at the back of my mind.  Need to give it room to breathe, to flourish.  Decide to nap.

8:15 a.m.

Answer emails. Check Facebook. Check Reuters for news.  Get depressed, switch to comics.  Open last document on computer in novel, read through previous days’ writing.  Make some minor alterations and changes.

9:30 a.m.

Put load of laundry in the washing machine.  Look around, decide I don’t feel like cleaning house.  Pull out vacuum anyway to get up dog hair from carpet before it grows into a fourth dog.  Sit down at computer again.

10:30 a.m.

Time for lunch.  Salad with baked chicken, sunflower seeds, and non-fat ranch dressing.  Iced tea.  Dogs sit impatiently nearby, hoping a morsel falls from my mouth and dares to reach the floor, tails a-wag with anticipation.  They scoot ever-closer, unable to control themselves until Yaz is resting her chin on my forearm.

11:00 a.m.

Look at clock.  Holy crap, is it 11 o’clock already? Sit down at computer.  Pull up word document.  Re-read previous days’ writing.  Return changed parts back to original.  Open new document.  Slip on headphones.  Middle-eastern electronica.  Very soothing and trance-inducing.  World disappears.

3:00 p.m.

Yaz pokes me with cold nose, snapping me out of trance.

Look at page count.  20.  I look again.  No, 26.  Wow!  Read through it, expecting to find a giant pile of steaming crap on the page.

Am very surprised.

Did not expect that to come up today.  Did not know that character would need to relive birth of her son in order to move on to the hanging scene.  But it all makes perfect sense.

Read it a second time.  And a third.  Dogs remind me that they’re still alive, if only barely, having suffered through so long without my undivided attention.

Save document to hard drive.  Back up to flash drive.  Sigh contendly.  Shut down computer.

Get dogs into car. Time for dog park.

5:30 p.m.

Return home.  Feed dogs.  Niggling plotline in my head.  Turn computer back on.  Check emails.  Check Facebook.  Re-open documents from earlier.  Read through.  They’re good.  Maybe not perfect, but very good, and I’m quite pleased.

Make notes at end of chapter as to where the next scene will pick up and where it needs to lead.

Check emails.  Shut down computer.

6:00 p.m.

Time for dinner.  Non-fat cottage cheese, an apple, steamed broccoli with fresh tomatoes and a vinaigrette dip.  Very tasty.  Turn on television and surf the show guide.  Interesting program on the Discovery channel.  Watch for awhile.  They’re talking about supernatural investigations. Fascinating, even if the program does pander to the lowest common denominator.  Perk up when a factoid is presented that catches my writerly attention.

Hurry to desk and grab notepad and pen.  Hurry back to television.  Make copious notes.  Realize that my next novel has just presented itself.  Leave television on and continue writing.  While making notes, figure out a concerning plot point for current novel.  Make notes on that.  More notes.  Make sure to put notepad on desk so I will see it in the morning.

7:30 p.m.

Exhausted.  Lie down to read someone else’s writing for a bit.  Grow too tired to keep eyes open.  Fall asleep.  Have bizarre dreams which will require jotting down in the morning.  Sleep deeply for eight hours.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Danger, Will Robinson!

Other introverts will relate to this, I imagine.

Writers tend toward reclusiveness.  Not because they’re eccentric (though some certainly are) or because they’re weird (though I’ve known a few), but because writing is a very introspective activity.  It’s difficult to piece together a story when the world strives to intervene.  That’s one of the reasons that writing (and writers) are usually seen as “loners.”  Not in the serial killer way (though perhaps there are even a few of those.  I’m not admitting to anything).

Sometimes, we become so immersed in our story world, that human relations fall by the wayside.  Or we get so caught up in words that we tend to forget to use them in reality.  Writing can be quite intense, even if on the outside it doesn’t look at all difficult.  I’ve had non-writers wonder aloud how hard it can really be, sitting at a computer all day.  Well, if we were merely sitting there doing nothing, that might be one thing.  But all the work is going on in our minds.  It’s not physically as strenuous as, say, lumberjacking, but it’s as exhausting.

I tend to require a nap after several hours of writing.  Sometimes before.  But I recognize the danger in removing myself from the world at large, for much of the information used in stories comes from the world around us.  There are memories that are also cultivated for this purpose.  Experiences.  Others’ lives.

So it behooves us as writers to get out and at least socialize a little, lest we forget how to be human.  Kind of like the character Jack Nicholson played in As Good As It Gets. I took that more as a cautionary tale for writers than a human drama.

It’s dangerous to become so mired in words and stories that reality is neglected.  I believe that’s why I chose more social breeds of dogs as companions, because they force me out into the world and into interactions with others.  And hell, many stories come from those relationships, too.  Yes, sometimes it’s too much being “in the world.”  I often find that I have to retreat from it all to regroup, decompress, and figure out my next strategy.  But it’s worth it, too.  Finding balance would be best, of course.  But that’s not always as easy as it sounds.

This world often demands our attention, our participation.  Do we answer the call, or continue in our introverted ways?

The Desk Project I

As mentioned in a previous post, I grew frustrated after several months of trying to find a new desk for my home office.  I shopped every store and website known to mankind, and couldn’t find anything that matched my specifications.

The space I’ve converted is the smallish dining room in my condo, which would never be used as a formal dining room anyway.   The dimensions of the space are 96″ across the back wall, 54″ inches along the patio door, and 36″ on the kitchen door side.

My concept was to find a left-return L-shaped desk that would fit the space.  Nothing I came across in three months of searching had the dimensions required for the space, and none of the items I looked at were less than $1200-$1500.  Though I use my office/creative space a LOT, I cannot justify spending that kind of money for a desk. Nuh-uh, no way, Jose.

Here’s the current space with the desk I’m looking to replace:

Current Desk and space

Many moons ago, my job was property manager for a student apartment complex for the University of Colorado at Boulder.  The residents pretty much all came from wealthy families who outfitted their new “home away from home” with nice, new furniture.  Most, if not all of the residents left every stick of furniture behind when they moved out upon graduation.  I cherry-picked some of the nicer stuff (like the desk, which came with a beautiful matching bookcase).  However, that was almost ten years ago, and the desk has certainly seen better days.

The drawer facings will no longer stay on, no matter how many times I fix them.  Liquid Nails will only go so far.  The work surface of this desk, while adequate, no longer suits my needs.  With the sheer number of various projects I undertake on a weekly basis, there’s just no room!

Finally, out of sheer frustration and the strong need and desire to maximize the space being used, I went to Lowe’s, spent $120 and got all the materials I need to build my own work space.

I started with two pre-treated pieces of 3/4″ Ponderosa Pine.  One is 72″ x 24″, and will form the main work area.

Main work area piece

This I painted with several coats of satin furniture paint, black.  I want the wood to be sealed, and unobtrusive.  I like using a satin finish as it allows the natural grain of the wood to show through but is still easily cleaned.  The focal point is not really the desk itself, but the work being done on it.  However, I will add some splashes of color to the surface to make it interesting.

The second piece, which will form the left arm of the L, is 20″ x 48″.  This will be the portion that fits in front of the fixed portion of the doorwall. It, too, was painted black.  Not only does the paint help seal the wood and strengthen it, the act of painting it gave me a good feel for which side would be the actual work surface, and which side would be the bottom of the desk.

Smaller piece

I bought decorative legs, which are seen here in their natural wood state, but will be also painted black with some cool accents.  As they are purely functional and won’t really be seen, I won’t spend a lot of time or energy on them.

My legs! My legs!

Once I get the items coated with several layers of paint, I will begin cutting the braces and other unseen pieces that will hold the desk up.  The legs will make the surface 28″ from the floor.  This is perfect.

The work surface will be wall-mounted with wood braces and metal brackets to keep it all solid.  The legs will be used to keep the longer lengths of wood from bowing under any weight that may be set atop it.

All in all, I’m very excited to be undertaking this project.  It will be nice to have a work area that is useful, with enough under-storage so that my documents, etc., aren’t spread all over.

Watch for more information as the project progress!

P.S. – Will have a desk for sale mid-June.  Watch for it!

Validation

I gaurantee that you’ll watch this clip more than once.  And you’ll have tears in your eyes each time you view it.  Let this woman’s journey be validation for everyone and anyone who’s ever said, “I’m too old to pursue my dreams,” or anything even slightly close to that.

Introverts’ Bill of Rights

It happens often beginning this time of year.

People start eyeing me like I’m an orphan desperately seeking adoption, a makeover just waiting for rescue, a lost soul in need of grounding.  It’s the holidays that puts others into this frame of mind for when the calendar draws near to Thanksgiving, I notice the shift in behavior of my friends and neighbors.

It usually starts with a question, innocent on its surface, but hiding a truckload of land mines around which I must eventually navigate.

“What are you doing for the holidays?” they ask in their well-meaning way.

Immediately, I freeze.  There really isn’t a good way to answer that.  If I say I prefer to stay with the dogs and write, it’s as if I’ve blasphemed in some way, and the person asking the question insists that I join their family for dinner.  Without offending them, I say I’ll think about it, having no intention whatsoever of subjecting myself to chaotic festivities with people I hardly know, if at all.

If I make up an excuse, it means I’m lying to them (even if it is a white lie on my part to spare their feelings and myself the hassle of trying to finagle my way out of any commitment I erroneously make), and those lies always come back to bite me in the butt.  Many people, even friends, don’t understand the psychology of the true introvert.

I’m one of those introverts who can “act” like an extrovert when necessary, but who is really masking a strong need to be left alone.  They don’t perceive my introvertedness, and therefore take offense when I beg off a social engagement or bow out of going to a concert.

I live a lot inside my head, and yes, I do on occasion need to get away from myself.  But I choose those times, not someone else.  But how does one do so without offending others who may not understand?

This season already I’ve had more than five persistent offers from well-meaning but perhaps misguided friends for holiday plans.  It’s a four-day weekend for me, and because I get to spend so little time just being at home with the pups and with myself, writing, lounging, whatever, I covet those long weekends.  I’ve never been one who “needs” another’s presence.  It used to drive my mother crazy.

“You’re going to be one lonely boy when you grow up,” she often admonished.  But the mistake there is that “alone” does not equal “lonely.”  I thrive on being alone.  Mostly because I am never truly alone.  There are stories zinging through my head that keep me company.  Or books.  Or movies.  Or dogs.

Being around humans exhausts me.  I prefer small, intimate groups rather than large, noisy gatherings.  In fact, a one-on-one is best, like a quiet lunch or dinner.  Tea in a garden somewhere.  Sitting on a mountain top gazing out across the Great Divide.

So, for this holiday season, I hereby post “The Introverts Bill of Rights.”

• Introverts reserve the inalienable right to refuse any and all invitations without repercussions or hurt feelings and with the universal understanding that we don’t mind being asked (not cajoled, mind you), and want others to continue asking, because there’s always a chance we’ll accept.
• Introverts have the right to claim a sacred space of their own for recharging, rebalancing or simply enjoying themselves in a way of their choosing.
• Introverts have the right to leave social events early or not show up at all, depending on how they’re feeling at the moment and without fear of losing a friend because of it.
• Introverts are not “anti-social.”  Instead, we thrive on quiet introspection and deep thought.  We do enjoy the occasional soiree or gathering, but those are the exception rather than the rule.
  
• Introverts are typically much more sensitive to the world around them than others.  It’s almost like a form of autism, except our minds don’t shut down with too much stimulation.  Rather, we retreat to our safe place to center ourselves.
  
• Introverts prefer a few good friends rather than a lot of acquaintances.
• The internet was designed by an introvert for introverts.  It’s the perfect medium for us. Don’t be offended if we don’t always return phone calls, but tend to prefer email.
  
• Introverts don’t need to be “cured” or brought out of our shells.  We like our shells.  They’re pretty.
  
• Introverts don’t enjoy being forced into commiting.  If we say, “Can I get back to you on that?” it’s not rejection, but rather a real attempt to determine whether if we decide to commit, we’ll actually show up. And if we’re forced to commit, we reserve the right to not show up without having to make up an excuse.
  
• Introverts reserve the right to “just say no” without angry backlash.
• “Meeting the right person” usually means another introvert, not a blind date with cousin Matthew or your sister Ava.  Stop trying to set us up.  We’re not socially retarded, but prefer social situations that are well suited to our temperament.  Non-introverts tend not to understand this.
• Introverts are not “stupid” just because we don’t always speak up.  We tend to be very intelligent and don’t always feel the need to prove it.  Some of the most brilliant minds of the past four centuries tended toward introversion, including Einstein.  Many creative types are introverts.
  
• Introverts are fiercely protective of their sacred space.  If you don’t want to get stung, don’t poke a stick into a hornet’s nest.
  

WIP Update

So, for the first time, I printed out the entire manuscript for The Vast. My process is that I don’t number the pages until I’ve redrafted each chapter, and they’re ready to present to my writer’s group.  This way, I can keep things organized.

I typed “The End” several months ago on this project, but have yet to see it in its entirety.   Until now.

And holy crap, it’s long.  I’m going to guess more than 500 manuscript pages.  However, I’ve got tons of ideas that I want to incorporate into the next draft which will help streamline and condense the current plot, with several scenes scheduled to be deleted (they just don’t move the story forward like I’d hoped, dammit!).

In related news: my buddy Gavin sent along a link to a free novel-writing software that helps organize your writing project.  It’s pretty basic, but includes, among other things, a submission tracker so you can keep track of your dominatrix clients writing submissions to various publications and agents.

You can find the link here.

Hey! Get Out Of The Way!

Talking to a friend on the phone last night about his WIP, an epic fantasy novel for which he has created everything about the world in which it exists. It’s a brilliant storyline, with characters that leap from the page. However, he has, it seems, hit a storyblock (it’s like a road block, except it takes place in a story, natch).

He called because he seemed to have reached such a tangled knot in his novel, he wasn’t sure how to detangle it. I interrogated him on the story, and he kept reverting back to telling me all of the backstory elements of the trilogy. Originally, he set out to tell this story, but felt that the reader wouldn’t understand the entirety of the story without all the backstory, and so he started over from “the beginning.” What happened, in my professional opinion, is that the backstory eclipsed the brilliant and moving real story.

We chatted for more than an hour, me ferreting out the original story while he continued to circle around it, insisting that the back story needed to be told. I did not disagree, but suggested that perhaps the backstory could be woven intricately in to the real story, since it was so dynamic and a plot that I had not previously encountered before, thereby making it very unique in the realm of fantasy writing.

By the time we ended the call, it had become clear that he also saw the ways in which he’d gotten in his own way in writing the story, trying impose his will on the story and characters rather than letting the story evolve and grow on its own.

What a great example of the ways in which we, in our writing and in our daily lives, tend to get in our own way, tripping ourselves up and creating various blocks to success and happiness.

When things don’t seem to be moving forward, it helps to take a step back and really look at the process we’d been working with, maybe getting a second opinion from a trusted friend. Many times, we’ll find that it wasn’t outside elements blocking our way, but an impediment we’d placed there ourselves. Perhaps even just our way of thinking.

Sleep or Writing?

There are days when I easily slip into “the zone” of writing. There are other’s when my mind scampers about like a squirrel in springtime, never pausing long enough to fully formulate a thought or an idea.

While working out this morning, gazing through the windows of the fitness joint I belong to, rain sitting in reflective puddles that mirror a steel gray sky, I pondered this matter. What came to me was that writing is a lot like REM sleep. From Wikipedia:

Rapid eye movement (REM) sleep is normal stage of sleep characterized by rapid movements of the eyes. REM sleep is classified into two categories: tonic and phasic.^[1] It was discovered by Nathaniel Kleitman and Eugene Aserinsky in the early 1950s. Their seminal article was published September 4, 1953.^[2] Criteria for REM sleep include not only rapid eye movements, but also low muscle tone and a rapid, low voltage EEG — these features are easily discernible in a polysomnogram, the sleep study typically done for patients with suspected sleep disorders.

REM sleep in adult humans typically occupies 20-25% of total sleep, lasting about 90-120 minutes. During a normal night of sleep, humans usually experience about 4 or 5 periods of REM sleep; they are quite short at the beginning of the night and longer toward the end. Most people tend to wake for a short time at the end of a REM phase. The relative amount of REM sleep varies considerably with age. A newborn baby spends more than 80% of total sleep time in REM (see also Active Sleep). During REM, the sum activity of the brain’s neurons is quite similar to that during waking hours; for this reason, the phenomenon is often called paradoxical sleep. This means that there are no dominating brain waves during REM sleep.

REM sleep is physiologically different from the other phases of sleep, which are collectively referred to as non-REM sleep. Most of our vividly recalled dreams occur during REM sleep.

Many times when I’m writing, I lay on my belly on the floor with a couple pillows to keep from getting rug burns on my elbows. More often than not, I end up taking a nap first, as my brain gets that tickling feeling that comes right before I drop into sleep at night. When I awake twenty or thirty minutes later, I immediately pick up my pen and flow through several hours of deep writing.

When I realized that I wrote best when my brain was in that post-somnambulant state, I worked on training it to get to that level without falling asleep. So far it hasn’t quite worked, but I know it can be done. If David Blaine can hold his breath for more than 16 minutes underwater without assistance, I can train my mind to sink into that REM state with my motor functions still doing what they need to do.

However, I really like to sleep, so sometimes I indulge in that need to slip into nothingness every once in awhile.

Emotion in Motion

I heard a television weatherman claim that March came in like a lamb, and is leaving like a lamb…but he was talking about meteorology. For me, it came in like a lion, and is leaving the same way.

It has been a tough month.

But it has been a very good month. I say “tough” only because of the incredible amount of work March brought. Not only of the physical variety, but the amount of inner work that got done is truly awe-inspiring. Of course, inner work is never really done, but I feel like I moved a couple of mountains.

It feels good.

The day-job has been inordinately busy. The bossman has been out with the flu most of this past week, but his phone seems to work very well, thank you, and he’s been on it with me giving direction and tasks, as if to make up for his absence. I don’t mind, as it’s better than mind-numbing boredom. He’s a great boss, and inspires me to do my best.

Where writing is concerned, you may have already read The War Within, my previous post about the conundrum of finding enough quality time to write and still balance out responsibilities in the real world. Having written that and reading the comments that validated my feelings on it (it’s a mixed blessing to know that there are others who experience the same thing…why can’t we all just do what we want?), I felt a tremendous inner shift of energy. The path before me was suddenly obvious, as if I had blinded myself to it all along, and had only to clear the way in order to be able to see it. That came after several days of self-imposed isolation during which I let the matter burble inside me, allowed it to become what it needed to become so that I could see the lesson there.

It worked.

Had a very lengthy and revealing conversation with the Goddess Ra in which we realized that my journey echoes hers: we both just want to MOVE FORWARD.

My realization was that I feel that I’m subtly sabotaging my own forward motion by distracting myself with too many other, seemingly helpful writing responsibilities. And while I’m sure that my guidance as a coach and writing mentor is helpful to those I am working with, perhaps those things aren’t helping me.

I used to be a staunch advocate of the idea that when one helps others, they are also helping themselves in some way. Yes, I get a good amount of personal satisfaction in devoting my time, energy, and creativity to guiding others along their writing journey, but am I deluding myself, really? Do I need that satisfaction? Once upon a time, I did. Definitely. But I have come a long, long way since those days, and don’t need the constant reassurance and validation, at least not in that way. I believe it’s time for me to move on, to actively and singlemindedly pursue my own goals.

At this time, I’m not sure what that will look or feel like. I’m still sorting it out at the moment. But it feels like real movement for the first time in over a month. Maybe more. It’s not change for change’s sake, either, which feels wonderful.

My big dog, Ozzie, will sometimes groan satisfactorily when laying himself down after a session of playing. That’s what this feels like: a deep moan of satisfaction. Like settling into the journey forth.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.

The War Within

Every writer has their process. I’ve learned from interacting with many of them just how different their individual processes are. I have also learned how important it is for a writer to be able to immerse themselves into their project in order to really feel it, to craft the language and tell the story.

This point is driven home to me time and again when I find myself running up against outside responsibilities that cannot be ignored, when I’m right in the smack-dab-middle of a really awesome writing session.

Novel writing demands large blocks of uninterrupted time within which the writer literally “loses” himself to the story. At least, this has been my experience, and the experience I’ve heard from several other novelists. Stephen King once described it as a “hole opening up in the center of the page” through which he fell like a modern day Alice through the looking glass.

For me, it’s not a hole so much as it is the world around me fading to nothing, and the story appearing as moving images on the screen of my mind, like a multiplex screen come to life inside. I see the characters as they move through the story, hear their words, and feel their actions and movement. It becomes almost real.

When I’m able to devote enough time to writing, this phenomena happens almost immediately. If I’m trying to squeeze a few minutes in here and there, it doesn’t. There’s a marked difference in the quality of writing when I’m able to open up that mind-screen in my writing as opposed to when I’m merely skimming the surface of the story. And when I’m able to immerse myself completely into the story, reemerging into the “real world” is like coming down off a weekend of hallucinogens. It’s addicting. It also makes me realize how much I yearn — yearn – to be able to write full-time.

Every day, I imagine my life as a full-time writer. I create realistic scenarios in my head of how it would look and feel to support myself on doing things I am passionate about, that I thoroughly enjoy doing. Once upon a time, I made a very good living doing just that (in a different industry) but had to retire from it, as it came with a very high personal price tag.

So the war within me rages, the battle between doing what I must to pay the rent, feed the dogs, and pay bills and doing what I am very good at and enjoy. Why those two are currently mutually exclusive, I know not.

I am working vigilantly to create a life in which I can make the money I need to survive while doing the things I most enjoy. Isn’t that how life should be, anyway?