Why aren't you writing that today?

by Joan

It’s inspiring to listen to experts speak knowledgeably and passionately about a particular topic or idea. We’re big fans of TED talks here, but recently I’ve spent some time listening to experts via a different venue. There are thousands of podcasts on any subject, whether photography, writing, business, aeronautics, you name it. So if your character is an airline pilot and you know nothing about flying (except how to reserve a seat, fasten your seatbelt and kick open the emergency door), search until you find one or two or ten good podcasts on that subject.

Recently I listened to a podcast on architecture, which I’ve researched for technical and artistic aspects for The Lost Legacy of Gabriel Tucci, but not for practicalities of the field as a career choice. I came across a group of podcasts called The Business of Architecture by Enoch Sears. In one particular show, he interviewed Eric Corey Freed, architect, author and founder of Organic Architect, his practice devoted to building with an organic and ecological approach. Over the past 15 years or so running his own practice, Freed has been a mentor to numerous college graduates. Because of his generosity and openness to help, he now receives upwards of 1,000 emails a year from newbie architects, feeling either lost or discouraged by their lack of progress or ability to get started in the business of architecture.

Though I was listening to get a perspective of how an architect thinks and what kind of issues might come up in the course of a workday, I was struck by his universal message. He offers to meet with every person who contacts him and is surprised that only a small percentage takes him up on his offer. His mentees have been known to shed a few tears – not because he’s mean or patronizing, but because he pushes them to think internally, to think hard about strengths and goals and passions.

His advice rang true, not only for new graduates, but also for those trying to take their careers to the next level. I think about the stymied writer, one who thinks it’s fruitless to keep trying. I’m not that person – I’ve never once thought of giving up writing, despite my enthusiastic rejection pile. I love the writing part too much. But I know others who have. Eric Corey Freed has put together some excellent advice. Yes, it was intended to be about architecture. But I’m pretty sure his message translates to other ventures, artistic or otherwise. In fact, I've translated it to my own language of writing.

He asks:

1.     Can you think of a problem in your community or town or country that needs a solution? (Can you think of a character on a mission, in trouble, searching for something?)

2.     Can you think of it today? (Are the characters talking to you RIGHT NOW?)

3.     Can you brainstorm a solution to that problem? Today? (Can you picture those characters in scenes, battling with antagonists, overcoming obstacles?)

4.     Can you put that solution in a presentation, whether it be a narrative, YouTube video or in-person presentation? (Can you write it down? Picture it as a movie?)

5.     Can you present that solution with passion? (Revise! Rewrite! Add tension!)

6.     Then why aren’t you? Why aren’t you doing that today?

The majority of the time, Freed gets the same 10 excuses, which he bats down almost immediately. I don’t have a license or I don’t have the money or I don't have time. From there it continues until he digs to the real excuse. Fear. Fear of rejection, fear of failure, fear of embarrassment.

Most people when asked will say they want to do something extraordinary with their lives. But only 5% of people actually do. (His statistic, not mine, but it sounds right). He argues that the biggest deterrent to reaching your potential is yourself.

So ask yourself a few questions. Do you have a story floating around in your brain? Is it itching to get out? Why aren’t you writing that today?

Life

By Susan

In June, my family and I spent a luxurious week at the Paradise Village Resort in Nuevo Vallarta, Mexico, a much-anticipated and saved-for vacation. Our sunrise patio overlooked the yacht harbor. Our sunset dinners gave us a view of a Pacific expanse of purple skies, jagged mountain peaks, and a quiet surf. We sang along with the Mariachi band on Fiesta night and drank tequila out of little silly cups the resort staff hung around our necks on strings. We zip-lined over canyons, hiked in the rain forest, and swam in a cool stream famous for- of all things- being the set for the movie "Predator". My eight-year-old, with her hair done up in tight cornrows braided by an elderly Mexican woman on the beach, swam with me in the resort pool on our last day there, smiled broadly, and said "Mommy, this is THE LIFE."

In March I spent two weeks travelling in Ghana, West Africa for my work with Touch A Life Foundation. The capital city, Accra, teems with people; legless men sitting on modified skateboards dart through traffic, begging for cedis, the Ghanaian currency. Women carry baskets full of fresh bread, or bags of water, or shrimp, or hard-boiled eggs; they carry everything perched high on their heads in a Carmen Miranda-esque balancing act of both grace and danger. Their babies are tied to their backs with long swaths of fabric, safely sleeping, suspended there, legs wrapped around and feet pointing forward. People. Color. Sound. Everywhere. Everything smells, whether it's the sweet stickiness of body odor, the bursting blooms from the garden, old garbage, fufu cooking over an open flame, or the stench of open sewage. I work with children rescued from human trafficking -- kids who tackle me with hot and dirty hands and hugs and love every time they see me. I look around and say: "Wow. This is REAL LIFE."

In Texas, I have two dogs and a cat. I live in a neigh-
borhood of families who move silently in and out of their homes, and anything I could possibly want to purchase is within a five mile radius of my house. I have a husband who is crazy about World Cup soccer, the Tour de France, his children, and cooking (not necessarily in that order). My daughters do well in school, love to sing, play guitar, and play sports. I work full time (always have) and at night, when everything is quiet, I sit by myself, curled in a chair with my laptop, and I write. "Hmmm," I think to myself, "This is MY LIFE."

And it's all the same life. Writing is like this life too, whether it's an escape into a luxurious world we're not so sure we belong to, or something far-flung and foreign, or something comfortable and familiar. We can write about things we know, places we've been, and sunsets we've seen.

The important part is to connect -- to find the familiar, to write something that might mean something to someone. By writing this little blog, maybe you see my sunset in your mind's eye. You smell the streets of Accra with me, and you see me sitting here right now, in my quiet home, writing in the dark. We connect, ever so briefly, and share something together, without even knowing one another.

So pick your life, the one you live, and pick the one you write. Have your heroine swept away by that beautiful Mexican cabana boy or the handsome yet lonely stranger who owns the yacht in the harbor. Tell the stories of the scars on the bodies of the little boys rescued from slavery on the waters of Lake Volta, fall in love with a child who calls you "Ma" and leaves grubby smudges on your already sweat-stained clothes. Or write about the heartaches that go on inside every home on every street in America, where the hero lavishes himself with excess and still can't figure out exactly what he is missing in his life, because he already has everything that money can buy.

Just write. Write it all down and connect your story with mine. I'll connect mine, hopefully, with you. Choose your life and choose your story; just keep writing.

Does my middle look saggy, or is it just me?

By Julie

There's a popular term among writers: The Sagging Middle.

I've experienced it myself, mostly when I was flying by the seat of my pants and writing without any idea where I was headed – known as "pantsing."

But I've discovered something else this week: The Meandering Middle.

But I'm not talking about the story. I'm talking about the writer.
I'm slightly beyond the middle of my current manuscript – about 47,000 written of my anticipated 90,000. I'm using a detailed outline for the first time, so I know exactly where I need to go next, and it's moving along at a nice clip. In fact, I've even decided to up my personal word-count challenge so I can get to "The End" faster because it's going so well.

It doesn't seem like my middle is sagging. In fact, I'm just about to enter the portion of the story where so much stuff hits my characters, they almost can't stand it. So, I'm not bored writing, and I hope my readers won't be bored reading when they come to this point.

What's annoying, though, is that even though my middle isn't sagging and my enthusiasm isn't dragging, I'm getting distracted. Even with my handy-dandy outline to keep me on track.

And guess what? It happened to me the last time, too. But that time I quit right in the middle. I did not have an outline that time, so I'm certainly seeing the exponential value in this nifty tool.

So, what's distracting me, you ask?

My attention has been grabbed by the new story idea that's rambling about in my brain. The next new thing. The thing I now can't wait to write when I finish writing and revising ALL THE THINGS YOU ARE. I had a glimmer of the unique setting before, but the "what if?" hit me between the eyes last night.

When I was tired and clueless in the middle of writing the last manuscript, ALL THE THINGS YOU ARE called to me like a siren of the sea, and I shipwrecked. I made the transition as if I were dating a boy who just didn't thrill me anymore and a newer, fancier model came along and asked me out. I said yes. I had no commitment to the old story other than the time I'd put into it, which wasn't a little … but maybe wasn't quite enough.

Well, this time, I'm not jumping ship. I spent too much time on that dadgummed outline to quit now.

Besides, I still love the story. We're comfortable with each other, and I'm in it for the long haul.

But it doesn't mean I can't cheat a little on the side. You know, just a coffee date now and then to say hello and catch up on what's new with Shiny New Story. Like they say, just because you're on a diet doesn't mean you can't look at the menu.

So last night, I allowed my mind to go totally gaga over the new story for a few hours, then again this afternoon. I wrote a potential nutshell synopsis, then honed it down to an elevator pitch/logline. I conducted some quick and dirty Internet research. (That's what researchers call it, I promise … I learned the term in grad school.) I took notes, brainstormed a little, walked around in my characters' brains as they faced the day, just to see what kind of cereal they eat for breakfast.

But now I'm back to my current manuscript. I'm not giving up. I just needed to check out the competition for a few hours.

I'm happy I went to the trouble of spending a month to make that outline. It's kind of like wedding vows:

Me and ALL THE THINGS YOU ARE … together forever. Or at least until "The End" does us part.

I won't grieve long. When I'm a novel widow, I'll already have my next partner all picked out.

Photo credit: diamond geezer's Flickr photostream / by Creative Commons license

Why I write

By Julie

I wrote this piece a year or two ago as a timed writing assignment for a class with Barbara Samuel, now also writing as Barbara O’Neal. A fabulous author, Barbara also teaches occasional online classes about finding your writer's voice and about the emotional aspects of writing. We spend most of our learning time as writers focused on craft, when nurturing the soul and discovering our calling and place in the world of writing is just as important. I highly recommend taking one of Barbara's classes, joining an Artist's Way class in your area or online, or finding something similar that works for you. I tweaked this a bit, but most of what I originally wrote remained true.

I write, simply, because I have to. When I don't write, I feel as if I’m wandering, lost in a cloud that hovers over a grey, drizzly world. Sometimes even when I write, I feel as if the world is grey and drizzly, but the writing helps me cope.

I write because I'm good at it. It makes me feel like I have worth as a creative, growing person. I read what others write and think, “Yeah, I can do that. Maybe I can even do it better.”

I write because my brain is like an auditorium full of people chattering, crying, and laughing about what’s going on in their lives, and writing helps me get it down. In the middle of their noise, I find stories crying out to be told. (Nope, I haven't been diagnosed yet.)

I write because I get bored in my world. It can be routine and repetitive, and I need stimulation. My brain needs to be actively engaged in thinking about people and who they are and why they do the things they do.

I write because I want approval, often. I'm trying to get past this, but there it is. When I write, I want to show it to someone and hear them say, “Wow! This really makes me think. You're very talented.”

I write because I'd love to make enough money to do this job for the rest of my life. I’d rather write for a career than anything else I can imagine. Anything else seems like putting in time until I die or the world comes to an end, whichever comes first. I’d rather do something that keeps me interested and engaged than something just to receive a paycheck. Paying the bills with writing money would be a nice perk.

I write because everything seems to come across the lens of my brain as a framed photo or a vignette of sorts, telling me I need to record it. I believe most days I notice things many others don't have the capacity to notice, or would just as soon ignore. It makes me happy when I see that chunk of type, telling the story nobody else might have bothered to write down.

I write because objects and events are rarely simply things I can take at face value. They make me think of other things, that make me think of other things, that make me think of other things. Everything is a catalyst. I see one shape, and it reminds me of another. I hear one story, and I’m off and running with another. The only way to make sense of any of these things is to capture them with my pen.

I write because it keeps my monsters at bay. The ones that tell me I’m not talented enough or gifted enough or that I’m not much good at anything else. The ones that tell me I should sleep all day.

I write to live, and live to write. It's nearly as easy as breathing, though some days, I wonder why the words won't flow. On those days, or in those weeks or months at a time, I feel as if I’m holding my breath, floating just below the surface, when I’m supposed to burst from the water in a brilliant ray of light.

I write because I write, and the more I write, the more I write.

Now you. Why do you write? Take ten minutes and write without stopping. Be honest. It's for you! If you want to post it on your blog, leave us a comment with a link.