Hermits on a Hilltop

We've written about our writing habits -- our abilities to sequester ourselves and focus on our projects. But there comes a time when even the most reclusive among us benefits from interacting with others of our kind. Our tribe.

Months ago, the What Women Write members agreed a writing retreat would be a great vehicle for diving into our works and feeding off each other's creative energy.

Not to mention, it would be fun to get away.

After a little Internet research and a few (well, dozens) of back and forth emails, we reserved a lovely Texas Hill Country-style house along the Brazos River for a long weekend. We secured the date, changed and secured it again, and eagerly planned our retreat. We finalized transportation details and gabbed about what to bring. Laptop computers and food topped the list. It's possible food topped the list, actually.

And away we went.

Now, composing this post from our remote perch at the top of a lovely hill in Texas, surrounded by friendly dogs, curious donkeys, and a wandering pig, we can safely say: It's working!

We spend quiet time apart writing. We come together for critique and chat (and chat ... and chat ...). Some of us are piling up thousands of NaNoWriMo words, others are meandering happily. Over dinner last night at a historic inn (that came with plenty of ambiance and a delightful server happy to share the house's ghost tale at Joan's request!), we concurrred our retreat has been a success. And, except for Kim's allergic reaction to the prolific mountain cedar and an unfortunate run-in with some fire ants, we've had a fabulous time.

Now, back to writing ...

NaNo-YES!

by Elizabeth

I guess I should say something about National Novel Writing Month. Like, I'm doing it. Boy am I doing it. And was there ever a worse month to start?

My mother, two of my sisters, my mother- and brother- and father-in-law all have November birthdays, not to mention two nephews, and one of my kids. Thank goodness my parents are divorced. A brother and brother-in-law stretch out the month with early December birthdays. Rebels. And did I mention Thanksgiving?

My November starts on the day before Halloween. I realize the 30th of October is clearly not November, but when my doctor told me my first child was due the eleventh month, I figured I was in for just one more thing. Surprise, labor and the baby came three weeks early--even so, that was too late to keep from being lumped with the November marathon.

So this year it was already bad enough with the whirlwind of a slumber party followed by Halloween and the next day expect to spit out 1667 fresh new words by midnight. But then we had a medical emergency (everyone's fine, just one of those things), and I spent good parts of Monday and Tuesday at the hospital. Meanwhile, I had to plan for slumber party numero dos riding in fast. Somewhere in there, I had to tote kids to after-school activities galore, oh, and everyone still needed to be fed. (Can you believe the nerve of that?)

So not a great month to start NaNo. But you know what? I did it. As of Monday night, I'm at 14,244 words, slightly behind schedule, sure, but did I mention my week? I'm also thinking I'll double up (okay, time and a half it) during the retreat this weekend, so I'm pleased with my progress so far, and I think I'm going to make the 50K word goal by month's end. Even more, I'm pleased with the story I'm unfolding. Sure, it's a first draft, but the exercise in just plowing ahead is getting its message across. Which is great. I really think the point of NaNo is to teach us something new, to change up how we do things so we can do better, to help us realize that it's okay to write just okay. Greatness can come later. It worked for Jane Austen.

Here's the thing, too: is there ever a good time to start something as daunting and challenging and structured as NaNo? What if it were next month, instead? Oh, the holidays! Or March, with spring break and school activities in overload? Summer is summer, September gets the year rolling for parents with kids in school--there's never a good time. So why not November? And you know what? Pile it on. Sure, I'm busy. Sure, I'm staying up late writing, exhausted and sometimes drooling on the keyboard, but the key word of this sentence is a verb, active tense: writing. I'm writing.

I'd say that's worth the marathon. Oh, and if you're reading this and owed a gift? I'll get to it. But I have some writing to do, and I'm going to do it.

Retreat to Nature

by Joan

It’s the weekend we’ve all been waiting for. Four days of writing, reading, and rejuvenating our literary souls in Hill Country. Aside from a few of the bigger cities, I’ve not explored much of Texas.

I like to say I love to be outside, despite my behavior to the contrary: endless stretches at my computer behind closed plantation shutters, hours browsing a library or bookstore, movie marathons with my son. I get an incomparable lift from spending sunny afternoons surrounded by a crashing ocean or ancient ruins, a sweeping breeze reminding me of how large the world is. But really, I’m a city girl. A run-in with a lizard in my own home sent me on a mini-retreat to Haggard Library.

To enjoy outdoors, I don’t have to be playing tennis, rock-climbing, or gathering blackberries (in fact, I’d rather not!). But I love to walk. When I was in high school, my best friend Chrissie and I would meet after school and walk for miles, solving the world’s problems, complaining about our own, laughing, sharing our tragic poetry and planning our futures. We traipsed our neighborhood so much, we probably could have found our way home blindfolded.

In new territory, though, my sense of direction is pathetic. Worse, I’m one of those people who thinks her sense of direction is much better than it actually is (kind of like my love of being outside). I once went on a stroll with a dinner party acquaintance in a neighborhood neither of us had visited. We got lost (pre cell phones) and had to stop at a stranger’s house for directions. If it had been on my Maryland family’s watch, the matter would have been dropped. But no, in my husband’s family, they tease mercilessly and I still hear about the breadcrumbs they should have sent with me.

The beach has always been my favorite place to walk, an infinite stretch of sand, lapping waters to comfort, sun to warm the journey. And no matter how far you go, once you turn around, you’ll always get back to where you started, sans breadcrumbs.

But when it comes to hiking in woods, I’m petrified. It’s one of those things I want desperately to like, to spend a day around jeweled leaves, musical footfalls, earthy smells, and good friends. But every time I head into a lair of viney trees, I panic about snakes and scorpions and all manner of unfamiliar creatures. I follow the others, sick pretend-smile on my face, and count the minutes until I return civilization. Maybe my fear stems from growing up without brothers and being raised by an over-protective creature-phobic mother and a bookish father.

For our retreat, we’re going to a fairly remote cabin, surrounded by woods and a lake. I want so much to join my writing partners for long walks during our breaks from writing. But how much fun will they have if I’m jumping on their backs at the first sign of animal or insect life? As a writer, it’s my job to seek out new experiences, get out of my comfort zone, like Susan says. But what if a snake coils around my leg or takes a bite of my ankle? What if I get separated from the group and end up at the Big Bad Wolf’s house? Sure, I’ll have a great story to write, but will I live to tell it?

It might be better for everyone if I let them enjoy the woods without me. Better if I curl up on the couch with my laptop or a novel. But with my luck, I’ll stay inside and a lizard will show up in the cabin.

Comfort Zones

By Susan

I listened to a radio show this week where four women were thrown into crazy situations to see how they would react. One scenario was a day of skydiving. In the next, their life coach stripped naked and jumped into Lake Michigan and instructed them all to join her and they dutifully and joyfully followed suit. The tests seemed to have a few things in common: the element of surprise, facing a fear, and leaving your comfort zone. It made me want to do something different and cool too, until I thought about my novel. For whatever reason, I've been stuck in my same habits lately with no plans to change. And it's not working.

Writers, just like anyone else, sometimes have a hard time in leaving a comfort zone. We work very hard to classify ourselves as “YA” or “Women’s Fiction” or “Mystery” and not to cross any lines. We sit in the same chair in the same room at the same desk and write, basically, the same stuff, over and over. If we have poor habits we keep them. If we have great habits, then guess what? We keep them too. This is what separates the prolific from the pitiful.

And changing our writing habits is like deciding to jump out of a plane. (Note that I said ‘deciding.’ I can’t imagine it’s nearly as thrilling as the actual jump.) I switched from writing longhand to the computer after completing the first 30,000 words of The Angel’s Share, my work in progress. Then I started The Angel’s Share over after I decided that the whole thing needed to be in first person after all. Sometimes, as they say, a change can do you good. (Then again, sometimes I think maybe I just don’t know what I’m doing yet.)

This month, we here at What Women Write are participating in a writing blitz called National Novel Writing Month (or in some cases, our own versions of the challenge). The official goal is to complete a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. For some of us, it’s been uncomfortable. Or rather I should say, for me it’s become uncomfortable. Daunting. Overwhelming. Even, shall I say it, stupid. I don’t want to scribble a bunch of crap. I am stressed because I'm not supposed to edit as I go (and I'm great at editing while I go). I tell myself that I have no time for that kind of commitment. The thought of doing something a different way feels so weird that I can’t even fathom it will work.

And then I realize with all my internal grumblings that the problem isn't NaNo, the problem is simply me and my crappy habits. That’s when I think that doing something like write 50,000 words in a month might actually be a great idea. It could breathe fresh air into my novel. Frankly, what I’ve been doing (which is brooding, thinking, outlining, and daydreaming) hasn’t been working so great lately anyway.

I am going to do it. I’m going to step out of my comfort zone and do something that I wouldn’t otherwise do, and that’s committing to writing 50,000 works in the next 30 days. I’m not jumping out of a plane (though I might some day) and I’m not jumping naked into Lake Michigan (though it’s completely possible that one day I could), but I’m jumping into The Angel’s Share with a newfound goal- and the goal is as simple as getting the words on the page. I can’t think of a single thing that I have to lose.

Two by Two, or How to Board the NaNo Boat (not to be confused with banana boat)

By Julie

So, I started off November and my word marathon by taking a vacation day. That's right – on Sunday, I didn't write a single word.

Yesterday, I was determined to get moving. After all, November has but 30 days and time is already dwindling. I got moving, indeed, but discovered four new things about starting a writing marathon.

Two were helpful, two were not.

The negative

Reading and editing what I'd already written
If you're adding to a WIP (work in progress) during a writing marathon and have already written a pretty good chunk, it's a good idea to read through what you've already written ahead of time.

I was revising my previous manuscript right up to the last moment, and I didn't get a chance take the time to do this until Monday. Thus, my word count yesterday was -62.

Yes, that's a negative.

Wordle
If you want to add words to your WIP, do NOT, I repeat, do NOT Wordle your last manuscript.

Your first clue should be the description on the site: "Wordle is a toy ..."

While they call it a toy, it'd really a great tool for discovering things about your writing. Optimally, you discover all those words you pecked out do indeed talk about the things you intended.

However, you may also discover how many throwaway words you've overused. If certain words appear in as large a font as your main characters' names, you might want to do a find and replace on your document.

Yesterday, I was horrified to learn I'd used the word 'just' 313 times in my last manuscript. After searching for each instance and discarding as many as I could, I was left with 128. That's still a lot of justs. We won't even talk about the word even.

It was a worthy activity. I'm querying that manuscript, so maybe even critical, but it certainly didn't help my word count. I frittered away spent several hours doing it.

And the positive

Three-Act Structure
Countless writers recommend using the Three-Act Structure for writing fiction. The problem is, most demonstrate it by breaking down a movie. Unfortunately, it seems like every movie they use is one I've never seen and have no desire to watch. I get bored and never make it past Act One.

I wanted a simple explanation. Short enough to please my right-brained muse, detailed enough to be useful. I set off on a search and came across this article by Patrick Dent.

Today, I copied and pasted the basics of his article into my WIP. I answered as many of the questions as I could. About three pages of work. Not too long, not too short. Just right, in the words of that famed fairytale blonde.

I know where I'm going now. Before I was kind of batting around in the dark. Not always a bad thing when you're exploring a story idea, but not so great for a writing marathon.

Pandora
I'm no stranger to Pandora.com, the Music Genome Project. This incredible tool allows you to enter the name of a musician, and it plays music by that artist and many others you might enjoy based on that artist's style.

I employ Pandora for distasteful activities like working out. I know some of you people like working out, but we are not alike. I used to jump on my treadmill (until I injured my Achilles tendon, which is now healed, so I have no more excuses), point my browser toward Pandora, select my Nina Simone channel, and some of you may laugh to hear I practically danced on the deck. An hour felt like a few minutes.

It's also a great tool for writing.

I've found Pandora helpful while writing because I don't usually know the songs or lyrics, so I'm not as distracted as I might be listening to my favorites.

Today, I used it two new ways.

Do you know of writers who create soundtracks for their WIPs? I have, loosely, in the past, but it can be time consuming. This afternoon, I simply listened to the first six or eight songs Pandora played for me and chose several that spoke in some way to my story and characters. I pulled up the lyrics, made a note about which character might listen to that song and why, and in the process, my brain dove straight into my story and the minds of my characters. That list may not stand as a soundtrack, but it certainly helped today.

The time I'd spent doing that was enough and was verging on too long, so I stopped playing with the buttons. The channel where I stopped conveniently morphed into instrumental music, and with my headphones plugged in to block the noise of annoying cell phone conversations and coffee machines, I wrote more than 2,000 words.

I'd say that's a decent dent and a big improvement over yesterday's -62, wouldn't you?

And you?
What nifty tools have you discovered to nudge your marathon along? And if you're participating, leave a comment letting us know how it's going for you.

Regarding my title, my daughter said, "You're so funny, Mom. That's a knee-slapper." I'm not sure whether she's serious. She's 12 and has perfected the art of sarcasm.

NaNo or NaNot?

by Pamela

I can’t believe it’s already November. Seems just yesterday my kids were discussing what to be for Halloween. Now, with thoughts bending toward Christmas, it’s hard to think of shopping when it’s 70 and sunny today in north Texas.

Today is a perfect day to write.

Today is a perfect day to begin writing a novel.

If you’ve ever wondered what it takes to write a novel, there are thousands of folks out there who can say, “It only takes a month.”

I wrote my first manuscript in a month. I let the idea marinate for more than a year, but once I committed to writing it, the story flowed and a month later I had about 70,000 words in a file. They weren’t all good words, but they were there. The editing process took a lot longer and now that story is tucked away after I realized that, not unlike parenting a first child, I had learned and made my mistakes on that one. And, even though I love it dearly (again, like my first child!), it probably isn’t meant to be published. (The first-child analogy stops here; mine turned out great in spite of my pitfall-parenting.)

A few weeks ago I posed this question to my fellow women writers of this blog: Who is doing NaNo? Julie, Joan and I had met for lunch, and Julie mentioned she was going to NaNo. Having successfully completed her goal of 40K on a manuscript two years ago, she was ready to NaNo again. Having unsuccessfully participated in it last year, I was ready to try again. Joan had not tried it (although having considered it) and decided she’d up her usual writing goal in the spirit of the event.

NaNo is short-shorthand for NaNoWriMo which is shorthand for National Novel Writing Month. According to the official Web site (NaNoWriMo.org), NaNo is a fun, write-on-the-fly approach to writing a novel. Participants start November 1 (see, you are already a day behind if you haven’t started) with the goal of completing a 175-page book or 50,000 words by November 30. It began in 1999 when Chris Baty and 20 others in the San Fransisco Bay area decided to band together and each write a novel. Ten years later, the idea has grown into quite a literary free-for-all.

The goal here is quantity over quality. You don’t edit as you go, which is something I struggle with. You give yourself permission to make mistakes, take risks and embrace your reckless side. Be uninhibited. Have fun. And take comfort in the fact that there are 150,000 other crazy people in more than 90 countries doing the same.

NaNo organizers track participants' progresses via their Web site (and list fun write-ins by area), predicting an 18 percent success rate. And if you need validation that good does come out of NaNo, look no further than Sara Gruen, whose NYT best-seller Water for Elephants began as a NaNoWriMo novel.

So, we at What Women Write are all participating on some level. I know Elizabeth has already weighed in this morning with her word count for yesterday: 1862! on a new story. My goal is to finish a manuscript I started some time ago but haven’t touched for months, other than to weave it into a short story. I have about 13,000 words, so I have set a goal of completing the story—however many words it takes. Joan is going to add to her WiP (work-in-progress) and so are Susan and Kim. Julie’s goal is adding 50K words to her current manuscript.

Whenever you commit to putting words to paper, it’s more fun when you have support. Maybe you have a family member or friend who enthusiastically gives you positive reinforcement or offers a hug when the words just won’t flow. Support and encouragement can make a huge difference in your writing. If you don’t have a cheerleader or you don’t want anyone to know you are writing, finding online support via NaNo might just be what you need.

I know we’ll have a huge morale boost mid-stride when we all head to a cabin for our inaugural writing retreat. The six of us are going to hole-up for a long weekend of writing. We’ll keep you posted on our progress.

How about you…are you on board for NaNo or some version of frenzied writing for November?

A Room of My Own

By Kim

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction. – Virginia Woolf

Growing up as an only child, I always had my own room. At times I had my own bathroom, even my own balcony. When I was nine the entire top floor of our condo, which included two rooms and a loft, belonged to me, though I usually played in the storage nook halfway down the staircase, which I also claimed. At our house in Maine, the basement was mine, though it may not have been such a prize as I shared the space with the wood stove and had no door until my dad built me a proper room down there.

Dorm life in college was miserable. With parents who lived overseas, all of my things were with me, and I had to share a room a fourth the size of what I was used to. My roommate and I agreed an off-campus apartment was in order the moment we were allowed to have one. I had my own room again, and eventually my own apartment. Heaven.

Then I got married and had kids. I’ve accumulated more things over the years and my personal space has shrunk. I have to wonder what Virginia Woolf would think of my ‘room’ today.

Here is my desk. It’s a bit cramped, but it’s mine, at least until one of the kids commandeers my computer to play Webkinz or leaves artwork or trinkets they’ve made for me on one of my piles of papers. During the day, it’s a little oasis in an otherwise chaotic house. Beside me, I have vintage postcards of Roycroft and other places featured in my work in progress, The Oak Lovers. Look up and there’s a stunning portrait by Edmund Wyly Grier of my great-grandfather, Carl Ahrens, the protagonist of my novel. From my chair I can see several of Carl’s paintings. (Note the bright pink earplugs sitting near my monitor. I’ll get into why those are an important fixture soon.)

To my left is a wall of photos and sketches of the women of generations past and present, other than for a lone photo of Carl by the lamp. The cabinet, not generally left open, is where I cram correspondence and research material related to my book. What doesn’t fit in there fills filing cabinets under the printer, the lamp and my desk. Things I've not yet found a home for wind up stacked behind my monitor. That pile is frightening. Yes, I can find things, but only when I don’t need them.

To my right hang examples of the artwork my great-grandmother, Madonna, did at Roycroft. On the bookshelf rest a menagerie of family photos and rocks plucked from the spot where Carl and Madonna met and the Ojibwa reservation where Carl once lived. One of Carl’s paintbrushes is in the vase, though I often fiddle with it when the words don’t flow. It still smells faintly of turpentine and I love running my fingers over the patches worn smooth from long use. In case you're curious, the nude woman in the one photo is Madonna.

My most constant companion through the day is the dog. If only he would always be as sweet as he is in this photo. While writing this he’s attempting to hump one of the cats. Seeing she just spent the last 20 minutes sharpening her claws, I imagine she’ll win this battle soon. In the meantime, I have earplugs.

My space is cramped, but manageable, at least until three o'clock on school days. After that, all hell breaks loose. My room is not a room at all, you see, but one wall of a living area in the middle of the house. This space is also occupied by three animals and three kids. The 39-year-old boy may not look like a kid, but he’s the loudest and has the biggest toys.

Here is his space. Keep in mind that I took this photo while sitting in my desk chair and no, I did not zoom in. The corner of his desk is 52 inches from the back of my chair. He’s a gamer, so when he’s home, he rarely leaves this desk unless one of the kids needs him or I present him with a list of chores. Now, out of courtesy to me, he does wear headphones. This prevents me from hearing the incessant music, gunfire or other sound effects. A drawback of his chivalry is that the children always come to me to fix drinks, snacks, malfunctioning electronics or out of boredom. Another negative is that his new headphones are equipped with a microphone, in which he frequently talks to other players. Imagine what a disruption it is to be immersed in the world of 1908 Toronto and have the guy behind you pipe up with, ‘Can I blast this one away with the regular machine gun or do I need the vaporizer?’

Hence the bright pink earplugs. Yet, if I wear them while children are home, who will notice when heads are bonked or the verbal sparring comes to blows? Even on those occasions when I put my husband in charge of his offspring for a few hours, I can't escape the household melee because I don't have a laptop. Volcanoes built in the kitchen erupt to squeals of delight uttered less than ten feet away from me. When the phone rings, I hear it in triplicate. If a visitor should push the doorbell, it chimes directly overhead. Just seventeen feet of echoing laminate floor separates me from the big screen TV, fully pimped with surround sound, a Play Station 2, a Wii, and an Xbox.

Sometimes desperation allows me to tune it all out enough to work. I wrote a heated argument scene to the soundtrack of Dora the Explorer. A pivotal romantic scene got penned while my husband and a neighbor jammed to "American Woman" on Rock Band. Madonna was indeed an American woman, but Carl was decidedly not telling her to stop knocking round his door ‘cause he didn’t want to see her shadow no more.

Clearly I need a proper space of my own, but my only option is to take one of my daughter's rooms. I can’t ask an eight-year-old to share with a four-year-old, especially since she's had her own room since birth. Doing so would rob them both of a private place to dream, something that was vital to me as a child and helped shape me into the writer I am today. There’s no place for a makeshift office in my bedroom, and I’d never sleep if my computer were there anyway. A room could be built above the garage but at great expense. Right now I’d settle for a little shed in the backyard, provided it had electricity and a window air-conditioning unit. Texas summers are a little toasty after all.

When I expressed my desire for my own space to my husband, he smiled, kissed my cheek, and told me I could have anything I want if I just sell a couple of million dollar books.

Yeah, I’ll get right on that, Honey. Now, go watch the football game in our bedroom.