1930 words--and the unexpected inevitability of fall

There are four people in my little family.


We go to four different schools:

• four different first days,
  
• four different last days,
  
• four different winter breaks, and, usually,
  
• four consecutive spring breaks.

A predictable pattern of free summers and excruciatingly busy school years has been a part of my life since I was five years old. Still, I always find the slow-down in my writing life when I start teaching again to be a surprise.

But this year, I'm working with it. I'm pretending that the intensification of grading, appointments, illnesses, chilliness, rain, darkness, and grouchiness is the climax of a novel, and I'm trying to appreciate the unexpected inevitability of it.

I'm also creating, at a very tiny snail's pace, a kind of unexpected inevitability in the climax of my real novel. I've written just under 1,000 words on it since my last post over a month ago, and each one of those words has come at the price of something or someone who needed my attention: my bursting email inboxes, the sticky goo on my sink, my (ahem) family.

(My son, for example, having noted that I was not "doing" anything but typing, just moments ago asked if he could get something to eat, and I told him quite pleasantly that he could do anything he wanted as long as he left me alone--and that leaving me alone included not making strange noises from the kitchen that I could hear in the living room. He understood.)

So, I'm making very tiny snail-like goals for myself now. Twenty minutes of writing three mornings a week maybe. Or one hundred words a day for a least a few days in a row.

Or maybe even this: taking the evening before Fall Break to update this blog, to tell those of you who are following me (hi, Mom and Dad!) how much I appreciate your inevitable encouragement.

18,200 words--and help through the Gordian Knot

I've never been able to decide if the tale of the Gordian Knot one of brutality (Alexander the Great was ruthless, after all) or of relief (from releasing an agonizing tangle).

This past weekend, I (being the kind of person who claps her hands because she really does believe in fairies), decided that it's probably both.


Our critique group (The Ladies of the Gordian Knot) retreated last Friday into an idyll of writerly delight: a cabin on a lake in weather that, if weather could be eaten, you would describe as ambrosial.

There, we sliced into each other's Gordian Manuscripts with both brutal honesty and sweet relief.

(Unlike Alexander, we Gordian Knot Slicers are ruthless only in our passion for good story--and we trust each other to save the drama for our stories rather than stir it up among our fellows.)

Plus there were cookies and purple M&M's.
It was all good.

And. . . .

• with one slice, I gained a playful new structure for the picture book manuscript. (I am now so glad I did not send it off in the first rush of infatuation).
• with another, I can envision how it might look not to cram every idea I have into a single, overwhelmed journal.
• with yet another, I learn the value of sharing a rough first draft rather than honing a plot that I haven't thought out yet.

There were slower unlayerings, too.

One quiet sharing of a character and a setting, and I get goosebumps imagining what this picture book author will come up with as she begins her first novel.

I became even bold enough to ask for help in sketching out the climax of THE BOOK DROP DWARVES.













(The climax is when the story is woven so tightly that everything comes together in, as Linda Sue Park phrased it, an "unexpected inevitability.")

So: here is my end-of-summer recipe for Gordian Ambrosia:

1. Mix brutal honesty, courageous listening, and purple M&M’s loosely in a bowl.
   
2. Share it outdoors, near still water, with mugs of strong coffee.
3. Serves as many readers as might someday enjoy untangling a well-tied plot.

17,600 words--dragged out of me like a mule

One of the many reasons I love Stephanie Bearce is that she wrote a novel--a whole novel!--in 15 minutes a day.

She did this after her husband died.
She had two children to take care of on her own.
She was afraid.
She imagined she just wouldn't have the time and energy to write--even though writing was the work of her soul.



(Stephanie is in good company, by the way. The first woman who ever made her living as a writer, Christine de Pizan, did so because her husband died and she needed to take care of her children.)






I, on the other hand, have in this moment a family intact, and I make my living as a professor--which means that, denial notwithstanding, classes begin for me next week. The momentum of LyNoWriMo has dissipated after the LA conference, and it is weirdly absorbing to explore Twitter.

Still, there is that public humiliation thing. Many wonderful people have asked how the novel is coming. So I determined not to post again till I had written 1,000 more words.

Which I did! I finished yesterday, weaving them into a day full of laundry, just-missed appointments, overshot bus stops, water and kitten-food concoctions in every bathroom, serendipitous meetings with neighbors in the neighborhood library, and electronic gadget failures.

Whew.
Now I can turn up the volume again on my Tweet Deck.

Re-entry Things To Do

I'm taking the sage advice of Kathleen Duey, who is glorious both in presence and in person. She was the last keynote speaker at the Summer 2009 SCBWI Conference in LA.

(This is the conference where I took the master's class with Linda Sue Park, by the way--the whole reason for starting this blog and finishing [almost] my novel draft. More on that class to come.)

Here is my interpretation of what Kathleen advised:

• Write down bits of conversation you enjoyed--to help deepen your relationships with the people you enjoyed meeting.
• Annotate your notes--as soon as possible. (This is such good advice that I spent much of my three-day train trip home doing just that.)
• Write on the back of every business card you receive. If you're like me, you'll have to learn this the hard way. I have a huge stack of cards, and I'm doing internet searches to "friend" and "follow" them (on Facebook and Twitter). It's easier to push through the technology when I've made a note that reminds me when and how I met the human whom the card represents.
• Send thank-you notes. If you've met an author or editor or agent who spent a few minutes connecting with you, deepen that connection by letting her know you appreciate her time and wisdom.
• Get on Twitter. I know. I resisted, too. But honestly, just do it. (Six Reasons Why Every New Writer Should be on Twitter) Where did I find this article? By following @Inkyelbows on Twitter. In fact, make it easy on yourself to start: 1) Create twitter account at Twitter.com. 2) Follow @Inkyelbows (www.inkygirl.com). After that, just follow your heart.
  
• Print out the gems you hear and put them on your wall. (Or on your Facebook wall.)
• Google all things that make no sense to you. (This may include, for examle, "tweet deck.")
• Explain your intent to all your loved ones. Build social support.
  

This last one is hard, but I think it's the most important. Do you guys find it hard to ask for support?

16,600 words--and leaving for LA in six days. . .

I have never written anything so badly before.

Okay, that's not true. I've been doing a three-page "morning page" brain-drain (from Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way) for many years now, and virtually all of those pages are really, really, really badly written. Really.

But something that is badly written is not necessarily a bad story. (I know. Even Yi-ping here is confused. Bear with me.)

I repeat: My badly-written prose-novel draft-thing that is currently weighing in at some 16,000 words is, magically, forming itself into rather a good story.


(This is a refreshing change. Usually, my beautifully-written prose forms itself into rather a confusing story.)

My plan for the next few weeks and months, then, is to . . .

• slop on through these last two chapters,
  
• print everything out to take to Linda Sue Park's workshop at the SCBWI Conference in LA,
• read it on the train and be horrified at how badly it is written,
  
• work hard and happily to form my puddles into scenes,
  
• come back home and do what I love to do: edit and revise and polish to pieces.

So, yes: I've never written anything so badly before.
But what I've written is not actually bad.
See?

(Bonus for grammar lovers: Rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for verily, we have unearthed a life-affirming difference between adverb and adjective. Go forth and live in peace with one another.)

15,300 words--and Glory Days

This is my dad and me, in Bedford, IN, watching my brother play Glory Days flag football.

My brother lives in Dallas, and I live in St. Louis.

My uncle also lives in St. Louis, but I mostly see him in Indiana, where we gather for reunions.

Today, my uncle asked me if I needed to have a certain routine, or a certain pen, or a certain kind of paper to write with.

Ah, such luxuries I indulged in only before kids and job juggling. I vaguely remember the luxury of knowing, for example, the location of my special pens, papers, notebooks, time of day, desk. . . .

In my real life, though, I am learning to write where I am. Any time. All the time. In the flow. As I can.

Which is why I now have a painted dining room, a family reunion, a high school flag football fundraiser called Glory Days (no--I didn't play; I screamed and hugged people) . . . and over 15,000 words.

Something I never managed to do back when I had the luxury of special routines.

P.S. For those of you who are reading my mind as the story develops (because I'm not about to let anyone, even the lovely Ladies of the Gordian Knot, near this version): our timid hero is about to hatch a plan to rescue the missing Library Dragon. He would rather be reading a biography.

13,700 words--and now back to our regularly scheduled life

This is King Arthur.

On Saturday, after the amazing Sue Bradford Edwards and I critiqued each other's stories, I rented a car, drove to West Plains to pick up milord, slept for a few hours, and then drove back to St. Louis--with teenage boy-king and his amazingly tiny new kitten named Yoda.

(When I post pictures, you'll see that Yoda does indeed look exactly like a Jedi Master with syntax issues.)

I know what you're thinking--and you're only partly right. You're thinking that I'm getting ready to apologize for not writing much these past few days.

But actually, considering that the dining room is almost painted and I'm almost sleep-recovered and we there are two almost-brand-new kittens meowling in the house . . . I've done pretty well. Chapter Six is drafted, and I have about 13,700 words.

13,700 very messy, disorganized, ugly, non-rhythmic, and often cliche words.

And I'm getting to the heart of the story now, the crisis, the conflict, the coming-together. I have no idea how to proceed.

So: I'm going to work on the trim in the dining room, find the third Encouraging Email from NaNoWriMo, knit, clean my desk, get the contract out to the tree guys to cut some trees (this is not an easy decision, btw), call our regular handiman to see if he can replace the shower and tile more cheaply than the new handiman, send out a Save The Date email for our November Conference, ask Floyd Cooper for autobiographical information, cook dinner, take a nap, avoid my email inbox . . .

You know. Live. So I can write.