Constance Phillips, A Writer's Musings

Is I often tell my daughter, somethings in life we have to do, even if we don’t want to. The biggest thing for me on that list is the deep house cleaning. The pulling the couch out and vacuuming underneath and checking the ceiling corners for cobwebs. With company coming, this was one of those days where I had to set aside the writing and editing until after I did the mundane. Clean my house.

The thing is, as much as I hate doing these chores, the time spent becomes a field day for my creativity. I’ve mentioned here before about how a lot of problem scenes work themselves out while I’m driving. The same holds true while I’m cleaning. Whether I’m running the vacuum or scrubbing pots and pans, the physical action–and the little brain power required to do the task–allows me to zone out of my life and into my characters lives.

Or maybe escaping my life for theirs is more like it!

While this might not have been a productive day–so far I haven’t typed a single new word, or edited a written sentence–I’ve spent a lot of time analyzing my plot. As previously stated, I start my stories with a minimal amount of plot and let my characters write the tale. So what I’m left when I begin my second draft is the layers, or the real craft. Things that happen at the midpoint or later, may need a touch of foreshadowing. Characters that showed up at the climax, probably need a less formal introduction in the first few chapters.  All important, and all can be tricky to weave into the prose.

So while some may swear by the red pen or the delete key (And don’t get me wrong, those are two of my favorite writing tools too) Just as effective for me is a dust mop and a scrub brush.

At my local RWA chapter meeting this past weekend we revisited an idea that had come up before Christmas.  While many writers were jumping feet first into NaNoWriMo (The challenge to write a 50,000 word novel in the month of November) several of us lamented the hellish structure of our pre-holiday lives and joked that Spring was a much more convenient time. Of course, circumstance alters production. And in fact, this month I’m in a rewriting/revising phase that is more tedious than spinning a new story. So what we’ve decided to do is focus on putting out ‘butts in the chair’ and creating new, better habits.

My biggest roadblock to good habits: the many distractions of the internet: namely Facebook, Twitter, and my email accounts.

So, in an effort to increase my production, I am committing to spending 90 minutes on weekdays and 30 minutes on the weekend days in a chair, focused on my work with zero of those distractions.

Today was my first attempt and the fact that it was so hard for me to push through those ninety minutes without checking Facebook and/or twitter (I failed on the email front) is an indication of just how bad I need this.  They say the internet has shortened our attention spans, and I’m beginning to think that might be true! Or maybe I’m just addicted.

Either way, here’s to trying to be less distracted this spring.

I’m always amazed when an idea for a new story hits me, usually like a ton of bricks. I think it’s fascinating what incites them whether it’s an event or just an overheard line. But what’s even more surprising is the timing.

While I was working on the tale I just finished drafting, I tried to think of ways to build a sequel of stories, some sort of offshoot to connect this to a new work. I quickly decided it just wasn’t going to be that kind of book. Some stories are about one (or two) people and is self contained. There isn’t a theme or set of subplots or sub-characters that have a connecting story to tell, and that is fine.

That all changed within twelve hours of typing ‘the end.’

The very next morning while driving (Because that’s when all the great ideas come to you, when pen and paper are no where to be found and it’s too dangerous to use them) the whole connection hit me like a flash of lightening. A new heroine, a new hero, the heroine’s connection to the current hero/heroine — her tale.  Not quite a sequel, but a continuation, a second generation of the current. The premise appealed and the first thing I wanted to do was get to pen and paper so I could start scribbling out notes. So, I could be creative. But what of the draft I’d just finished. It was still a draft. It still needed (still needs) the tender love and care of this author chopping it up like an axe murder.

I honored both process.  I finished driving and then opened a notebook and made a bunch of notes. I gave myself enough to build from later. Why not? That first draft needed time to percolate anyway and my mind needed to distance itself from those words on the page. However, when that time had passed, I returned to the draft and began revising, which is where I’ve been for about two weeks now. In this time, while doing the mechanical — almost mathematical — process of rewriting, new story ideas and plot twists for other tales filed in the ‘to be written’ file are coming in flashes.

But why now?

My only answer is a writer writes; a creative mind creates. And when we’re deep in those processes — like when I’m writing a first draft — that creative mind is happy and satisfied. When I complete that process, a reset button is hit.

Whether I’m right or not, the reason really doesn’t matter. I’m just glad the stories just keep coming.

Yes, the reality TV season is in full swing. I’ve had one eye on the Olympics, but have also been delighting in some of my favorite indulgences. Surprisingly, in this week’s American Idol and Survivor there was a moment of real empathy and one of  teaching to be had.

Let’s start with the empathy: the moment the wonderfully talented (and some say mama’s boy) Thaddeus Johnson was given the news he did not make the cut for the top 24. I am often amazed at the strength these young kids have. They bare their souls and display their talent to four judges who can, at times, be very harsh.  As those of us in competitive careers know, rejection sucks no matter the age. Courage is hard, even after you’ve been seasoned by life’s experience. But what made the whole thing so much more worse for Thaddeus (in my opinion) was the way the judges let him down. There were no “You are very young, go home and work on x, y or z.  No, instead, what Kara offered was “You did nothing wrong.” and “You are so talented, you just didn’t make the cut this year.”

I recognized the pain in his heart when he collapsed in tears. As I already stated, rejection sucks. It might not have been easier to get some criticism, but when the pain did subside, he would have had something to address. Yes, he is young and I fully expect (or dearly hope) we’ll see this talented man in the future.

I also hope he tuned into Survivor last night and heard some of what Boston Rob had to say while starring adversity in the face.

Last week’s teaser for this week’s show scared me. I’ll admit it. To show poor Boston Rob unconscious in the jungle with medic’s saying “Can you hear me?” made my heart drop. First and foremost, I’d hate to see anyone injured or ill and second, he’s really the only one on the Villains’ team whose trying to play the game. For those not watching, let me wrap it up.  It’s been raining like mad, and no one on the Villains’ team has wanted to expend the energy to build shelter, start a fire, or really do anything at all. (Rob did build a fire without flint and has encouraged work on the shelter, but his pathetic team mates have only raised his stress level) So, not feeling well, he went for a walk only to be found passed out a little later by a team mate.

Medical is called in. He’s given water and begins to come around. They diagnose him with the flu and leave the decision about staying or leaving the game up to him. A surprise to no one, he decides to stay, but instead of immediately retuning to camp he and Jeff take a few minutes to talk. The tough guy from Boston begins to break down as he realizes he let the rest of his team interfere with his game and reaffirms his intent to win the ‘whole damn thing.’  Shortly thereafter, he proves his dedication by outperforming every one (on both teams) in the challenge proving (to me at least) that anything can be done as long as you are determined and follow your heart. But also, put on a pair of blinders. You know, the kind you see on racehorses so they can concentrate on their own run, unaffected by those around them. Watching how others act and react to situations shouldn’t effect our drive or the paths we take, but we’re only human and forget the only journey we should focus on is our own.

Set your sights on what you want to achieve, and don’t let anyone around you negatively  influence your road to the top!

First, sorry for now ‘musing’ on Monday but I was busy accompanying my daughter to Bowling Green State University’s Persident’s Day open house.

It was a very busy day, the kind where you take in so much information that by the end your head wants to explode. I know I felt that way, and I’m not even the one who has to make all those life altering decisions.

But watching her touring the various departments, asking questions and weighing life’s decisions made me reflect on some of the choices I’ve made, but even more so about how we are faced such big decisions at such an early age. Let’s face it, a lot of days I have trouble deciding what to fix for dinner, how did I ever come up with the proper career path?

If I’m to be completely honest, I took wrong turns. A lot of them. I tried pursuing a degree in Sociology, but in my heart of hearts knew that wasn’t what I really wanted with my life. Deciding to leave college for marraige and family was easy. That was what I truly wanted.  Even though I stopped writing for a number of years–rejections hurt too bad, who needs to put themselves through that–I’ve come back to it time and again, because that is where my heart is. And it was only in recent years that I’ve really allowed myself to let go of the ‘need to do’ and the ’should really be doing’ and walk the road I’ve always wanted to.

I’m studying my craft, analyzing the business, and writing every day. I’ve joined social and professional organizations that teach and provide support. I’m walking a rough and bumpy road, with my true desire and will as my guide.

So to my children, or anyone else contemplating which is the right road to choose, I will give the same ol’ advice–even if it’s cliched. The right path is the one your heart leads you down.

Last week I paid a little tribute to Captain Phil Harris from Deadliest Catch when I heard of his stroke.  About a week later, I learned of his passing. There isn’t much more to say than you’ll be severely missed.

I’m passing along this nice tribute video:

That certain sense of satisfaction that comes with finishing a draft, is often tempered with foreboding.  Rewriting, revising, self-editing, no matter what you call it, the process is much more calculated than that of creating a story. There are hard days in the creative process, when you’re just not feeling the story, but this process is mechanical and I believe mathematical.

When I was in school I hated math. I totally sucked at it. People would tell me how wonderful it was. It’s black and white, there’s only one answer, they would say,  but I struggled with my multiplication tables, stumbled through algebra in a haze of confusion and completed only the bare minimum of classes I needed for graduation.

So what does all that organizational and formulaic process have to do with rewriting and revising?

It’s that same sort of analytical process.  I look at each sentence, tear it apart and  dissect it. Sometimes when it doesn’t feel right, I even diagram it. (Yes, I know I must be one of the only people who still uses that tool taught in High School English, but it really helps me to see the sentence.)

It’s a slow going process. When I’m in creative mode, I can log 1500 to 2000 words a day with regular consistency.  I’ve been in revision stage for two days now and averaged three pages each day. (about 750 words).  That’s only one-third to one-half the ground covered. And the worse part? Even when I add paragraphs of new content to expand on a plot point or concept, I get little creative satisfaction out of this process.  I feel drained instead of rejuvenated.

But it is part of the process. A very necessary one. A rough draft, at least the way I write it,  is only a collection of ideas, the skeleton of the story. it takes all the struggles; all the high polish; and yes, all the math to make it a real story worth reading.

To combat that feeling of creative drought, I am going to try something new this time around. After completing my editing goals for the day (Which I do hope to amp ump from the dismal starting point) I’m going to treat myself to forty-five minutes or creativity, whether it is working on the next draft, a short story idea or some non-writing activity.  I’m thinking this will help feed that hunger that brews if I don’t create.

How about you? Do you feel a withdrawal when you move from writing to rewriting? How do you combat it?

It’s no secret to anyone who knows me.  I dig Bowling for Soup and their song “My Greatest Days” has always been one of those pick-me-up tunes.  You can’t help but smile when it’s playing. Doesn’t quite seem like the most apropos song for a Monday. Does it?

I really thought it was this morning as I blared it on the iPod.  I’d just dropped the kid off at school.  Even though there was snow on the ground and a foot predicted to fall in the next two days, the sun was shining bright. I had a crystal clear schedule for the day in front of me…and not too many foreseeable complications.

All I had to do was put a drop of superglue on one my (indulgent) acrylic nails that was lifting and I could put my butt in the chair and begin my revision process on my new draft. And then the tube exploded, coating my hands with superglue.

Why does that stuff sting so much? Is it eating your flesh.

Trying to wash it off with water? BAD IDEA. It makes it set up, so my finger tips are all white and they feel oddly smooth.

Is it true that superglue can erase (in essence) your fingerprints?

Hmm…sounds like a story idea to me.  Where’s my idea notebook? Excuse me while I make some notes.

If you’re not familiar with “My Greatest Day” by Bowling for Soup, Check it out. And hope you have a great Monday and a great week!

Earlier this week I finished my first draft of my current work-in-progress.  A major step, yes, but only one in the whole process. I’m a skeletal writer, first drafts usually only have the structure. The scenes are mapped out, dialogue is there (Though often with little more than the occasional tag to keep the speakers straight.) I know there’s work still to do, but I should be able to enjoy what’s been accomplished.

Why is this so hard for me?

I’ve been thinking about this a lot the latter half of this week, and I’ve come to the conclusion it’s fear. Fear is a nasty thing, it can undermine success and paralyze progress. But what exactly do I fear? I’m no where near ready to begin submissions on this project. With some self-analysis, I’ve come to the conclusion I’m afraid of the well going dry, that this is the last story I have to tell.

I’ve yet to figure out why I feel that way. I’ve really never had a shortage of concepts or scenarios. I can take almost any situation I see and find ‘a story’ in it. Can witness two people having coffee and create their whole backstory, the twisted secret that is keeping them apart–or maybe the one that will shatter their perfect little existence if the other learns of it. For example: For months I’ve considered this work-in-progress a stand alone. One story. No room for squeal or series. A singular story to tell. However, just one day after typing ‘the end’ on the draft I was in the car (yes, all the best thinking happens while I’m driving) and it hit me like a flash — the opening scene for ‘book two’.  I’ve made some notes, and will probably write a synopsis, but as a rule I don’t write ’sequels’ until there’s a call for it.

The point is, I think, that a lot fear comes from self doubt. The best thing we can do, aside from straight-up facing it, is learn to trust ourselves.

If you can remind yourself: “I’m capable. I can do this.” the rest is easy.