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People Behaving Badly

This has been making its way around the intertubes, especially amongst writerly folk, but for those who haven’t seen it yet: Jacqueline Howett loses her shit over a mildly-unpleasant review.Seriously, people. Don’t be That Guy. Bad reviews suck, but the internet is forever, and acting like a big enough ass that everyone and their brother is talking about it and people are even selling CafePress items commemorating your idiocy sucks even worse.I read an article recently about a man who runs an online shop and is horrifically nasty to his customers. Why? Because even negative chatter boosts his site’s Google ranking, which gives him greater visibility and therefore more sales. Personally, I think maintaining that level of vitriol sounds exhausting, and I don’t think the take-away from that piece should be that acting like an ass on the internet can increase your sales. It may be true in the short run, but it’s not going to get you many long-term fans.I think the more important thing to take from that article is that even negative publicity can boost your sales. So the next time you get a review that hurts, take a deep breath and please, walk away. I’ve been known to buy a book based on a negative review, because even while it was clearly not the reviewer’s cup of tea, it sounded like mine. But I will not give my money to authors who behave badly on the internet, and even just a cursory look at the comments on that article shows that I’m not alone.

The Kubler-Ross model for writers

Yesterday, I discovered that the Kübler-Ross Model applies equally well to realizing the hard truth about your story’s length as it does to grief, and slid through the first three stages in the course of one conversation.

Stage 1: Denial
“This book is totally going to come in at the right length. Absolutely. Not a problem. What do you mean, you think the fact that I’ve already blown half the word count on the first 24 hours of action might be a problem? Don’t worry about it. I’ve totally got this under control.”

Stage 2: Anger
“God DAMN it! This book is going to run long. Son of a bitch. Damn word count limits! Stupid book! I hate you!”

Stage 3: Bargaining
“Well…maybe if I just run a little bit over… just a couple thousand words. Ten thousand, maybe? I could totally trim that out and get it in at the right length. Maybe it won’t be too bad.”

This is where I am right now. ;) This book’s supposed to have an upper limit of 35k, and I’m kind of hoping that maybe if I can keep it to 45k, I can cut that extra flab out. 10k’s not so much, right? I mean, it’s only 22% of the book…

Next up, Stage 4: Depression
“OMG, this sucks. I am never going to get this short enough. I’m doomed. All this work, and it’s going to be for nothing because the stupid story’s too long. Why bother? I should just go knit instead.”

And maybe, if I’m lucky…eventually… Stage 5: Acceptance
“*whew* Well, that’s not so bad. I guess it’s not too long. And I can probably trim up that first scene, it’s a bit rambly. That’ll take care of a couple thousand words right off the bat. Oh, and maybe if I condense those other scenes… Yes, this is definitely doable.”

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Metaphors

In high school, my best friend and I took AP English together. In one of the lessons, we read Paradise Lost and then spent a significant amount of time learning about poetic devices Milton used, such as epic similes — a simile which was dragged out for paragraphs, or even pages.Sometime not too long after that lesson, I had gone out to dinner with and her family. She wanted to taste what I was having, and I told her she could have a bite.The next thing I knew, she’d taken several. “Jen!” I cried. “I said a bite!”And she looked at me and said, “It was an epic bite.”That story’s kind of tangential to my point in this post, but it’s an anecdote that still cracks me up to this day.Anyway, the point– over the past few years of conversations with on any and every topic imaginable, including relatively frequent heavy, emotional ones with a lot of soul searching, it has occurred to me just how much of our conversations are steeped in metaphor. Sometimes, we have entire, lengthy conversations that are nothing but one big epic metaphor.And it’s awesome. I can’t really put words to how much I enjoy those conversations, the ones where we sit together analyzing all the ways in which revising a novel is like renovating or rebuilding a house (if the floorplan’s problematic, you really ought to deal with that first, and leave obsessing over the wallpaper or the bathroom faucets for later in the process).One of the ones she came up with that we use a lot is the metaphor of her “muse” (for lack of a better term) being like a dog. A Saluki, in particular. Eager, excitable, with a keen prey drive that has it tearing off and bringing back ideas for her very frequently, but also a bit hyperactive and easily distracted from its intended quarry by shiny ideas or squeaky toys.It took us a bit longer to find the proper metaphor for my “muse”, on the other hand. We finally landed on one a few days ago. Mine is the sort of dog that catches a scent and goes tearing off after it, dragging me along behind hoping I can hang on for the ride, and pursuing it with the sort of singleminded determination that led me to write Blood & Roses in one giant rush over less than a week in which every waking moment was spent living, working, breathing that book. It’s focused and intent, and if it loses the trail of the scent that it’s on, it gets frustrated and upset, and all the squeaky toys in the world aren’t going to distract it from that.It’s not a Saluki–It’s a bloodhound. It’s only been a few days, and already I’m finding this to be a very helpful way of thinking about my writing process.More later, I think. I was working my way up to a point (though it’s a non-writing one), but I’m getting a bit rambly here.

Gnothi Sauton

I’ve recently received more than a little flack from writers on Twitter for setting daily word counts for myself, which mystifies me more than I can say. When I observed that it’s difficult to count your progress in daily words when you’re editing instead of writing new material, someone commented, “It’s easy if you don’t track progress at all!”

I’ve got many years of writing experience under my belt and I’m pretty comfortable with my process, so I didn’t have any problem answering him, “If I did that, then I wouldn’t make any progress at all,” and continuing on with my day. But if I’d received that sort of advice as a new writer, unsure of myself and what I was doing? Just the idea makes me shudder.

I thrive under the pressure of a deadline. Give me a goal, even an insane one, and I’ll be stepping up to bat trying to figure out a way to accomplish it before you’ve even finished speaking. I once tried to write 50,000 words in a day, just to see if I could. (I made it to 16k and decided I wanted food and sleep more than I wanted to achieve some arbitrary ambition) But without a goal to propel me and keep me typing away?

I web surf. I catch up on my TV shows. I knit. What I don’t do is write. I need that pressure to keep me going, keep me moving forward, keep me choosing to write when there are so many other ways to squander my time that require much less effort.

The prevalence of this attitude that tracking progress, setting goals, and keeping yourself accountable is a bad thing has bewildered me since I first encountered it, but I ran into a situation today that I think may be what people fear when they give this advice. Things snowballed on top of one another for me this morning and before I knew it it was almost lunch time and I hadn’t written a word. Every time I thought about writing my chest clenched a little bit tighter and another burst of adrenaline clawed through my system. I was staring at the clock practically hyperventilating in my seat, and every time I started to think about putting words to paper, all that came to mind was, “Oh God, I have to write three thousand words a day for the rest of the month in order to finish this book when I want to. It’s 10am and I haven’t written anything. I will never make it. I’m not going to make it today, and I’m not going to finish this book on time, either. It’s too late. It’ll never happen.”

It’s a truly awful state to be in, and if this is what people are imagining others devolving into when they give the advice not to set goals, I can understand it at least a little. It’s not a productive state of mind, and does far more harm than good. But it’s not a reason to not to set them.

The problem comes, I think, when people get in a mindset where they can’t reevaluate goals. When I realized the state I was getting myself into, I didn’t try to force myself through it. That would have done more harm than good. I took a step back and said. “Okay, you know what? Sanity is more important than word count. I’m giving myself the day off.”

Gnothi Sauton. Know thyself. That’s is the part that’s important. Not the setting or abandoning of goals, but the ability to look at what you’re doing and evaluate whether it works for you or not, instead of stubbornly forcing yourself down the road you think you ought to take, when all it ever does is lead you to a dead end. I know that goal setting is vital to my process the same way I know that phase drafting, which everyone seems to be getting excited about these days, would be lethal to it. Does that mean that every time someone mentions the technique, I suggest that they’d be better off pantsing it?

Of course not. There are as many ways to write a book as there are people writing them, and what works for me may not work for everyone else, or even anyone else. It’s my process — that’s all.

I think a vital part of learning to write is learning what works for you, and what doesn’t, and too the ability to reevaluate when circumstances change. And it’s just as important that we let others do the same. One True Way-isms hurt more people than they help.

The Dreaded Question

I’ve heard it said that the question writers most dread hearing is, “Where do you get your ideas?” Well, not this writer. I could wax rhapsodic for hours about where I find my inspiration, about how I love to take fairly well-known legends like the romance of Eros and Psyche in Greek lore, or more obscure tidbits like the gwrach-y-rhibyn of Wales and twist them on their heads to find something new. That question is an easy one for me.No, the question that I hate to hear, that I absolutely dread, is “What’s your book about?” Arrgh! Bad enough that we writers are expected to condense tens of thousands of words of story into a few pages for our synopses, or a few lines for our blurbs. Now laymen expect us to be able to spout out a pithy one-liner that will adequately convey to them the story that’s in our heads? I don’t know about any of you — but I can’t do it!This morning, I told a coworker that I started writing on a new book this weekend, and this was the first question out of his mouth. Now, for all that I’ve just started, I feel I have a fairly solid grasp of what this story is and what it’s going to be about. But in order to convey to him what’s in my head, I’d have had to sit down with him for an hour. Not exactly an appropriate answer for an early-morning run to the cafeteria.If we’d had the time, I’d have told him that it’s about the choices we make without even knowing it, and how the repurcussions of those decisions can shape the rest of our lives. It’s about learning to love — others, yes, but mostly learning to love ourselves, flaws and all. I’d have told him that it’s heavily based on the lore of the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Book of Enoch, and other apocrypha, and that it’s influenced by the steampunk genre and the Hero’s Journey structure.If I’d had the time to tell him, and the time to prepare, I could have shared a glimpse of this story that’s growing in my head. Instead, I stammered out, “It’s about fallen angels. Kind of,” and kicked myself for the rest of the morning. Because it is very much about fallen angels — kind of — but that’s not the half of it.What about the other writers out there? Do you dread this question as much as I do? Or is there another question that makes you cringe at the thought of having to answer it?