A Mini-Milestone

Hello!

As we say in Australia, it’s been a long time between drinks, hasn’t it? My apologies for my extended radio silence, but since I last blogged I’ve been hard at work on my manuscript, Blood of the Heart, revising and editing until, at the end of February, I reached a milestone in my writing journey and finally, FINALLY, sent BOTH out to beta readers.

Exciting stuff! 

Oh, it’s very far from perfect; and far, far from done … but that’s the point. It’s time to let it go, to let others read it and tell me what’s working and what’s not, for I’m so page-blind I truly cannot see the forest for the trees.

But I’m here, at a point I sometimes doubted I’d see, and with a bit of time on my hands I’ve been mulling over what I’ve learned since finishing my first draft in December 2009 (yes, that long ago.)

Writing a first novel is like studying a whole university degree. Well, it was for me. I’ve been on one heck of a learning curve since I typed my first tentative words back in 2007. In fact, I’ve written and deleted enough words to fill close to two whole books. Seriously! But I don’t regret a minute of the time it’s taken me to write BOTH. Really, it couldn’t have happened any other way. Learning a new craft or profession requires a period of intense learning; and the way I always looked at it (to stop myself from feeling like a slow-poke failure) was that if my law degree took me roughly six years to complete, learning to write fiction would be no different. And so it was …

Hello. My name is Rachel Walsh and I am an Outliner. That I ever attempted to act upon my urge to write fiction is thanks to Diana Gabaldon and the story she shared of how she began writing. For those who don’t know the tale, in a nutshell, she came up with a character, she started writing as scenes came to her - out of chronological order, in chunks - and she didn’t stop. Boiled down to these elements, I thought I might be able to give this writing caper a shot. So I started …

Suffice to say I’ve learned enough about myself through writing BOTH to know my brain is not wired like Diana’s.  :-) To keep from veering off into no-man’s land (and thus having to delete thousands of precious words) this little black duck needs – NEEDS - an outline to follow. But hey, some things in life you can only learn by trial and error. And it was fun to work this out ... in a masochistic kind of way. Cough.

Thank God for square brackets. Another tip from Diana Gabaldon - use square brackets as place-holders when you get to a point in the writing where you need to go chase down a fact or two. That way, you keep writing, keep it flowing, without stopping to spend five hours pin-pointing a half-demolished street in 1864 Paris in which a character might have believably lived … yes, such are the rabbit holes I’ve ventured down this week as I plug the gaps in my research. Sigh. I’m mighty glad I left all this until now, otherwise I’d still be at work on chapter one.

Immerse yourself in your genre. I can’t recommend this highly enough. At one point I stopped writing for a good six months while I did nothing but read and deconstruct book after book of the type and style I was trying to emulate. I’m no master of mystery and suspense after doing that, for sure, but I have a far better handle on these genres than I did before.

Wallow in resources on the craft of writing. Whether it be Donald Maass’ THE FIRE IN FICTION or Robert McKee’s STORY, or the brilliant blogs of Anne R. Allen or Roz Morris, I’ve learned something new, or at the very least have come away inspired, every time I’ve dipped into these resources. Do it. It’s good for you and your brain.

Beta readers are GOLD. Don’t ever be afraid to ask others to read your work, when you’re ready for it. Having someone else cast their eyes over your work and give you carefully considered feedback, positive and negative, is absolutely priceless. And something for which you should be extremely grateful. I know I am.

So, what now? Well, while I’m waiting on crits to come in, I’ve dipped my toe in the next book I want to write. Mainly researching at the moment, but I’ve dashed out a few very rough scenes … and in fact, I think I might even have the first sentence of Chapter One:

“The moment she was ushered into the plush drawing room of the Countess of Marle, Lucinda Stone knew precisely which of the assembled aristocratic guests was the thief.”

Well, it’ll do, for now. :-)

Stuck

I have a longer post coming about all the excellent sessions I attended at the 2013 Perth Writers Festival yesterday, but while it's fresh in my mind, I wanted to share a bit of advice on a commonly asked question that was put to literary giants Margaret Atwood and China Mieville at their excellent session on Wordsmithing. They were so much fun together, and they had so many excellent insights.

A member of the audience asked the simple question- what do they do when they get stuck?

Margaret Atwood's advice was first, try something different with what you're writing. Change point of view- first person, third person, even second person. Or change tense- present, past. Try to write the current scene from a different angle and see if that will jog you back into your work.

If that fails, she has three go-to options:

1. Go for a walk
2. Have a sleep
3. Do something repetitive and mindless, like ironing

These are oft-repeated pieces of advice, because they work- stop worrying, stop overthinking, and rest your mind a little. When it's time to get back to writing, you'll benefit from greater clarity.

China Mieville reckons that his 200 word theory has carried him through periods of being stuck- tell yourself you only have to write 200 words, or around two paragraphs, and they don't have to be good. In fact you can expect them to suck. Describe anything- even the wall you're looking at- for 200 words.

Once you've done that, go away, and when you come back later- write another 200 words. Keep that up, and you'll either get yourself back on track, or at least keep your practice up for when the inspiration comes back.

He also commented that more books don't get written because people don't put words on the page, than don't get out there because the writing isn't perfect. Get it on the page, and you can always revise it later. Margaret Atwood commented that only you will see what you write to start with, so what does it matter whether it's perfect or not?

Keep on writing, and that's the only way to get where you're going.

Abundance

Long time, no see!

The crew here at ATWOP are still slightly on hiatus, by which I mean, concentrating hard on all kinds of important work, like writing, revising and publishing novels, or raising future storytellers, or that sort of thing- and still a little short on time to do the blogging we'd like to do as well.

We all hope to be more connected this year, and one of my aims is to spend a little more time both here and at my new blog for WWI research and all things Between the Lines.

So in that spirit, I'm moved to talk today about the theory of abundance. A good friend of mine was talking about this recently, and put it in my mind- she's a professional cake-and-sweet-treat maker, and she has the most enthusiastic and giving personality- just being around her makes you want to get up and work harder at being useful and positive.

And that's where the theory of abundance comes into things, because she believes that connecting with like-minded people, and moreover, always giving freely of your enthusiasm and your creativity, does not take away your time or your energy. It has the opposite effect- it brings energy and creativity back to you, because for all you give, you receive these things in return.

Since the start of 2013, I've already revised 30,000 words of Between the Lines. This is huge, for someone who hadn't touched her writing seriously in well over a year. I have a lot of demands on my time, but I am absolutely determined to finish this book this year and move on to the next stage, and my determination is carrying me through.

With the need to focus hard on my writing, you'd think that reconnecting with the Compuserve Books and Writers Forum, plus Facebook, plus blogging again, might not be a really advisable thing to do. After all, surely all that is going to take time and energy away from my main focus?

But as ever, I've immediately discovered that abundance applies here, too. Not to Facebook, that's still the devil. But to everything else- connecting with other writers. Sharing your work. Taking the time to read and comment on other peoples' work. Emailing writing buddies to talk shop. Telling the world what you're up to. All these things don't end up detracting, if you get the balance right- they end up adding fuel to the fire, revitalising creative energy and supporting your drive to get somewhere significant.

I've been a Compuserve Forum member for seven years now, and in that time, the periods where I haven't written a thing- have coincided exactly with the periods during which I have *not* been an active member there. The times when I've been most productive are the times where I've been in the community, giving and receiving.

It's tricky, though. There is a major balance you need to strike, and it's not all helpful. As much as Facebook and Twitter can connect you to the rest of the world, they can also distract you and suck your energy if you give them too much. And sharing your work is fantastic, especially if you get good feedback- but I've hit major problems before by letting opinions lead me down different paths, and, worst of all, by believing my own press- something you just can't do until you're proven, and you're not proven til you're holding your own book in your hands.

So, more giving, in the aim of more receiving. And at all times, keeping my perspective. That's my underlying theme for 2013 as I drive on toward the finish line one more time.

Inspiration, at Home and Abroad

In the continuing saga of me and  my manuscript ...

Well, I did finish my revisions … a little over my deadline of May 31st but not by too much, and with good reasons for running late (a revolving door of sick family members being one of them) so I’m happy with that. Even better, I got everything done just in time to pack my bags and head off for a vacation … to Paris.

Here's the proof.

("Children? What children?")

Ah, Paris. The city I’ve longed to visit ever since I can remember and the setting of my book, no less. I spent my ten days there pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, and have come back with a ton of fodder for my book and with my batteries fully recharged for another round of revisions.

And I mean revisions; not the wholesale re-writing that the last few go-throughs of my manuscript has entailed, which I’m mighty happy about.  I’ve chiseled away enough of the first (and second, and third and fourth ...) draft of my manuscript and can now see the full shape of my story. It’s lumpy and bumpy and in need of a good smoothing over and final polish, that’s for sure, but at least I’m at the stage where I’m swapping the heavy duty mallet and chisel work for the finer rasp and file business.

Anyways … rolling up my sleeves to get stuck into my manuscript once again got me thinking about the things that help keep up our enthusiasm for projects that take a long time to come to fruition. For it can start to seem all too hard and pointless, especially when the creative well has run dry or that vinegar-lipped lady is on your shoulder sniping that your writing is crap.

One thing that works for me it to step back from the keyboard, to go out into the world and visit museums and art galleries, take walks in the park, listen to music or catch a movie (or, cough, go to Paris), all of which serve to clear my mind and top up my creative juices so that I come back to my writing with renewed drive and fresh perspective.

But when I don’t have the time or the ability to do these things, my bookshelf is my best battery re-charger. I have a handful of authors whose works I can dip into, just for a page or so, and I’m guaranteed to come away awed and inspired. Their writing grabs me, reminds me of what I’m aspiring to, and the swell of excitement and hope that I feel compels me to get my butt back into my chair and write.

Not every writer does this for me, but a few are guaranteed to. Writers such as Deanna Raybourne, Jo Bourne, C.S. Harris, Ariana Franklin, Thomas Harris, Sarah Waters, Louis Bayard, Imogen Robertson, Geraldine Brooks, to name but a few.

And all the ladies here at ATWOP, of course.

I know some might find it a depressing exercise to read polished, published work, then dive into the hot festering messes they’re working on, but I don’t. They urge me on to do better, and to ignore that vinegar-lipped bitch and write some more.

So tell me: whose work inspires you?

A Cast of Characters

  
Boulder Bay is a wild, untouched place. It's far from anything remotely civilized, isolated by the sea and the mountains that circle it. The only footprints you'll find in the sand are those of animals. The only noises you'll hear are natural ones like the buzzing of fat, furry bumblebees, the roar of the ocean breakers, and the melodies of birds.

I can only wonder what the locals think when we motor in on our boat and camp at the mouth of a small, crystal-clear river. By now some of them must remember us. I remember them, at any rate, and with this, our third visit, the sight of familiar characters was like greeting old friends.

Even before we finished setting up camp, it became clear that the neighborhood had had some changes. Our campsite has a lean-to frame that we built to serve as a kitchen (with the addition of a tarp it becomes sheltered). The bald eagles use the frame as a perch, probably happy that these oddball people have left them this seat with front-row views of the river in a land where trees are scarce. We found numerous eagle feathers scattered in the kitchen. "My eagles," I thought happily, "are still here." Not only were the eagles still living near camp, they were busy raising an eaglet in a nest that was empty the year before. Thriving.

What were not thriving were the little Sitka deer. We found nothing but bones on the beach. Numerous skeletons, as if the whole herd had died in that place. The darling fawns of last year were now nothing more than smaller skeletons among the larger ones.  It was a hard winter, with deep snows that pushed the herd from the hills to the beach where they eventually ran out of food to eat. I mourned the lot of them, those graceful, big-eyed creatures who meant no harm to anyone.

But life goes on, and the happy evidence of that was the newest neighbors to move in - a family of river otters. It was such a joy to watch the four of them roll and tumble on the sand in a knot of silky fur and sleek bodies. Such fun! They lived in a small creek behind our camp and I think we probably trespassed on their property. But they didn't hold a grudge, apparently, and soon accepted us warily - enough to bring their pups down to the sea to go to otter-fishing-school, anyway.

The biggest character on the block, the Kodiak brown bear, was still in residence too. We saw one bear on the beach and wisely turned back from a walk. Other than that one sighting, we saw nothing but footprints on an almost daily basis. There was a mother and cub who seemed to cross paths with us like ships in the night. They were there, but preferred to avoid us. The mother's prints told of a careful bear with long claws. The cub's small paw prints revealed a more playful nature. She took the shortcuts, wandered more, and just like a kid, walked through the mud while mother walked around it. 

 The family of foxes who live across the lagoon from our camp had wisely moved their den away from the eagle's nest. We didn't see the kits, as we had the year before, but we saw the parents often, as well as their kit from last year. She was now a lanky, curious thing who came to camp several times. I had a nice conversation with her at the fire one evening. She sat down not far from me, content to let me carry the conversation. Her eyes were golden, glittering with wonder and curiosity.

The only animal I've named is a harbor seal. Constance earned her name early because of her uncanny habit of popping up in the bay no matter where we were. We could walk miles down the beach and she'd greet us there. We'd come back to camp and she'd be there, too. Constant, like a shadow, watching with big wet eyes. I'd wave at her and yell, "Hello Constance!" My husband, who had a "crazy French girlfriend" named Constance, always said her name with a French accent. 




Even my own characters came along. Nathan, Carrie, and Carl flitted in and out of Boulder Bay like the small brown birds that fluttered around our camp. Without the bright white pages of my wip, the three of them had a holiday of their own. Nate thought about being a hunting guide. He'd buy a boat and live on it, he said. He'd call it the Compass Rose.

Eventually it was time to leave our beloved Boulder Bay. We bid farewell to the creatures who kept us entertained, who kept us company, and who reminded me that there are stories being written every day by characters more real than the ones in my head.

Life is what happens

I remember this particular phase from when my first child was born.

First, the brand new baby who sleeps 22 of every 24 hours. You're full of self-congratulation, remarking that you just knew you were going to have a natural-born sleeper from day one this time. People shake their heads knowingly and you tell them to stow it.

A few weeks later, the kid is growing, becoming more aware, doing more, and suddenly they're hungrier. They don't go to bed until 11pm, and then they wake at 2, 4, 6 for more food. You're tired, but you figure hey, if this is as bad as it gets, you can survive it until they start stretching that out a little. Soon, soon, they'll wake less. Sleep longer.

Oops, wait- this is definitely not as bad as it gets. They hit the 4 month sleep regression, Wonder Week, get in league with the devil, whatever, and all of a sudden they're in bed at 9, but they're also awake at 11, 1, 3, 4, 5 and 6. Surely they cannot be that hungry. Surely they do not like you that much that they have to see you that often through the night. They see you all day! Surely they'll sleep if you give them more milk, a pacifier, a shirt you've had stuffed in your bra for a week, a lovey, a musical seahorse, the right weight of blanket...

It just cannot get worse than this. You are no longer functioning like a normal human being. You put cornflakes in the fridge and milk in the cupboard. The only books you've read in five months are half a dozen baby sleep manuals, some of which may or may not have pages ripped out where you were paging through in clumsy desperation. You no longer own a single item of clothing that does not have milk, barf or pureed apple on it somewhere.

But of course it can get worse. Kid cannot sleep without you now. Kid wakes up every 45-60 minutes all.night.long. Kid is so super cheerful and adorable during the day that you reluctantly return your wicker basket to the shed instead of carting them off to a nunnery, and then you sigh and carry on picking up dropped toys, rubbing sore gums and singing silly songs.

Where does it go from here? Well, last time it went on until my daughter was 14 months old, and then she started sleeping through the night and hasn't stopped since. This time at least I know there's a light at the end of the tunnel. I'm also hoping that my son will get his act together long before that- he's got 8 more months to beat his sister to the sleeping-through milestone, and in the meantime I'm promising him that he'll be lauded, praised and held up as totally better than her every Christmas if he'll just close his freaking eyes and stay quiet all night long, right now. Tonight. It's never too early to start.

Unless you're a baby, apparently.

Am I writing at the moment? Ahaha. That there is the sound of my bitter laughter. Am I doing *anything* to progress toward getting back to it? The outward answer is no, I'm not. I'm not blogging, I'm not researching, I'm not reading, I'm not even thinking, unless you count trying valiantly to come up with an awesome answer when my toddler says such deep things as, "What does dying look like?" And, "Stephanie's little brother is a sister!"

But the inward answer is, yes, actually. It's one of those times in life where just living is the only step forward you can take, and just living- feeling the exhaustion, proudly watching your baby grow fat and healthy, nuzzling that soft baby fuzz day and night, being happy and sad and crazy- not only are they all steps toward the time when life gets back on track, but they feed into the soul of what you write when you get started again.

In the meantime, I hope to kickstart myself a little by trying to get back into blogging and research a little more- but do excuse me if I have a spare half hour and I use it to catch a nap instead!

Hello!

It's been a while between posts, hasn't it?

A hiatus of sorts seems to have snuck up on us all, a combination of work, deadlines, the northern hemisphere summer, children home on vacation, children home sick with nasty bugs, conferencing, vacationing ... and yes, a bunch of writing is being done, too.

But fingers crossed we'll be back in operation soon; I might even have a post to whip out of my sleeve later this week. Hey, stranger things have happened! :-)