NaNoWriMo No No…For Now, At Least
It’s November. You know that already, don’t you?
What you might not know is that November is National Novel Writing Month (a.k.a. NaNoWriMo). A bunch of crazy people take this 30 days to write a 50,000 word novel to completion.
Madness, I tell you!
Awesome, sweet, fun madness, though.
Two years ago, I started November with an idea for a novel. I wrote like the wind, with determination. And with more coffee than any human should consume.
My family ate off paper plates. What we ate were PB&Js and Mac n Cheese and lots of other food “products” that include ampersands and misspelled wordz. My good, tolerant, understanding family.
At the end of the month I had a novel that would become My Mother’s Chamomile.
This year I’m not participating, unfortunately. I just turned in A Cup of Dust to be sent to my new editor. I have a lot of prep work to do before I’m ready to start work on this next novel (which I’m calling A Spoon of Crumbs for now). Research must be done. Books must be read. A house must be cleaned (my house, in case you wondered). Children must be hugged and a husband must be dated.
Life needs to happen before I dive head-first into this next book.
I am hoping to be ready for a month of furious writing in January.
How about you? Are you participating in NaNoWriMo this year? How’s it going? Anybody want to join me for a January version of the book writing madness? You don’t have to be a novelist to participate. It could be lots of fun!
Not a writer? Well, that’s fine. How are you? Did you have a nice weekend?
McDonalds, Car Rides, Bugs, and Eric Vitz
I was but an awkward teen, as many teens are.
What a beginning for a blog post, huh? But it’s true. That day, in the summer or 1995, I sure was awkward. And I was a bit nervous because I was going to see my sister at the camp where she was working for the summer. I wasn’t anxious about seeing my sister, but about how I was going to get there.
Eric Vitz was going to drive me.
You need to know that I looked up to Eric Vitz. He was probably 4 or 5 years older than me, which is a lot for a teen. He was also madly popular at the college my sisters attended (a college with a student body of about 200). He was funny. He was cool. And he was going to be a minister.
I was intimidated and worried that I would have nothing to say to him on the 2 hour drive to the camp and 2 hour drive back.
But he was going to see his girlfriend (who was also working at the camp) and offered to give me a ride.
He bought me McDonald’s breakfast to eat on the road and we took off.
As I ate, I tried so hard to say the right things…the cool things. He asked me about school and my summer job and all that kind of thing.
Then, while speeding along down the highway in his tiny car, we hit the juiciest bug I have ever seen. It splattered and my Egg McWhatever seemed a bit less appetizing.
“You know what the last thing was to go through that bug’s mind?” Eric asked.
Was it a trick question? Something theological? Was there an existentially correct answer?
“I don’t know,” I said.
“His butt,” Eric answered. And then he laughed.
Eric Vitz was a man of infectious laughter.
I couldn’t help it, I snorted like a pig, I laughed so hard.
That was Eric’s way. He knew how to put a person at ease with his kindness, his genuine concern, his gift of humor.
Eric died this morning. Some kind of infection attacked him, spreading through his whole body. I’ve been following the whole thing on Facebook all week. And this morning I saw the tragic news that he died.
Yes. It is tragic.
I know, he is now with Jesus. He lived a faithful and giving life.
Still. His death is a tragedy.
His wife. His beautiful and amazing wife is now grieving with their gorgeous and talented daughters (three of them). His parents and brother and church will have this huge void. So many of my college friends are hurting.
Eric lived in such a way that he will be missed. Deeply.
All I can think of to pray is that God will give comfort. That God’s image-bearers will pour out mercy.
If you’re a person who prays, please pray for the Vitz family.
If You Weren’t Afraid
I was up late editing A Cup of Dust (it’s my new novel, scheduled for release in Fall, 2015 with Kregel Publications). The manuscript is due to the editor on Saturday.
I’ve got plenty of time. Why was I up late?
Because at 9:15 I got scared.
Not stressed or anxious or slap-happy-tired.
I. Was. Afraid.
There was this four line exchange that I found needed a slight change that would necessitate a change in a previous chapter. Nothing big. But I was scared that I was getting it all wrong. That I moved the tension in the wrong way. That I wasn’t being true to my characters.
So, I did what all good writers do. I started drinking.
Coffee. I got a cup of coffee. What did you think I meant?
While my poor hubby snoozed on the couch, I tweaked and tinkered with what I needed to fix.
The fear didn’t stop.
Neither did my fingers.
I jotted notes to myself of things that need to be fixed and prayed like crazy for a little help. I stretched out (sitting all day is a killer) and searched the cupboards for chocolate. I found none. Then I went back and edited a little more until I was out of functioning brain matter.
Facebook is as good a brain numbing device as I’ve got, so I scanned through my feed.
If you were a 70’s song…
Kelly Clarkson’s tattoo!
Jimmy Fallon! Jimmy Fallon! JIMMY FALLON! (seriously, the dude is ALWAYS all over my newsfeed).
Then I got to a status from John Blase. John is a poet and you ought to know-it. He blogs over at The Beautiful Due and is always good for a deep thought or a book recommendation.
John’s status was this: “The fabulous Mary Karr* shared this question on Twitter the other day:
What would you write if you weren’t afraid?”
My thought when I read that status?
I’m pretty ding-dong scared RIGHT NOW….
My answer to Mary and John’s question is this: A Cup of Dust is what I’d write if I wasn’t afraid. And, even though I am terrified in this very moment, I’m still going to finish these edits and turn it in on time and wait to hear from the editor (which is an altogether different brand of fear).
What would YOU write if you weren’t afraid? Are you still brave enough (or, in my case, arrogant enough) to write it anyway?
*Mary Karr is an uber famous, well respected, no nonsense poet, memoirist, and essayist.
Be a Rainbow
Like all good elementary schools, my kids’ school halls are decorated with artwork made from small hands and creative minds. Spending a fair amount of time in the building, I love to linger, drinking in the color and effort of the blooming artists.
Elementary aged kids all believe they are artists and writers and musicians. I love that so much.
Currently, the hall is adorned with sweet rainbows. The colors cheer my eyes. What makes me smile is that, in the middle of the 8 by 10 rainbows is a quote from Maya Angelou.
Truly, I don’t believe this quote requires commentary. What it does require is for the reader to consider how he or she can try to be a joy in someone’s hardship. It could be as simple as a word of encouragement or a hug. It doesn’t take much. Just a little effort. I love that Maya used the word “try”.
That’s all it take some days.
So, tell me about a time someone tried to be a rainbow in your cloud? How did that change your mood/day/outlook? What are some ideas for spreading joy and mercy? I love to hear what you have to say.
The Author’s Husband
Eleven years ago this man and I stood at the front of a church and made promises to each other and God. We promised to be faithful and loving and respectful. We vowed to be together until death. I don’t know that we had a full idea of all the ways this world would try to pull at our devotion to one another. I don’t know that many realize that on their wedding day. But we’ve made it to over a decade of marriage. I pray we have many more decades ahead of us.
Back then I worked at a daycare. I wrote a little, but didn’t think it would turn into anything, really. To tell the truth, I didn’t have the confidence to do much with my words.
But this man had confidence in me. He told me to go for it. So I did.
He has hugged me after heartbreaking rejections. Rejoiced with each success. He’s given me time away to get work done, managed our family budget so that we don’t have to depend on my income, washed dishes and made meals when I was close to a deadline (even after working long days).
Jeff believes in my dreams – sometimes more than I do. He wants me to keep going. Even though he’s not a big fiction reader, he takes the time to read my little books.
Pile all that on top of his generous spirit, his solid parenting skills, and his deep well of love for our family and you’ve got a man who is showing our kids and I a great example of Christ’s love.
If I had it to do all over again, I’d still pick Jeff. Every time.
Anniversaries are never just-like-any-other-day to me. They are special because I get to celebrate them with Jeff.
The Exhausted Author
This is me, at the end of a six and a half hour editing session (I know it doesn’t sound like much, but that’s a long writing day). My brain was absolute mush. Emotionally I was frizzle-fried (I cry a lot when I’m working). Intellectually I was reviewing my work, making sure it works as far as plot and story arc and characterization. Physically my body ached from my cheap-o desk chair and my throat hurt from all the reading.
When I look at this picture, I see an exhausted author. One who has been through the ringer with her characters.
Flannery O’Connor said, “Writing a novel is a terrible experience, during which the hair often falls out and the teeth decay. I’m always irritated by people who imply that writing fiction is an escape from reality. It is a plunge into reality and it’s very shocking to the system.”
Yup, Flannery. That is how I feel now.
I’ve been working on writing novels for six years now with very few breaks. I’ve plunged into the lives of prostituted girls, anxiety laden women, families who have lost their loved ones, a young girl living in the middle of an ecological and relational nightmare. I’ve put on the skin of pretty nasty people in an effort to write them correctly. I’ve worn the grief and suffering of others to be authentic.
To piggy back on Flannery’s thought, these novels have been terrible and wonderful at the same time. I couldn’t quit now if I wanted to. But there are days when I feel like my emotions can’t take anymore. Novelists are extremely sensitive souls. We feel everything so deeply, so profoundly. And that includes what we do to our characters.
The other day I had the overwhelming feeling that I was torturing my protagonist, Pearl Spence. She’s only ten years old and I was putting her through too much. Knowing that a key scene was approaching, I dreaded reading that part. When I actually reached it, I blubbered through the whole thing, feeling so badly for what I made.
I’m sometimes tempted to write novels about puppy hugs and rainbow kisses. I wonder what it’s like to write an ooey gooey, mushy love story where the biggest conflict is whether or not Ken Doll has a crush on Barbie.
But there is no way I could write that kind of story. It isn’t in me.
I’ve read too much Steinbeck to write like that.
Speaking of Steinbeck…
He’s right, you know. It’s the burden of the novelist to feel deeply, especially for others.
And, for that matter, it’s the burden of any who claim to be their brother’s keeper. It is the only way to understand life and love and hurt and joy.
Because of that, tomorrow and the day after that and for many years to come (I hope), I will wake up knowing that I have a story to tell.
On Distraction
I’m writing this from a busy coffee shop. The sunrise is startlingly beautiful, the coffee is strong, the music is groovy. Two police officers sit at a table within my sight and I’m trying my very hardest not to observe them too closely (nobody needs me getting tased today). To my right, a man is reading through the newspaper, underlining about every article (is he an editor? a newspaper man? WHY IS HE DOING THAT?). My phone pings with a new text message, the number of unanswered emails grows and grows and grows.
Now they’re grinding the coffee beans. It’s loud. It smells great.
Oh. Fantastic. My stomach just reminded me that I forgot to eat breakfast.
No matter where I turn my eyes, there is a distraction tempting me to stop my work and go into observation mode.
BUT I HAVE WORK TO DO! Deadlines and responsibilities. I have tasks to do for the school and a novel to finish editing.
So, what’s the solution?
Force all the distractions to stop? That’s not going to happen. Lock myself up in a room with no internet or windows? Yeah, I’d still doodle or daydream or take a nap (I mean…I don’t get to enjoy complete quiet all that often, you know?).
If I wait for the perfect, distraction free environment before I start to work I’ll be waiting forever.
What I need to do is just buckle down, put on my big girl shoes, and learn to work amid the distraction.
Oh, and close the Facebook tab. Nobody needs me to “like” their status that urgently.
Tell me, what are some of your strategies to shut out distraction? Are you someone who can work in a chaotic environment? What’s you’re biggest distraction?
Talking to Myself
I have 2 weeks until A CUP OF DUST (my newest novel) is due to my publisher. People keep asking if the book is done.
Well. Yes. And no.
The story is done. The plot is formulated, the characters and dialogue as real as I can get them. I’ve cried over this book and fallen in love with my protagonist and sneered right back at the antagonist. So, yes. It’s done.
But I’m scanning the manuscript, trying to catch every weasel word and misplaced punctuation marks. I’m trying to fix any dialogue that sounds stilted. I’m weeding the garden for anything that might strangle the plot.
This is what I call the OCD edit.
It’s amazing how many tiny things you can find during the OCD edits. Things like these (these aren’t actually from the novel…but they’re pretty close)
“My face was read.” Good grief.
“I put out the bowels on the table.” NOW my face is red.
“He watched me to watched me to make sure I made it home, he watched me all the way.” I need to sit down.
I’m finding that the best way for me to catch all these tiny infractions is to read (yes read, not red or reed) the whole novel…get this…
OUT LOUD.
I sit at my desk and read, speaking my novel into the air and hearing the words. I’m paying close attention to the dance the words make in certain sentences. I hope the ideas sing through the language I use. My old acting days are paying off as I’m playing the different parts: a 10 year old girl, a sheriff, housewife, grandmother, creepy dude. I’m hearing the voices of my characters.
And it’s working to create a better story.
Many authors who I deeply admire do this very thing. They read aloud in order to hear their own novel. I’m so glad I listened when they said it’s a must-do for a writer.
I’m just glad I don’t write Stephen King length novels.
Tell me, please. What are your editing tricks? Have any embarrassing editing catches? Are you the reader who finds typos in big-name-author books? I absolutely love hearing from you.
Editing Day
I’m editing. Finding all the misplaced commas and overused verbs. I’m rooting out the homophones that don’t quite work (my face was read…um…red). I’m reading the whole thing, out loud. It helps, I promise.
But the folks at Starbucks might think I’ve gone to looney town, so I’m working from home.
All that to say…
Watch this space. I’ll blog soon about how the Kregel Contract came about, a little about my book, etc.
Oh, and other of my mad ramblings.
But, for now, I hope you have a fantabulous day.
Monday News
Good morning! Today is the Monday after a VERY full weekend. This is how I feel at the moment.
There isn’t enough coffee in this house to make me feel more awake.
Here’s what happened this weekend.
1. Julie Cantrell (New York Times Bestselling/Award winning/International rockstar of Christian Fiction) came to town. She was the keynote speaker at the Breathe Christian Writers Conference. Amelia Rhodes and I took her around ArtPrize (an art competition held in Grand Rapids). It. Was. Super-deeeeee-dooper fun.
2. I was part of a book signing/reading/event with four authors that I greatly (read: GREATLY) admire.
3. Breathe Conference was this weekend. Whew! A whole bunch of writers gathered to be inspired, rub elbows, guzzle coffee, etc. Breathe is my very, VERY favorite conference.
4. At the conference, something really exciting happened.
5. Immediately after I signed my Herbie Hancock (if you don’t get that joke, you need to watch Tommy Boy…NOW), I led a workshop on writing dialogue. It was a blast. 
The conference was wonderful and I made some sweet friends and reunited with others (I got my hug quota for sure).
Oh! Also, I wrote a blog post for Amelia Rhodes’s Pray A to Z project. I wrote about my struggle with depression. Please go read it, comment, and pray for those you know who live with any form of mental illness. Compassion and mercy go a long way when given in love.
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