Like my recent post about keeping your eyes open, this one will hopefully remind you what there is to see in the world around you. Small town or large, on the water or landlocked, the world can show you some beautiful things if you open your eyes. Below are some pictures I took last weekend on Ft. Lauderdale beach, a spot I only truly appreciated after moving away for eight years.
A lot of writers I’ve met have said that one of the questions they’re asked most is where do you find inspiration. It’s hard to give a real answer to this questions. The best one I’ve ever heard is PAY ATTENTION.
For example, recently one of my friends posted an article on Facebook that included these pictures:
Doesn’t this building spark a bunch of ideas? Who would live in a place like this? What happened in their life to make them this paranoid? What are they afraid of now? Where did they get the money to build a concrete, high-tech bunker? What do the other people in the neighborhood think about this house and whoever lives there?
This is just one example, and not necessarily one that works for you, but it helps illustrate my point. Keep your eyes open and always ask questions. You never know when you’ll find the picture/person/song/statement/quote/movie/color/scene/location/question/whatever that will ultimately become your next book.
And, no, my next book is not going to be about the zombie apocalypse. 😉
This past weekend was phenomenal both for the family time I enjoyed and the writing milestones I hit.
First, on Saturday I broke 100,000 words! Yaaaaay!
This meant that, no matter what, I’d reached my personal writing goal for the year of writing 100,000 words. However, I hadn’t quite reached The End. No, that’s not right. I’d technically reached the end of the book, but there were still pieces missing, bits I had to go back and fill in because I hadn’t been sure how the timeline would work or what to put there. Not many, but enough for me to hesitate calling it finished.
Well, I’m not hesitating any more.
It’s here! I’ve hit The End!
Let the editing begin. 😀
I’ve always know the value of a reader who asks questions, but for a few years I’ve been without one. A good reader will find all those plot holes you didn’t know were there. A good reader will question all your leaps of logic and force you to back them up. A good reader will wonder why and how and what and who and when. And then once you answer those questions, they’ll come up with new ones.
A friend of mine just read the short story versions of Sing and afterward emailed me a long list of questions, notes, and what she calls loves. Answering her questions not only helped her understand the story better, it helped me understand the story better. Someone from the outside who doesn’t have all the answers will think of questions that never even occurred to you. They’ll dig into the dark corners you forgot to dust and find that key you’ve been looking for. They’ll bring up ideas that solve problems you haven’t run into yet. And they can be a wonderful way to get an honest reaction to new plots, characters, and themes.
A good reader is a curious reader, and a curious reader is more precious than diamonds.
Writing is work. Anyone who says otherwise is either lying or selling something.
That being said, how do you get from concept to finished first draft? I’m not talking about polished, ready to publish, amazingly perfect writing, just a first draft that includes a beginning, middle, and end as well as all the important elements of a good novel. Even Aristotle said so. 🙂
This is a question almost every author gets. I heard it asked during the event with Christopher Paolini and it’s been on my mind recently, hence the post. Thus far, for every book I’ve started or finished, my process has been different. Some ideas come to be with the larger story arc already in place and all I have to do is fill in the details. Others appear only as an image or scene and I have to go back through that scene with a million questions to try to see where these characters have come from and where they’re going. Sometimes I outline, sometimes I don’t. Maybe one day I’ll have a system that I employ for every book, but I find that doubtful. It kind of feels as likely as saying I’m going to follow the same routine every day for the rest of my life. Of course I’m not. No one is. Every day is different just like every book is different.
Sing, Sweet Nightingale, for example, started life as a short story. It then became two short stories. Now, it’s becoming a novel. Later, it might become a series. For this particular story, I never had an outline. I have notes now and I’m doing a lot of research into different things I will be using in the novel, but my short story versions are serving as my outline. I’ve found this to be SO INCREDIBLY USEFUL. And it’s probably going to be as close to a “process” as I get if I manage to repeat this life-cycle with the sequel. Even if I don’t repeat this system, it’s not the important part.
The important part is sitting down and writing, refusing to let procrastination and over-planning keeping you from the business of telling the story you need to tell. As long as you do that, does HOW you get there really matter?
What about you? Does anyone have a tried and tested system that gets them through that first draft with their sanity still intact?
Seriously! I’m very pleased with myself. I’ve managed to keep up some of the momentum yesterday even though I spent most of the day at work and therefore away from my novel. I’m going to be working again all day today, unfortunately (that’s usually what happens when you have a 9-5 job), although I hope to meet up with some other NaNo-ers tonight and see what tips we can share. I think that, if nothing else, NaNo is a good networking tool for writers in a certain area to find each other and create a support system. I kind of like that.
Look to see the updated word count before I do go sleep tonight. 🙂
Remember that NaNoWriMo novel I mentioned yesterday? I think my participation is becoming more compulsory because I officially have 10,094 words. Right now, looking at that total (the sum of only two days of work), I’m having a hard time believing it.
At the same time, I shouldn’t be quite so shocked. I know by now how my writing happens: in strange, unpredictable bursts fueled by a random idea or inspired moment. If that jolt of inspiration stays with me, I can shoot through a novel like a bullet train. If I only envision a particular scene, the going gets a lot tougher. This process is why part of me dreads working under contract and deadline. The writing I don’t do while inspired, the stuff I plug onto the keyboard just to get a word count, usually sucks.
Luckily, in this particular case, I have practically the entire book figure out already. Not just figured out, but planned, investigated, questioned, fleshed out, and outlined (in a sense). Although I do need to grow the story, change certain details and certain reasonings that won’t work in this new format, the bulk of the story is there, ready for me to write. What does this mean for you? That I’ll probably be posting about my progress a lot this month and won’t post about any of the books I planned to read and review until December. Maybe even January. I’m considering posting a word count meter on the sidebar, but I have to find one first.
All in all, this much progress so fast is extremely exciting and a little nerve wrecking. Can I keep this pace up through the whole book? I really hope so. I guess we’ll see, though, won’t we?
Edited to add: Found a really great, simple meter! Progress is now being monitored on the sidebar.
Wandering the internet this morning, I found a list of fifty “topics.” I put that word in quotes because even though they call them topics, they read more like first sentences or sentence starters. It doesn’t give you much to go on.That, however, is part of the reason I liked it. The clips or sentences are short, yet evocative. They can take you in a hundred different directions, but each one will definitely take you somewhere. Use this when you feel as though you can’t get out of your own head and see what ends up on paper.
Inspiration images: A bridge, a cell phone, and a magnet. Goal: 1000+ words
As soon as I stepped foot on the bridge, I felt the pull. I’d felt it before, but never this strong. Never had I been so sure that I was within 100 feet of someone who would understand everything. Never had I been so scared that I might be wrong. I pulled out my cell phone and quickly dialed my sister.
“What, June?” December sighed as soon as she picked up. “I can’t always answer during work hours. You know that—”
“D,” I said, cutting her off before she could really get into stride, “I think it’s happening.”
I didn’t have to explain anything else. Even though my sister had never felt the pull I did, even though the sixth sense that was our heritage from our father’s mother seemed to have skipped her, she knew immediately what I meant.
“No! Damnit! I can’t get away now!” I heard something crash on her end of the line, probably her chair as she shoved it out of the way. “How could you do this without me?”
I smiled. “You know it’s not exactly a choice, December.” Secretly, though, I felt a little relieved. Did I really want to meet my soul mate under my older sister’s watchful eye? “And as much as I love you, I’m not going to walk away from this and just hope it happens again.”
“Of course not,” she sighed. “It’s just, are you sure? Really sure?”
Part of her had held onto the hope that Grandma December—my sister’s namesake—had been exaggerating or maybe even lying outright when she told us the stories of her sixth sight and how it had always guided her.
“The women of this family always know,” she’d said. When we wanted to know how, she walked to the refrigerator and pulled off two of the magnets, two solid black circles powerful enough to hold up stacks of paper.
“You’ll know because sometimes you’ll get a feeling right here,” she said, pointing to the center of her chest just under her ribs. “It’ll feel like a magnet either pulling you toward a decision or a person or a place or pushing you away from it.”
She demonstrated with the magnets, holding them apart from one another. We watched as they danced around each other, resisting her attempts to guide them closer together. Then, she flipped one around and suddenly she couldn’t keep them apart. The magnets snapped together and toppled out of her hands. I remember rushing forward to pick them up, staring at them with all the wonder a small child can contain.
“When you feel a pull so strong it feels as though you have to follow it or you might stop breathing,” she paused, smiling at some memory she didn’t share that day. “Well, my girls, that will be a very special day indeed. Follow that feeling, that pull, and you will not be disappointed.”
I sucked in a deep breath. If I’d needed any more confirmation, this breathlessness, the feeling that the air had started to thin around me grew and grew.
“I’m sure.” I held the phone away from my face so she wouldn’t hear me panting for breath. He was getting closer. I could feel it in the tightening pull around my chest and my near-suffocating breathlessness. Strangely, it didn’t make me dizzy or woozy. It felt more like the itching anticipation I remembered from Christmas Eve’s years and years ago. I’d hoped for this moment for so long, yet it still seemed too soon. I’d just turned seventeen. I hadn’t even graduated high school yet. There was still so much I wanted to do, to experience. Would this change everything? Of course it would, but would it be for the better?
“I have to go,” I told her. My hands had started shaking and I didn’t wait for her to answer before I said, “I’ll call you tonight.”
Clicking end, I turned and placed my hands on the rail of the bridge and took a deep breath. It didn’t help. The feeling didn’t ease. Tension built and built until I knew I had to do something or shatter, but just as I lifted my hands to put my cell phone away and go in search of destiny, I heard a deep voice cry, “Oh, hell!”
Something large, hot, and sticky slammed into my side. My ribs cracked into the railing, knocking what little breath had remained in my lungs out and sending my phone flying into the creek below.
“No!” I shouted, leaning over the edge in a futile attempt to halt its’ descent. “Damn…”
My sister had just gotten a new cell number and I hadn’t memorized it yet. Aunt Ashley would know it, but she wouldn’t be home from her meeting until late tonight. Just as I wondered how I would get in touch with her to report on whatever happened today did I realize that despite the pain in my ribs, I could breathe again. The pull had disappeared.
“I am so sorry,” my accidental assailant said as he helped me regain my footing. “Did I see something go over the edge?”
“Yeah,” I sighed. Not only had I lost my cell phone, I’d lost my chance of meeting my soul mate. I stared down into the rushing water of the creek, positively forlorn. “My cell phone.” And my future.
He cursed under his breath and I felt him lean over the edge next to me as if he would find it floating in midair. “I am so sorry,” he repeated. “I don’t know what happened. I was running and everything was fine and then I suddenly tripped over nothing.”
He turned to face me, but I kept my eyes on the water. “Let me take you to buy a new one.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t do it on purpose.”
“It’s still my fault. Please? I would feel a lot better if you let me do this.”
I sighed and winced as the pain registered in my ribs. “Oww.”
“Are you hurt, too?” Large hands settled on my shoulders and turned me away from the wall. I found myself staring at a bright blue tank top mostly soaked through with sweat and clinging to a thoroughly muscled chest. My heart rate picked up as hope bloomed in my chest. “God, I feel like such an ass.”
I slowly lifted my eyes and found my gaze locked on stormy gray irises framed by long black lashes and thick black eyebrows. His shaggy black hair was windswept and sweat-matted, proving a beautiful foil to his perfectly sculpted features. Everything about his face was sharp and angular except his lips which held such lush promise that I knew I would never in my life get tired of kissing them.
He looked me over too, at first checking for injuries and then again as shock registered on his face.
“Wow,” he breathed. “This is going to sound either creepy or unbelievable, but I swear I had a dream about a girl who looked exactly like you last night.”
I smiled and lifted my hand to tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me at all.”
