Talking Out The Writing

It never really occurred to me how important the talking aspect of writing was.  Until I started talking about it. 

For the longest time my writing has been my dirty little secret - something I live to indulge in, something I can't get out of my head...yet something I rarely talked about.  Mainly it was because I felt like nobody was interested or wouldn't get where I, or the writing, was coming from.  

To say I have low self esteem would be an understatement, and I think I'm better at hiding it than I am at working on it.  Every time I thought about talking to someone about what I've written, or tried to bring it up in conversation all I can think about is my high school English teacher.  The teacher who stamped all over my dreams of ever becoming a published author and pretty much laughed at any writing assignments I handed in.  He was a jerk.  Plain and simple.  And while (after re-reading some attempts I made at literary greatness in my teen years, I would have to agree with him: they stunk) in a way it is a teachers job to be realistic with a student and will only set said student up for disappointment if he plies them with fake confidence and untrue compliments - but isn't the flip side just as damaging?  If someone hears for long enough they aren't worthwhile or why bother trying as it won't work out anyway, it's only a matter of time before they really believe it.

That's what happened to me.  

Every time I thought about talking about my writing I'd see that stupid bald teacher and clam up - convinced I'd be laughed at.

But something amazing happened.

I kept writing anyway.  

I didn't write to prove him wrong, or for any reason for that matter.  I write because I have to.  A day doesn't feel like anything unless I've done something writing related, whether its a bit of editing, some proof reading, or on those really great days - new words.  Those days are what makes it all worthwhile.

It's only recently I've began taking my writing seriously.  I've finished three full novels, two more in draft form and a dozen more ideas swimming in my brain.  And I'm on the hunt for an agent.  

But all that isn't the point of this post.  This is: the talking part of writing.  

As someone who never, ever, ever talks about their work, I was struck completely by surprise when someone wanted to talk to me about it.  A fellow book addict who wanted to read my work.  

Her name is Hayley and we met via Twitter.  Our friendship grew and after a little while I felt confident enough to let her read some of my work.  I could have fainted when I found out she liked it.

I always worry I sound egotistical when we chat about my writing, but in a way its such a massive relief to finally be able to talk about it, but that wasn't the best part.  The best part was when I started talking about the characters and the conversations about them batted back and forth between us, new ideas started forming.  She inspired me in the best possible way and came up with a few killer ideas of her own.  Suddenly plot points I haven't been sure of have new meaning and purpose - kinks have worked themselves out and even a sequel has solidified itself.  

None of that would have happened had we not talked.  She has made me more confident as a writer, and made me realise I can be bolder and throw different scenarios into the mix without worrying about the reactions - strong reactions are good things - they show people are connected.  Best of all its made me realise my characters are human and they have human flaws.  No single person is perfect, despite how they are perceived.  She has made my writing more believable.  

So my parting words to all my fellow writers shall be this: bite the bullet!  Don't be afraid to get yapping about the thing you're passionate about!  Seriously, only good shall come of it.

And to the listeners of writers: you guys are amazing and as important to the writer as they keyboard which the story is typed.  And as someone who was minus a keyboard for a little while thanks to an inquisitive two year old, this is saying a lot.  Without either, the words wouldn't be there.

And for my own personal listener: you are so going in the dedication page.

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The Land That Time Forgot

Saturday started out like any other Saturday.  Until the afternoon came.  I got an invite to go out for the night in my hometown, and with no reason not to (except a weird nagging voice) I figured, what the heck?

It was only sevenish when we drove through the town on the way to my friend's house, and I couldn't help but feel like I still lived there.  I lived in that town pretty much my whole life and it's only now I'm away from it I can appreciate how much of life-sucking black hole it really is.

As soon as I was old enough to dream I wanted out of that town and away from the small-mindedness that came with its inhabitants.  My dream came true when I met my now husband and we moved half an hour down the road.  It sounds like nothing, but it feels like a world away from where I grew up.

And it really is.  Really.

The first thing I noticed on Saturday was how if anything, the only change was the scenery was more drab than it used to be.  The pub floors stickier, the toilets more disgusting and the drinkers drunker.  

It only fully sunk in how much my hometown had gone downhill when we got to our nightclub of choice.  I used to work in this club and I adore it from its giant 'gators on the wall to the pianos on stage.  Some of my fondest memories of a miss-spent youth are in that place.  I remember it in its glory days when there were three bars open and a crowded dance floor and a vibe that made you glad you were there. 

This time...it was like the world moved on and forgot to tell it.  Only one bar was open with only crappy alco-pops to serve.  The lighting was dank and the whole place screamed depression.    It was like seeing your favourite person at their very worst and not even able to get that shocked and pitying looks off your face.

The places had gone downhill but it was like the people were the exact same.  Same old drama.  Same old bitching.  Same old arguments.  

The Land That Time Forgot - or is it just me who has moved on?

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Easy writing, or simply easier?

An empty, brilliant white Word document with nothing but the cursor blinking pretty much strikes fear into my poor writer's heart.  Usually, the getting going is the hardest part of my writing process.  Once the first paragraph is over, everything seems to flow way better.  But sometimes it doesn't.  Sometimes it does.  So, my question is this: is there really such a thing as easy writing?  Or sometimes is what we write only easier?

For awhile now I've been working on a YA project which falls outside my comfort zone: its normal - minus the para.  The thing that struck me with this project is something I've never experienced as a writer before.  It didn't flow well.  I found myself staring at the computer screen for huge blocks of time and only getting a few words out.

I'm not a planner.  When I start a project I jot down some character points, a few plot ideas I have, and generally where I think the story is headed.  Once the story starts fleshing out and growing, then I go back and start scribbling notes and plans in my trust notebooks.  But for my current project, I couldn't plan anything.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zip.  My concept ideas page was the only page filled in the notebook and so I (probably stupidly) just went ahead and started writing anyway.

Once maybe fifty pages into the story, I started getting stuck.  I knew generally where my characters were going, but it was like I had to put all my faith in my creative streak - or writing blind, as I like to think of it.  The further I delved into the story, the more stuck I got.  I literally wrote myself into a corner.  It was time to take charge.

One night I sat down at my desk and refused to budge until I had plotted out the story and did character info's and backgrounds and anything else I could think of.  Suddenly post-its were full, my desk hidden under pinks rectangles, green and blue squares, yellow small rectangles.  Using my bare wall in my office I stuck all the post-its to it and hey presto!  My story outline in full.  I knew where I was going.  The blinders were off, I could see.

And I haven't been able to write anything since.

I'm on page 160 and I know exactly where everything is going, whose gonna do what and whose gonna break whose heart.  I just can't get it out.

At first I thought this was down to what's going on in my life right now (a toddler, a big move, husband changing jobs and depression that I still haven't lost all my baby weight!) so I figured all these factors played a part in my slow moving writing train.

But then something happened.  Another book I wrote way before this one was even a musing in my mind started cropping up in my head with increasing frequency.  I've always considered doing a sequel for it, but I couldn't come up with a big enough story line, or not enough subplots to fill a whole book.  So, just for fun, I wrote a short story with one idea I had.  I wrote twenty pages in one night.

It was beautiful...it reminded me why I love doing what I do all over again...it was like going on that magical first date again, seeing my baby boy for the first time, kissing my husband on our wedding day.

Everything fell away - it was the kind of writing where you just go with it and you feel like you're just along for the ride.  The kind of writing where you pause for a break and you can't feel your butt, and you realise four hours have passed without you even realising it.  This, to me, is the definition of easy writing.

So why am I having so much trouble with my current WIP?  The best writing tip I've ever heard to avoid writers block is when you are struggling to write the scenes your most excited about, and fill in the gaps later, it will all come together easier.  How true it is!  Except for this story.  NOTHING makes writing this story easy.

My short story felt like easy writing in comparison, but was it really?  Or was it just easier?

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