Writers in the Storm

We're just in time for Halloween, and I'm baaack! by D.A. WATT

 This past week, I found myself scurrying along the side yard fence to enter my back door. I didn’t want to chance another run in with an enormous, icky spider’s web hosted by a giant cross orb weaver, that was commandeering my entire front entry.

That’s when I realized something: I’m tired of being a wimp.

So I sat down on my couch with a gallon of pistachio walnut ice cream (nonfat) and did some deep, heavy thinking, just like FDR, the US President who said this.

That's when I decided: FEAR NO MORE. I wrote it on a Post-It note, along with:

1. Rise above my fear of disappointing others. 
2. Say, “No, I can’t,” at least once this week.
3. Be bold: Emergency Response Team training tomorrow, great time to act fearlessly.
4. Don’t allow any webs, real or imagined, to get in your way.
5. Failure is not an option. Don’t give up, especially on your writing.
6. To be successful as a writer you must give up your alter-ego, "Super Me."  

I stuck the note on my bathroom mirror and exhaled. Losing my fear was like tossing a hundred pound weight off my back. And once you do the initial thrust, gravity takes over. I was floating on my new found courage. Until the next night, when I was chosen to lead a mock triage situation for my Emergency Response Team.

I had 30 seconds or less to assess if someone was dead, needed immediate attention, or if they had non-life threatening injuries. Apparently, they’d brought in an Emmy award winning make-up crew. My first victim looked like he’d been tossed off a five story building; gashes three inches deep, right foot twisted backwards, blood oozing from his nostrils. How does someone fake all that? I mean, what did he do, shove a bottle of ketchup up his nose? And that backwards foot?

Anyway, I felt the old familiar fear jellying my insides, so I remembered my FEAR NO MORE list. Just then, the guy in charge jammed a stopwatch in my face. Twenty-two seconds and I still hadn’t made an assessment.

By now, the zombie in front of me was laying on the ground, convulsing. I was freaked out by all the blood and that darn, twisted foot. The head honcho demanded action, so I acted. I pushed out my chest, clenched invisible balls of courage and said, “Yes, I can.” The floodgates opened and I felt fearless. I was so proud of myself, and I think he was too, because he told me to go home early.

I smiled the entire drive home, pleased that I could cross a few things off my list. But I wasn’t done yet.

Don’t allow any webs to get in your way.  It was night by the time I arrived home. As I approached the darkened entryway, I thought of number 3 on my list. I braced myself and bolted through a giant cross orb weaver’s web. Thin, spidery threads stuck to my cheeks over my lips.

No turning back, I was almost through. I blew out a breath and leaned into it. But the spider wasn’t about to let me cross enemy lines without a fight. She plopped on the back of my neck, completed a few push ups at the base of my skull, and scurried overhead. I threw open the front door, dropped, rolled, and gagged.  But I’d made it! Unharmed and unbitten. Valiant, I quickly crossed number 3 from my list, but I still needed to tackle 4 and 5.

In her blog last week about fear, Laura wrote that she fears her time is running out on becoming published (even though she's at the tipping point) while Fae wrote about battling perfection (her near-perfect world building skills are stellar).

I, on the other hand, own both sides of the same coin. Either way, I lose. My critique group is writing while I’m jamming my scribe light under a laundry basket, moonlighting as Super Me. I've been allowing urgent demands and pressing needs to wring me so dry there’s no juice left. No V8 to create. We all have promises to keep and responsibilities outside of our craft. That won’t change, so what can I do differently?

I can drool and read Laird Hamilton’s book, Force of Nature, Mind, Body, Soul, and, of Course Surfing.

Concerning family matters, he says, “I brought my kids into the world—they didn’t ask to be born—but it seems to me to be wrong if I stop being myself because of them. It’d almost be cheating them.” 

Cheating them, huh? Something to ponder: is Laird courageous or selfish, a little of both?

Maybe that’s what’s needed for anyone to be awesome in something.

I’ve a hunch my success as writer won’t happen until Super Me dies off and Especially Ordinary Me takes over. That is, as long as my other alter ego, Not Good Enough, doesn’t crawl out of the gutter to brag about how she can’t write; not because she’s saving the world,  but because she stinks.

You see, Not Good Enough is the other side of this coin called fear, failure. Seems to me, if Especially Ordinary Me wants to write, she’s going to have to perform triage, and tag Super Me and Not Good Enough as dead.

Does anyone else have these sort of characters populating their heads?

The first step to change is to admit you have a problem.

Ok, I have a writing problem based on both types of fear. It’s the little things that empower, like creating a daily writing ritual of preparation to begin, like taking a walk, as Beethoven did.

• George Washington rode his horse before sunrise.
• Laird Hamilton plays the same song over and over a hundred times or so before he surfs a big monster wave. The song plays in his head, slowing things down as he tackles nature.
• The famous dancer and choreographer, Twyla Tharp, still creating and touring in her seventies, wrote Creative Habit, Learn It and Use it For Life.  For her, it’s taking a cab in Manhattan at 5:30 am to hit the gym. Regardless of lousy weather or how tired she feels, once inside the cab, she’s committed.  A short clip of Twyla’s skills; listen and enjoy a United Nations of beautiful bodies! Here.
• Since I’m an outdoorsy type, I’m going to try writing outside.

Maybe a slow burning fear motivates you, like it does Laura. Fae’s perfection does create amazing worlds. She just needs to know when to stop being perfect. As for you, it’s your call, adjust the recommended dosage of fear needed to keep your writing going.

I get a kick out of Merlin Man’s blog. He talks about fear and creativity, even a posting titled Scared Shitless, but I really like his link from the podcast of Steve Jobs speech at Stanford’s 2005 commencement. A toast to your awesomeness. Read it Here. Or watch it Here.

If you still want my two cents worth, I have a coin for you. And if you want to amp up your writing, check out Laird Hamilton surfing Jaws. Go on, ride your own wave of awesomeness.

How are you going to triage fear?

Name the excuses, the roles you play, the distractions you keep. Assess your situation and be truthful. What’s really going on to keep you from writing your opus?

The Guinea Pig Diaries: Novel Edition
by Piper Bayard

I wrote a novel. For five and a half years, I wrote a novel. I didn’t just write it, I rewrote it, rewrote it, and rewrote it again. I ate it, slept it, drank it, and then I found some betareaders, and I rewrote it again.

Now, you would think that, during this time, I would have learned to write a novel. . . . You know. . . . Taken classes, read a few books, talked to some writers. . . . Oh, no! I mean, I was a born novelist, right? I had a technical writing degree already so why would I need to box in my creativity by learning about . . . *gasp* . . . novel structure?

I hope you’re laughing at me right now. I certainly am.

To my credit, I did hire a writing coach to help me with my query letters and my pitch before I went to the 2010 DFW Writers Conference to shop my “masterpiece,” my post-apocalyptic science fiction novel, Seeds, that would be the second coming of The Hunger Games.

That’s where I met Kristen Lamb. Always one to prefer a small group over a large one, I sought out the back patio, where I found her expounding on log lines. My first thought was, “What’s a log line?” . . . Oh, yes. I had pitched to an agent just that morning. *crosses agent off list*

To make a long story short, Kristen adopted me from the Writers Shelter to become her guinea pig. Why she chose me, all shivering and soaking wet with my matted fur pasted across my eyes . . . I’m a sheltie guinea pig–the kind with long hair . . . Well, it’s a mystery to me.

Kristen first used me to test her social media theories. She had to drag me squealing from my nutrilog at the beginning, but with much bweeping and honeytreating, she finally got me blogging. Then, she recruited me to her first online Warrior Writers Boot Camp program. I, in turn, recruited Holmes, and we began a spy novel while I still shopped around Seeds.

After a couple of lukewarm responses from agents . . . How could this be? My baby! . . . I reluctantly decided to show my work to a real editor who had helped bestselling novelists before. I hired Kristen to take a look at my first 100 pages.

When I first talked to her about the job, she said, “Oh. I know what’s wrong with it already from what you’ve said. . . .” I didn’t know how that could possibly be, but I was learning so much through WWBC that I sent it on and waited to hear how brilliant I was and how I just needed to tweak a couple of things. *cracks up laughing* . . . . Right.

To condense a five hour conversation . . . Yes, five hours. . . . I had the Cecile B. DeMille Cast of Thousands Syndrome, and I was missing a little thing commonly known as conflict. And tension? Hey. I’ve worked all my life to eliminate that. Why would I want it in my book?

 

I was ready to shelve Seeds and move on when I got a nibble from an editor at a publishing house who wants my full manuscript. Great! Just when I don’t have one any more. . . . So Holmes and I put our spy novel on a back burner, and I started from scratch to rewrite Seeds. (Now titled Godfire.)

The great thing about Kristen is that she didn’t just give me her Death Star blast, she backed up her WWBC program with me and started me over with my rewrite. It involved extensive character profiles and an outline that constitutes a first draft with everything but dialogue. . . .

I know all of you pantzers out there are throwing up steel walls at the mere thought of an outline. . . . I feel your pain. . . . But I was actually able to pantz to my delight and get it out of my system to find the real story in all of it.

So why am I telling you this now? I’m happy to say that, after months of adjustments, Kristen passed my draft with praise and only a few suggestions. Now, I'm close to the end of the full manuscript. All 115,000 words of it. Not only that, I no longer hide in my nutrilog when I hear words like “antagonist” and “character arc,” and my hair is clean and dry and lightly fluffed.

So the point of all this? There’s what we know, and what we think we know. What we know is always subject to change, and what we think we know only gets in the way of learning what we need to know.

I thought I knew how to write a book, and for five and a half years, it kept me from learning how to write a book. My eternal thanks to Kristen Lamb for adopting me and smacking me on the head with a rock to knock loose what I thought I knew.

You can check out Kristen Lamb at her blog, where she will teach you the things she’s taught me about writing and social media for authors. She will get even the shyest guinea pig going on a platform.

When has what you think you know kept you from learning? How have you been humbled by it? Have you ever had a mentor who genuinely changed your course in life?

All the best to all of you for finding awesome-dipped-in-glitter mentors.

Piper Bayard–The Pale Writer of the Apocalypse

Piper Bayard was once a happy and normal aspiring writer. She spent her days cleaning guns and belly dancing in between shuttling her children to and from school and crafting stories of spies and sci-fi adventure. But she felt there was more. Then, out of nowhere, White Sands beckoned with shocking visions of mushroom clouds and annihilation. Something called to Piper day and night, whispering, “The end is near.”

Piper left suburban safety and trekked through the New Mexico wilderness in search of that apocalyptic explosion. But, alas, she stood too close. Armed only with a ball cap, sunscreen, and her Maui Jim shades, Piper wandered through the desert for 40 days and 40 nights, wondering, “What the hell am I doing?”

By day, Piper followed mirages, leaving sand angels instead of footprints. By night, her nightmares returned. Mad Max and the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse, until one night, the voices finally gave her the answer she sought . . . the key to the identity foreshadowed in her visions of the annihilating blast. “...and there came a Pale Writer....”

The next day townsfolk found her, tube of sunscreen in one hand and a dried rib of saguaro cactus in the other, Piper scribbling madly in the sand. “Who are you?” they asked in wonder. “And why aren’t you sunburned?”

To which Piper replied, “I am the Pale Writer of the Apocalypse.”

by Fae Rowen

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself; nameless unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts."  FDR’s First Inaugural Address

Laura is the queen of quotes--and of not always gentle encouragement, so I'm thanking her at the get-go for making me process my thoughts on a subject that has been a source of many jokes for us here at Writers in the Storm.

She has poked, prodded, cajoled and badgered me to send my work -- anywhere.  To return the rewrites that were requested. I did the rewrites, but then never sent them off.  This one's for you, Laura. (Click here for her post on "Fear of NOT Succeeding.")

FEAR:  False Evidence Appearing Real

My fear doesn't push me, as Laura's does.  My fear holds me back.   I've known this since I was a child, as if my DNA were specially coded with this particular brand of fear.

I had a good lead role in a musical in Los Angeles.  It was fun.  The director liked me, and expanded my role to include a dance number.  The girls in the chorus watched as the choreographer tried to teach me the steps.  I had no idea what the words she used meant, and the little chorus girls snickered.  My fear of not being perfect roared.  I dropped out of the production.  That musical was the only thing I ever quit.

That fear of not being able to do something perfectly has kept me from trying many things.  It keeps me from sending my writing out.

The first time I sent a partial--on an editor request--I said to myself, "I'm never going to get a rejection letter."  Well, I didn't.  He wanted the whole book.  I sent it.  Then he wanted a re-write.  I did it promptly and returned it.  After five months I got my manuscript back with a note saying there just wasn't a slot for it, but if I had anything else to please send it.  Did I?  No, I did not.  I'd gotten my first rejection notice.

I sent a partial to a couple of agents, again on request.  Two more rejection letters.  I started a rejection letter folder.  It's gotten a couple of additional letters since.

I decided my work wasn't perfect.  What if I sold and got terrible reviews?  What if I sold and got just one terrible review?  Ouch!

When I began writing, it was just for myself.  I never intended to share my writing with anyone.  Then my husband talked to a friend who writes mysteries.  He offered to read my book.  He told my husband, "Yeh, she could sell that book  and get some good royalties."  They discussed dollars and my husband made an appointment with a boat broker to look at a bigger boat.  No pressure!  Really.

I've been working on a lot of old "fear stuff" this summer.  Maybe everyone does that before a big birthday.  It hasn't been fun--or easy.  But I now understand that everything is impermanent and that tomorrow I'll know more than I know today and therefore tomorrow's decisions will probably be a bit better.

Crossover to writing.

We all know that we get better with practice.  I learned this early.  I took piano lessons, practiced. I played in piano competitions until it got way too serious.  How could I do something that subjective over and over and think it was fun when, now, I can't send off my writing to be judged in the same fashion?  Go figure.  I played for fun and I write for fun.  And the more I write, the better I get.

My career as a mathematician is about perfection and absolutes. I know there will be mistakes and false assumptions along the way.  But they won't be published nationally for all to comment on!

Here's the link to IQ Matrix for this fear mind-map. Any trigger words there for you?

They have 25 different free downloadable mind maps for different "mind issues" from Self-Sabotage to Overcoming Obstacles to How to Twitter.  And they have blogs that explain the maps!

Resistance is the big word for me on that map.

For years I thought I wasn't afraid of anything.  Now I know that I have resisted doing anything that had fear attached to it.  Did that mean I lived a "milk toast" life?  Not according to the people around me.

The thing is, I do lots of things other people find frightening.  But they aren't scary to me.  Because I know I can do them.  My resistance comes from doubts and insecurities about my writing being "perfect."  Whatever that is.

In my first futuristic romance my heroine says, "Fear is the mind killer."  Ha!  What a surprise that line of dialogue came so easily.  So, how am I moving through this fear which paralyzes me from mobilizing to obtain my heart's desire--getting my stories "out there" for others to enjoy?

• I am working on developing clear intentions, in small steps.
• I am working to understand, in my heart and gut, impermanence. And how impermanence can be a good thing.
• I am working on the willingness to change, again, in small steps.
• I am willing to admit that perfection, particularly in writing, is a subjective thing.  I don't need to be perfect to be a good writer.  Heck, I don't have to be perfect to be a good person.

Some say that the degree of commitment determines the amount of energy directed toward any given desire.  I am examining my commitment to publish.  Seems these days I'm unwilling to fully commit to anything, but that, too, can change.

Why do I have to commit to publish?  Well, there's another fear.  What if I get published?  How will my life change?  There will be other books expected (I've got three finished already) and I'll have to deliver a book on schedule.

What if there isn't enough time to get it, uh, perfect?  I certainly don't want to be one of those authors who has a great debut novel and a "not-so-much" second book.  And how would scheduled writing time with an honest-to-goodness deadline feel?  Remember, I write for fun.  I'm not too keen on adding the pressure that can come with publishing to my life.  Am I willing to take that on?

So why not hang it up and just write little stories for fun?

Because I have a dream.  I do want to see my book on the rack of a bookstore or a grocery store or a gift shop.   I do have something I want to share with others.

So I have to hurdle over, climb under, work through my fears.  My often nameless, unjustified, paralyzing fears. Doubt about my ability to deliver a story an editor will buy has taken away from what is real and what is true--that I am a good writer.  Editors and published best sellers have told me so.  But I allow my fear to create doubt, which, in one tradition, is said to bring suffering.

What I'm reading now to help me release my fear: Metta: The Map, The Formula, The Equations, Know Where You Stand And How To Get Where You Want To Be by B. R. Wright, PhD. It's an amazing book that provides a real map you can grid out on the floor or use on paper to move from frozen fear to commitment and trust. And there really are (very simple) equations and formulas that make a lot of sense. The mathematician in me loves them!

Give me instead freedom, the absence of fear, not being constrained by circumstances in my choices and actions.  This is the persona I show the world, but now it's time to walk the talk.

What's the worst that can happen?  Oh, I have to file another rejection letter.  Hmm, maybe I could just throw the next one away.  What if I get the call instead?

Okay, Laura, new rule:  I will continue to work on releasing my fears about submitting my writing.  I will change (read "bump up") my intentions as my fears dwindle.  Before Thanksgiving I will actually send out at least two queries to the agents and editors you've found for me.  And I will thank you (again) for kicking my rear into gear so I can reach my goal.

And when I sell that book and it goes best-seller, we'll sit back and laugh about how I waited for years for someone to knock on my front door and ask, "Do you have a book I can buy?"

How do you work through fear?  What fears hold back your writing?  How can your writing community support you?