Writers in the Storm

by Fae Rowen

First, I should say that I'm on my fourth cell phone--in my entire life. My service provider sent me my third phone after numerous letters offering a "free" upgraded phone. I didn't bite. I wasn't going to pay for a phone with some camera. When they sent a free phone I called them to find out how to return it. Turned out my second phone was so old that in three days it would no longer be able to decode the satellite signal.

Well, Saturday I finally joined the modern world and purchased a "smart" phone. Now I understand why it's so named. It is smarter than me, that's for sure! The young man who sold it to me said as I left the store, "Just play with it. You can't break it--unless you throw it on the floor or drop it in the toilet." Like a twelve-year-old-boy with a new electronic toy I rushed home to download free apps and my music library. Couldn't figure out how to answer the darned thing when my friend called, but, what the heck. I spent what was left of Saturday and all day Sunday between my phone and my computer. And I had fun! Why had I waited so long?

Monday morning after I made a call a message asked if I'd like to lock the sim card. Now, my security frame of mind is on high alert since my laptop, iPod, and camera were stolen on a trip a couple of months ago, so of course I said YES! I gave a password, re-entered it and felt quite smug. Until I tried to call another friend ten minutes later and couldn't get the phone to do anything but demand a PUK code. I did start to feel sick when I got the warning about so many more tries at my password until I had to call my provider.

Yep, you guessed it. I fried my sim card and had to traipse back to the store for a new one. How embarrassing is it to hand your phone over to someone less than half as old as you? New sim card installed, I returned home to read the tutorials and manual--and regained some of that twelve-year-old-with-one-purpose-in-life focus. Three days later I can take flash and zoom pictures and post them to my new Facebook account and e-mail them to friends. And I feel like an accomplished fourteen-year-old adolescent.

Meeting with (younger) friends today for lunch, I showed off my new phone and its glam case, only to have it grabbed out of my hand as they loaded apps that they wanted me to have to make it easier to connect with me. Apps I had to pay for! Now I'm not THAT old, but I used to write code for computers when you only used on-off to get everything done. I am so far out of my league it's not funny. But, when one of my friends said, "Heh, you look younger." And the other one said, "Yeh, I think it's the phone," I thought, "Yep. Definitely worth the money."

by Laura Drake

I read a lot of newsletters, ezines, podcasts, and blogs about writing. One of the most popular subjects is how to do it – not craft, but process of creating a book. Pantster? Plotter? Start on page one? Start with scenes and fill in the blanks? Start at the end and plot backwards (I understand this works for mystery writing.) I can never resist these articles, because frankly, this is fascinating stuff.

In this busy, structured world, we have instructions for almost everything you’ll run across. Writing is pretty much the same. You can take classes or buy a book for almost every aspect of craft: grammar, POV, show don’t tell, editing. Even how to find inspiration, or conquer writer’s block.

But nowhere can you learn how to actually write the darned thing! I’ve struggled with this, like every other writer. I believe it’s the major reason most people don’t finish books – not because they don’t have ideas, or characters, but the function of actually getting it out of your head and onto the page the way you pictured it is complicated.

There’s a reason there aren’t any books about this: there’s only one right way – yours. The problem is, you have to discover it! To me, it’s like trying to put a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle together blindfolded. . . it can be done, but it’s not fast, and it’s not efficient. You learn by fumbling around, trying what works for others and stumbling onto ways no one else uses!

I’ll bet if you talked about this to Nora, Linda Howard, or others who have written many books, they'd tell you that they’re still finding their processes as they go along. It sure would have helped me when I started to know this!

MY way (as of today):

•Mostly Pantser – need an idea of where I’m going, maybe a theme and an ending, and that’s it.
•Write a couple of pages in one sitting (on a good day), then the next, begin by editing yesterday’s work and moving forward
•Music – Classical and in the background
•Writing desk – organized, but crowded (usually with a cat sleeping on the desk or in my lap)
•The room – reference books, magazines, plotting board, bulletin board with photos and writing memorabilia.
•Plotting – on a bicycle, with a digital voice recorder. Something about the distraction of riding loosens my brain. I could sit in front of a blank screen forever, and nothing would come.
•Final Editing – one name – Margie Lawson.

What about you? Post a comment about your process!

D A Watt 

I recently came back from making my three day Cursillo, meaning a “little course” for my faith. The first talk I attended, called a rollo, centered around the ideal self.  You see, each of us is composed of two ideals, the false ideal and the true ideal. The false ideal is the dress up doll version complete with makeup, boobs and Botox, while the true ideal is the cottony comfortable au la natural you.

 The toughest part of figuring out your true ideal is being honest with yourself. No false ego, no puffed up pride can answer the question, “Who am I, really?” If you really want a long and fulfilling career in anything, including writing, you must answer the question truthfully, and take whatever time it takes to figure out YOU.

So, ask yourself, “Who am I, really?”

The answer to this most simple of questions requires a not so simple response. The old saying “To thine ownself be true” applies here. Respect your DNA, and your history and your environment. For instance, do you prefer sitting over walking, reading over physical activity? Silly, I know, but if you have a hard time parking your butt in a chair (like me) or standing at a podium with your laptop (like me) for more than a few hours, and if, after two days of working alone without a social break, you are beginning to feel mildly depressed (like me), maybe you had better respect your makeup, and I don’t mean lip gloss.

How motivated a writer are you, really? Would you rather a bike ride than to finish researching the effects of gamma radiation or police procedurals or pipe bombs? And what type of writing suits you best? Be honest, are you better suited for short stories or long novels? Are you adventurous and easily bored or are you meticulous, highly organized, and able to sit for long periods with only a ten minute break every hour? Admit it, maybe you are not suited for novels, the marathon of writing, maybe an anthology, young adult, or composing children’s stories is your niche. Maybe your writing is more of a sprint or triathlon. You might be better suited for short stories, blogs, essays, articles, and such, where you can cut to the quick and move on to the next exciting gig. Admit it. Who are you, really?

If you are able to plant butt in chair and stay there, I envy you, I really do. I would love to write for five hours a day, everyday (forget eight hours that would be torture), but I can’t, I really can’t. I am very physical, very active and easily distracted. So, with that revelation (finally, I feel like I just admitted to alcoholism) am I a writer? Well, yes, but what kind of writer?

I don’t know, yet.

The false me is inflated, competent, and very confident. My false ideal can leap tall buildings in a single bound, swim the English Channel, and win the Kentucky Derby, not to mention write like Steinbeck. Of course, in actuality, I am not that person, but sometimes my gullibility buys into the snake oil self, and I believe. Oh, how I believe. That’s when frustration over my apparent lack of ability and chutzpah closes in. I neglect my writing, and Eminem’s, “Snap back to reality, Oh, there goes gravity,” becomes my swan song.

Sure, I like to think of myself as the next great thriller writer, my false ideal thinks so. But do I have the motivation to travel that road of incredible research? Do I possess the ability and intelligence required to create intricate, complex, and believable plots? Am I truly capable of writing and selling thrillers? I’d like to think so, but  . . ..

Will the writer inside of me please shout it out? Tell me, what kind of writer am I?

Alas, she remains silent; I think she’s afraid, maybe she knows I am not ready for her honesty. So, I plod along, slowly figuring me out, uncovering the layers of ego to face the true writer within. I am trying for full frontal nudity here, without denial or delusion. I just hope that when I uncover her, flawed and spider veined, she writes.

So, gentle reader, respect who you are, and figure out what motivates you. And when the writer within comes out, let me know who she is. I’ll be looking for her in the bookstores, news stands and online