It Begins...

“The biggest thing separating people from their artistic ambitions is not a lack of talent. It’s the lack of a deadline.” – Chris Baty, founder of NaNoWriMo

So, with the big day starting tomorrow, I’d thought I’d let you in on a few things I learned from participating in NaNoWriMo last year.


First, understand that your novel is going to be bad. Really bad. I mean, really, really bad! This is not to say that there won’t be some good parts—because there will be—but most of it will stink.

Now, you might think that going in to something knowing ahead of time that you’re going to suck at it, might be a bad thing. But, you’d be wrong. It’s freeing!! You don’t have to worry about writing the next GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL. It’s not going to happen, so don’t stress about it.

Just write.

Who cares if your plot has more holes in it than something with a lot of holes, and that half-way through you decide to kill off your main character because she’s boring or somehow morphed into a space alien. The point is that you sat down, and wrote your little, trite, poorly-crafted heart out!

Second, and this directly relates to the first point, don’t worry about the research. If you don’t know it, make it up, and use as many words as you can think of to do so!

Just put the made up parts in caps, italics, or something, so you know where to go back later and find out the facts. And frankly, you probably know more than you think!

For example, I know that my main character is going to have dealings with police detectives. In fact, a police detective is going to become an important character with the first few chapters (somehow). Now, am I a police detective? No. I’ve I ever dealt with police detectives? No. But, I’ve watched tons of police-detective-type shows! So, for now, I’ll just rack my brain for any tidbits it can come up with and worry about the “facts” of how a “real” police investigation would go, later.

Last year, my book took place in Ohio. Have I ever been to Ohio? Nope. But I didn’t let that stop me! So, use your imagination, and don’t let the fact that you don’t know that “facts” be an excuse for not finishing your book.

Third, you might start out strong, but you’ll soon waiver on your commitment. (This happens to everyone around the 2nd / 3rd week.)

Trust me.

You’re going to be too busy.

You’re going to be too tired.

You’re going to be too bored.

You’re going to be too untalented.

You’re going to be too far behind.

You’re going to be too…something!

But don’t be tricked by your mental gymnastics! It’s just your inner self-doubt coming to the forefront. All you need to do is remember that you’ve given yourself the permission to write the WORST NOVEL ON THE PLANET!

So, pick yourself up, put yourself back at the computer, and keep typing! It will get better! I promise.

Besides, never forget that you have 11 months to fix it. No matter how bad it is, you can change it!

Now, just a few more little things.

If you can, and are on a roll, write more than the required 1667 words per day. Give yourself a buffer. It will help you on those days where you think your creativity has gone on strike and you can’t put a sentence together.

Also, if you’re like me, you want your first paragraph to be awesome. And waiting for the awesomeness to arrive will soak up valuable writing time. So, do what I do: if I really can’t think of a great first paragraph (which I never can), I just write “The super best, most witty and awesome paragraph ever written that tells us about…” and then I just give the facts of what I’d like it to say using the most words as possible.

Later, when the month is over, I’ll go back and make sure that my prose sings like a canary! (But using some other analogy that is far more creative.)

Lastly, don’t use contractions*. You want every word count you can get. Write out any numbers you use (even if it looks stupid)*. And use LOTS of adjectives.

The point is quantity, not quality. So, write your story, and don’t worry about it!


* This post contains 791 words. But, if I write out all the contractions and numbers, I would have 61 more words! For a total of 852 words. And that would mean that I was more than half-way to my 1667 word per day goal. See! Every word counts!!

Hi, do you remember me?

So, despite my best intentions and efforts to make it otherwise, it seems that announcing my plans to the world of posting a weekly poem has crushed my creativity under the weight of fear.

Seriously folks, the well has run dry.

Even when I tell myself that I can write a poem and just not post it, I still clam up—or self-edit so greatly that my original idea becomes a bland piece of junk.

This has weighed heavily on my mind.

I want to improve. I want feedback. But, I’m not sure if a blog is the answer.

So, the next question becomes, what to do with it?

Should I morph it into something else?

I have been thinking of expanding the purpose of my blog from dealing only (or mainly) with poetry, to dealing with anything I do of a creative nature.

I mean, I do mixed media art, maybe I should post pictures of my latest work?

I participate in ATC (Artist Trading Cards). Maybe I should show you what series I’m working on?

I’m trying to get my freelance career started. Maybe I should give updates, and track my progress?

I’m starting to write another book. Maybe I should talk about that, and post some stuff?

Or, maybe I should just hit “delete blog” and be done with it?

I don’t know. I’m still thinking on it.

I only know that every time I announce something on a blog, I seem to lose interest it or feel a deep sense of crapdom.

What do you think that says about me?

Hmm…

A Change of Pace...

Well, since I've started this blog especially dedicated to all my creative endeavors, my creativity has put on cement shoes and is now swimming with the fishes.

Seriously, I feel like the crapity crapest poet on the planet. And it's making me afraid to write because I know I'll have to post it. And then the world (i.e. three people) will read it, point and laugh.

So to say I have writer's block is an understatement. I have writer's coma, or writer's amnesia, or writer's "Holy Moly! What was I thinking? Me? A writer! You've got to be kidding!"

In order to get myself out of this phase (fingers crossed that it's only temporary), I thought I would switch gears. Mix it up a bit. Not think about poetry. In fact, completely forget that I ever thought I wanted to be a poet.

Don't worry though. I'm still going to share something painfully bad exposing. That's what this blog is for, after all!

Now, you all (the three of you) know that I participated in NaNoWriMo in November and wrote a novel. Well, before I wrote that one, I had started another. And, recently I've been working on it a bit, trying to decide if it was worth continuing.

It's a novel about my great-grandma’s experience of being in a small North Carolina town in the early 1900’s, and dealing with the fact that she was a product of rape (and that her mother was mentally handicapped), and the journey she embarks on to discover the truth of who she is. The book is part family history, and part fiction.

So, I thought I would share some of it with you. That way you can tell me if you think it's worth the bother of all the research it's going to require.

Keep in mind this is a VERY rough draft. As in, a lot of it will be tossed as I continue to revise it.

I guess I'll stop talking about it now, and just let you read it.

1910

When you find you’re a product of rape, and how that rape happened, it changes the world. Really. Now, I’m not saying that the sun stops being bright yellow or the green grass turns bleak, but it does color other parts of life—mostly, what you think about yourself and how you fit inside, way down deep where there’s no wind, only a stillness that tells you who you are and where you belong. So, I guess it doesn’t so much as change the world, but changes you in the world.

At least that’s what happened to me. And it’s kind of funny when I look back on it. I thought that finding out the truth about who I was and where I came from would give me a sense of everything else. And with that knowledge in my hands, I would be able to be me—at last—and the life that had been living me wouldn’t be real anymore because I was finally real.

But all the truth did was add to my already unknowness. Now, don’t get me wrong, it did provide some fundamental answers. It explained how I found myself in an orphanage on the outskirts of Franklin County in North Carolina, and it also answered why nobody ever loved me. But it didn’t tell me what I was hoping for. It’s a hope that all us orphans dreamt about—that our families lost us, not left us. And that if they only knew where we were, they’d pick us up quicker than coins at a card game. But, all the truth did was tell me what I feared—that I was left and I was nobody.

Stay tuned for Part II...

My Mind--The Problem

Here's the thing: it's week one, and I'm a failure...

I don't know how else to say it.

I've been trying to write a poem all week and all I have are bits and pieces of phrases that I like, but can't use.

And why can't I use them?

Because they have to do with God/religion. And so, for the purposes of my chapbook for grad. school, they are useless.

I hate having to conform to fit in. But, it's the truth. If I have poems that deal with God as a real "entity" (as my professor puts it), I will be hard pressed to be taken seriously as a poet, and it will be even harder to get into a graduate program.

I could write about god, but not God (if you understand what I mean). And for some reason, that's the only poetry coming out of me.

So, I have nothing new to post here, and I suck.

With that, here's an acrostic poem for your perusal. I wrote it last month.

Sacred space
Approaches my soul.
Covenants broken by sin,
Renewed by blood and body.
Anguish replaced by peace as
Minutes visit paradise, and
Eternity slips into spirit.
Now, I am whole.
The Lord is with me.



This is the kind of stuff that's coming out of me, and I'm going to have to figure out a way to break away from it (at least for the time being).


Any suggestions?