Dedicated, Steadfast...& Shameless

Two pieces of advice I practice every time I start writing a novel: (1) Start somewhere in the middle and (2) Move the story forward, increasing tension.

Let me make a confession: I haven't been consistent with what I've told you about Kill the Locust, my current novel in progress. As main character Amy's endometriosis symptoms intensify, so does her relationship with Jeremy. Initially, I had Amy doubled over in stabbing, excruciating pain in chapter two. Although my writing buddies loved how well I'd written that scenario, after rereading it dozens of times, most recently while sipping some wild strawberry juice , this was too tense, too soon.

What was it like for me in 2000, when I first felt endometriosis symptoms? I can't remember much.

What I remember was Garth Brooks was a hot country singer.

Photo credit to owner

While we all heard about him showing up in boots and ruining a black-tie affair and wanting two pina coladas, I had a mad cycle of ultrasounds, pelvic exams, and blood tests, and frequently got poked, prodded, and palpated. Every time I went to or came from a doctor's appointment, I'd hear any one of his hits. 

"Shameless" stands out to me (yes, I know that's a cover of a Billy Joel song). Twenty-three years later, I still remember hearing that song after leaving a doctor's office one late morning.

I've played that song a few times over the past week. It's working. Amy's life is so ideal--and that sharp pain is all in her head.

Now more than any other time, I enjoy listening to songs I knew in my teens and twenties. However, I'd like to have a better memory with "Shameless"--like all the early mornings I sweated every detail of Kill the Locust.

Drink Wild Strawberry Juice

In the days leading up to publishing The Unknown Missing Piece , I thought of what I wanted to do in my much-needed two-month hiatus from writing fiction: spring cleaning, arrange travel plans, and watch movies.

I also wanted to eliminate caffeinate. After all, I hadn't planned on writing for a while.

Around 2020, I replaced my morning Diet Coke with an energy juice. In using them, I learned I needed only a small amount of the mix with a small amount of water and strawberry was my favorite flavor. Yet even this super-conservative amount got me wired. I couldn't always easily concentrate on my writing. Am I one of few authors who doesn't need caffeine?

Although I didn't write any fiction during those two months, I still wrote voraciously in my journal between 4am and 6am. This time, however, I drank Gatorade or something similar.

Thirty days passed. I was on a roll. I'd gotten past that challenging 21-day habit-breaking phase and reached a higher level of discipline. It was easier than I thought to grab another drink instead of the usual.

Around the 60-day mark, I resumed writing novels. I reveled in writing Kill the Locust without drinking one drop of caffeine and how much better focused I was.  That kept me planted in my seat, my laptop booted up and my file of my novel in progress open.

It takes 90 days for something to become a lifestyle. I'd gotten used to the caffeine-free life and was proud of myself for resisting all the urges to drink some energy juice. If this was going to be my new way of living, I was on the right track.

But my concentration derailed. I would either write senseless things or blankly stare at the screen. Although I do both from time to time, this concerned me. I kept falling asleep a lot, too.

For the past three mornings, I drank the energy juice. And I'm not jittery. Instead, I feel a little more alert, more focused. On Fridays, I spend more time writing. I've had an excellent morning making Kill the Locust more structured. Best of all, for the first time in nearly a year, I've written a blog post.

With apologies to Dr. Seuss, oh, the thinks I can think, oh the places my mind will go when I have that little bit of early-morning wild strawberry juice.

 

Other Things Writers Do

Writers write.

They re-write often.

What I learned this summer: writers cut and paste, copy and paste, then re-write some more.

As I outlined each chapter of The Unknown Beautiful Missing Piece, I noticed, for instance, that something in chapter 5 should be in chapter 7, or something in chapter 20 in 18. The biggest change I needed to make was shortening chapter 10. I'd made that eighteen pages long. 

Therefore, my morning writing time has been cutting and pasting time. My hard work and diligence have paid off. The chapters are flowing better, I've taken the "sweets" out and even killed some of my darlings.

I'd also almost run out of space on my flash drive. Before I bought one last week, I copied and pasted it in Google Drive. Then when I got it, I hit ctrl-a, ctrl-c & ctrl-v again to make a new file on my new flash drive.

This caused the font type and size to change. I read through the book again and changed the text to the appropriate font style (I use different ones; you'll see why when you read it). As I read one paragraph at a time, I noticed even more things that were out of order or too wordy.

In the nearly twelve years, I've been writing, I don't think I've ever done this. Therefore, if I'm stuck on the sequence of events in a story, I guess the best thing for me to do is cut, copy, and paste--and maybe switch flash drives.

Goose Talked to Me

Nineteen eighty-six, a year replete with pop and rock hits by Madonna, the Bangles, and Bon Jovi. In addition to box office hits Pretty in Pink and The Karate Kid, II, another must-see was Top Gun. Anyone who lived through that musically saturated era forever remembers "Danger Zone" and "Take My Breath Away" playing fifty times a day. To this day, they associate those two songs with this movie.

Like any pre-teen or teenager at that time, I saw Top Gun on the big screen. I've seen it a few times since then on video or TV. Without fail, I'm at the edge of my seat when the guys perform maneuvers in the air or laugh at their casual interactions (like that guy's reaction to spilling coffee on himself). And I feel chills--when Goose dies. 

Here I am, more than 35 years later, an author, ever-inspired by eighties movies, and a proud Navy wife. At times, my husband talks about certain things from Top Gun, about the F-14s, F-18s, and the regulations back then and how they've changed. When he told me about the sequel, we wanted to see it. 

He told me one of the young guys in the movie is Rooster, Goose's son. Speechless. My heart skipped a few beats. It was as if Goose were a friend of ours and losing him was equally as personal. I wanted to be there to support Rooster. 

We saw this sequel on Memorial Day. Before we left for the theater, I put a pack of tissues in my purse. Although I hadn't seen previews, I assumed the movie would have some footage of the original. 

The first note of the Top Gun Anthem--and I just about lost it.

Enter Rooster a few scenes later. Like father, like son--not only in looks, but also in musical talent. For the first time ever, I got emotional hearing "Great Balls of Fire." I buried my face in my hands and shook my head.

Goose seems so real to me, I thought as I dreamily walked out of the theater. I felt like I was in his circle of friends and personally knew his wife and son. And when I think about his death, what he left behind, I feel like I, like Maverick, had lost a dear friend. 

I wanted to get inside his wife Carol's head. What would she have said or done when her son wanted to follow in his late father's footsteps? Can you imagine her prayers through tears that are mixed with maternal pride and myriad fears? While she's beaming that her son has chosen this career path, she thinks her son may not come home after an airplane malfunction.

Another emotionally stirring moment: Val Kilmer's cameo appearance as Iceman. More than three decades have passed. No more asking who the better pilot is. Don't ruin the moment. It's time to let go.

It may have taken some for me to realize, but now I see the light. When I see a sequel to or reboot of eighties movies and they feature a few things from the original, it takes my breath away. So, talk to me even more, Goose.

Cold, Hard Ugly Truths About Me

What is a writer? Someone who writes.

How do you know you're a writer, or you're interacting with someone who's a writer? All she does and talks about is writing.

What can you expect when you live with a female writer? When she has a meltdown every time she has to do laundry, cook, or run errands.

The more and longer she writes, the less she's able to handle small real-life things--like getting up from her desk to put the clothes in the dryer. 

She may even forget she's already done something...

and then have a long, drawn-out conversation in the form of comments on Facebook...

I got so many random ideas for all my works in progress. At one moment, I'd think about something for The Unknown Beautiful Missing Piece, the next for a devotion. and another time, for any one of my books of journal entries. I know this is what happens when a personal issue I'd had for a few years is finally resolved.

You'd think with all the time and thought I devote to writing, I would've published something else by now.

Nope.

And I hate it. 

Plan your work.

Work your plan.

Sometimes, I need to get back to the basics of reaching my goals and for loved ones to remind me of how to handle them when my world gets chaotic. So thankful for Bobbi, one of my dear writing friends, for telling me this. A few years ago, when I first started writing, I made plans every week to write a certain number of chapters or words. However, I ended up working on something totally different. Therefore, I decided to write whatever came to mind every time I sat at my desk to write.

The following week, I wrote all the things I have yet to do with my books. Although the list is by no means exhaustive and I still have yet to have more definite plans for every day, I took that step toward being more organized. I have a huge desk calendar. for a reason: to fill those daily squares with small projects.

Later that week, I got this email.

It's an opportunity for me to write an article for the Word Weavers blog, for a book published in 2021 or has been or will be in 2022. I want to write why I wrote The Unknown Beautiful Missing Piece. However, I haven't even finished the first draft. Worse yet, I haven't even finished the book. Will writing this article motivate me to go back to working on it (even though they don't have a submission deadline)? I sure hope so. 

"You need to set a deadline. You need accountability," one of my Word Weavers buddies said.

Oh, no, I thought. Me? Needing accountability? What has happened to my self-starter self?

So, here I am, once again at my desk, putting off everyday things til later, and doing better than yesterday to plan my work and work my plan.

What has happened since I got, with apologies to the Beatles, a little help from my friends? I wrote a rough, handwritten copy of Why I Wrote The Unknown Beautiful Missing Piece and made an ARC for Light & Momentary Troubles

I'll close with this thought. I've tried for at least a month to write this post. However, this delay worked out. When I first started working on it, I hadn't received that email that has boosted my motivation. Reading it and wanting to write that article so much it hurts, has added another unexpected dimension to this post. And I thought of this when I ran this morning. 

Leave Your Literary Lamp Lit

I shared this picture on New Year's Day

I could say 2021 was a lousy year for writing. I didn't publish the second book of my journal entries, Light & Momentary Troubles. Nor did I finish the first draft of The Unknown Beautiful Missing Piece or Kill the Locust.  

What's happening to my momentum? Am I in a dry season? If so, how do I come back around?

As last year unfolded, in addition to finally getting to a solution to a personal matter, I'd learned even more about writing. Moreover, I was more receptive to ideas and advice than I ever had been. I read online articles, blog posts, and books about how to improve my craft.

These are the three best books I read in 2021.

I was also more in tune with what the men and women in the critique group I'm in, Word Weavers had suggested when they read parts of The Unknown Beautiful Missing Piece: 

• Be aware of passive voice. 
• Get more inside your character's head.
• You write reflections and dialogue so well. 

Also, after a lot of hard work and attention to detail, Nick Clemente and I took more steps in the project we've been working on for the past year and a half. We hope 2022 will be the year we publish it.

And...I went to one show--the Punk Rock Flea Market. And I enjoyed it even more than the one in 2019. I met more people, some of whom bought copies of my books. I may have gone to only one show, but it's better than going to none (like in 2020). 

Over the past few weeks, I've noticed I leave the lamp lit on my desk, even when I'm not writing. Most mornings, I get up at 4:00 and start my workout not long after 6:00. In those, I write in my journal. Knowing I'll continue after I eat my post-workout snack and take a shower, I leave it on.

I thought about Proverbs 31:18b, NIV: and her lamp does not go out at night. The meaning of the verse is, the light you shine continues even when you're not around. In other words, when I'm not pecking away at my computer or quickly running another pen dry writing page after page in my journal, the next idea is just ahead, and people are reading my books, social media posts, and seeing my Instagram photos--among other limitless things.

My focus and steadfastness as an author were challenged last year, in ways I'd never expected. I knew the enemy wanted to keep me from progressing, going to the next level, to tell me I'm never going to get past a setback I had to endure all year. And I'll be able to win this fight at the end of this month. I'm getting something that will allow me to fulfill my writing goals. I'll share more about that, possibly in my blog post for February.

In the meantime, I'll keep my literary lamp lit.

The Jacks at Christmas Parties

When you're reading this, you and/or your loved ones are going to one Christmas party after another, ones your employer or your best friend is hosting. In addition to catching up with old chums, talking about old times, or sharing off-grid office humor, you're meeting new people. They talk about how work has been rough this year, their cross-country flight to see a grandbaby born (whether it's their first or tenth), and their annual summer trip to the beach with three generations' worth of family there.

But then there's an author at the other end of the table, nibbling on those tasty, homemade cheddar garlic mashed potatoes, patiently listening, sometimes commenting.

Have you asked them what they do? If you have and directed your attention back to that mother bragging about her teenage son's plans to study abroad in Ireland next spring, first of all, I forgive you. But please! Re-direct your attention back to that hard-working author who has spent so many days alone, struggling to find the time to write their novel, agonizing to find flowing words, while drinking the dregs of one cup of coffee after another. Ask them what they write, what their current work in progress is about, and how they came up with the idea. They may have writer's block. In their talking, and you intently listening, they may have an epiphany about the turning point of their story. 

Most of all, ask how you can get a hold of a copy of one of their books--as a Christmas gift. You may have been stuck on what book to give that avid reader in your family. Wouldn't it be so cool if you were there when they unwrapped their gift and with wide eyes and giddiness enveloping their body and mind, they welcomed another book to their ever-growing collection and mentally added that to their TBR list? Then you can say you met the author at a Christmas party.

Having been mostly silent more times than I care to admit at gatherings, whether for Christmas or the 4th of July, and seen Yesterday a few times, I can empathize with Jack. To where I've called these taken-for-granted authors Jacks. 

Yesterday is one of few movies that elicits so many emotions (like that fall-out-of-your-seat John Lennon scene). Those who have seen the movie know the part where Jack plays Let it Be for his parents...

While you may compare your Christmases to the ones portrayed in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation or Home Alone, please don't cause authors to feel like Jack (in the above scene) in Yesterday. 

And how about you? How's your family? How's work going for you?