Nanowrimo Wrapup

I never reported on the final results of nanowrimo and they were pretty interesting. Every nano, I usually end in a big, desperate rush of words. I’m talking 10K+ to go on day 30.

This time I stayed on top of my word count throughout the month. On day 30 I had a mere 1K to finish up. This surprised me particularly because I got really flat-on-my-back sick the last week of November.

The secret turned out to be in the way I structured my writing-three short sessions distributed like meals throughout the day. This year I’ve been discovering the power of this approach and this serves as further evidence.

Sometimes Your Novel Breaks

I’ve been doing better with Nanowrimo this year than expected, and for about the last week have maintained a slight lead on word count. This is a nice change from my usual “should I drop out” doom and gloom around the third week of November. However, the lead hasn’t made me immune to novel breakage.

Maybe this eventually goes away with experience, but in all my novel drafts to date–indeed in any story I write–there comes a point when the whole thing breaks. Something happens that feels so outside of what I originally planned that I’m wondering if I can even finish the story. This often manifests for me as some jarring jump in tone or genre.

For example, this year I planned a science fiction romance, and I wanted to keep the tone light. That was great until I sent my hero off to get captured by the bad guys and then wrote a scene in which one of the bad guys gloats to the heroine about how the hero cracked under torture. Torture had not been part of the plan. I went with it, but found myself considering things like, “How has his personality been affected by torture?” I wrote a love scene in which he lost interest in sex because his mind was on what had happened to him.

At this point, I felt I needed to reassess what I was up to. Did my story want to be a different genre? Should I cut this torture thing out and go back? I just felt the story was getting a lot heavier than I’d meant it to be. I can’t say what the end result’s going to be because I’m still only in the mid-30Ks on this novel. However, I can say that if I’d worried too much about all that stuff at the beginning of this paragraph, I wouldn’t be that far.

Instead, I just kept writing. I’ve had drafts totally disintegrate on me, and that’s always a fear, but this didn’t feel that way. In fact, in this case, I think the moment I felt like things went terribly wrong was the exact moment at which my characters really came to life. Not exploring this avenue feels like it would have done a disservice to the story.

I can’t say yet how it will all work out, but I can say that the torture incident and its fallout is a more honest reflection of what I find romantic than what I originally planned, and I’m glad I allowed it into the draft.

As far as I can tell, that moment of breakage occurs in every draft, not just the first. It always seems associated with things coming to life. I currently use this to measure when I’m done revising. If I go through a draft, polish things up a bit, and nothing breaks, then I’m done. If I go through and find myself changing male characters into females or adding long-lost siblings or reworking significant portions of the premise, I know I’ve got at least one more pass before it’s over.

I read an article once by Zadie Smith that really stuck with me–she talked a lot about the process of writing and revising, and I’ve thought a lot about what she said and how it compares with what I do. In that article, she talked about how some writers edit drastically, like move their novel’s setting from England to the U.S. between drafts, or change the time period, or make other big changes that she finds overwhelming and exhausting. When I first read this, I thought, “What crazy person would change the setting mid-stream?” Then my husband pointed out that I do stuff like that all the time. I’ve changed main characters, rewritten stories in a different tense or person, and just ditched entire drafts and redone the story from scratch. For me, the story is wildly malleable, and when it stops shifting all over the map, that’s when I know I’m done with it.

So that moment your novel breaks? That’s just it twitching to tell you it’s still alive.

Sale at Prometheus Books

Prometheus Books is giving 20 percent off all titles until December 31. I know and love this publisher for two reasons. First, they have a great selection of classic works of science and philosophy, meaning that I own many of their books thanks to my time at St. John’s College. Second, I enjoy their science fiction imprint, Pyr. It’s worth checking out what they’ve got.

Make Chris Baty Sing

Nanowrimo is having a fundraising drive on Tuesday, November 24, and if enough money is raised, founder Chris Baty has promised to write and record a song, and make a video that includes interpretive dance. People, I love this event. I know there are plenty of deserving places where you could send your money, but please consider making a donation on the 24th. I get really excited when I read about what they have planned if they can make their donation goals for the month. For one thing, they’ve promised year-round Nano, which would make me very happy.

That is all.

Music and Writing

Over the past two years, I’ve developed the habit of listening to a single song on repeat while working on a story. (Believe me, my husband gives thanks nightly that I have headphones). It’s always been kind of neat to hear the song later and think of the story that’s been grooved into my brain along with the song. Vintage, for example, I wrote while listening to “Immortality.” Home to Perfect is, of course, “Green Grass and High Tides.”

I’ve also done this with my novel drafts, particularly in the home stretches. Last year’s 3-day novel was finished to “Stroke of Luck,” and this year, I already wrote about the importance of Dylan Rhymes.

This year’s Nanowrimo, however, seems to be taking the habit to new heights. I’m not sure how long “World in My Eyes” is going to hang on, but my play count on that song is reaching ridiculous heights. It’s hard to quantify exactly because I listen to it in several places, but I’m starting to think I should keep track along with my word count.

I’m wondering if I’m going to get a full-on Pavlovian reaction going, where the opening notes of that song start to make my fingers twitch as if typing.

New SF Magazine

I was catching up on the stuff in my feed reader today and discovered that a new SF magazine, Lightspeed, is coming out in June, and John Joseph Adams will be fiction editor. I think this is exciting news. Guidelines will be posted in December, and they open to submissions in January.

First Outside Author Pep Talk Knocks it Out of the Park

A couple days ago, I wrote that, while I enjoy the pep talks that famous writers put together for Nanowrimo participants, they often feel out of touch with what I think the month is about:

Today, I eat my words. Jasper Fforde gets it. His pep talk, the first I’ve received this month from an outside author, is one of the best things I’ve read about the idea of practicing writing. I’m hoping Nanowrimo will post it on their site somewhere, but at the moment I can’t find a link.

Here are his opening sentences:

I once wrote a novel in 22 days. 31 chapters, 62,000 words. I didn’t do much else—bit of sleeping, eating, bath or two—I just had three weeks to myself and a lot of ideas, an urge to write, a 486 DOS laptop and a quiet room. The book was terrible. 62,000 words and only twenty-seven in the right order. It was ultimately junked but here’s the important thing: It was one of the best 22 days I ever spent. A colossal waste of ink it was, a waste of time it was not.

He goes on to explain exactly why it wasn’t a waste of time to write 62,000 words that then get thrown away. Very much worth tracking down and reading.

Wednesday Comics

Wednesdays have a holiday feeling for me lately, because I’ve gotten back into the rhythm of going to the comics store once a week. I was lured back by the lovely retro-newspaper Wednesday Comics, which came out once a week for 12 weeks in full color, looking the way you wish the Sunday comics page looked. Though those were lovely eye candy, most of the stories inside ultimately disappointed. What’s made me stay, however, is that comics have amazing range. Sometimes poignant, sometimes badass, sometimes just fun. I love the genre-bending that tends to go on. I love hanging on the slow progression of a story that comes out in serial, and then rereading it in a big slurp when the whole thing has come out.

I read and write in a lot of forms, and I find that sometimes I need to change my focus to give me a fresh feeling in a world that’s pretty dense with words. Comics have been doing that for me lately.

I just got home from the comics store clutching Cinderella: from Fabletown with Love–for those who aren’t in the know, we’re talking here about Cinderella, super-spy, and it’s everything I hoped it would be. There’s a nice interview with Chris Roberson, the writer, here.

But I’m far from the only one who feels the magic of Wednesday. Paul Cornell, at the awesome Clockwork Storybook blog (chock full of writers so cool it makes me want to cry), writes, in the post I linked at the beginning of this paragraph:

That Wednesday feeling, where one hangs around I Fanboy (I hope they note I’ve dropped the comma I kept putting in their name, like they were the fan equivalent of I, Claudius), Millarworld and other forums, waiting for the first reviews to wander in, when one can pop into a comic shop, and actually see it sitting there on the shelf (right next to the Avengers titles, hmm, that’s good) is just one of the many lovely things about writing comics. … I think the feeling is quite an ancient one, akin to what Conan Doyle and Dickens and all the other writers of serials for magazines must have felt.

(As an aside, Cornell’s talking about Black Widow: Deadly Origin #1, which he wrote, and which I also picked up this week. (It’s easy to sell me a comic–just write one about a badass female super-spy or assassin or warrior.))

I think he’s dead on with his analogy to the old serial novels. When I’ve read books like The Three Musketeers, I’ve tried to imagine what it would be like to get fed the thing chapter by chapter, to get the story in nibbles and then reread in gulps to make sense of it, to speculate excitedly with my friend about the surprises to come. Those stories work better that way. They’re epic, too big to read quickly or alone.

Comics have this quality, too. I look at Sandman sitting on my shelf, or Y: the Last Man, or any number of others, and I think about what huge, weird, and lovely stories these are. Long live the serial, and all hail Wednesday.

Nanowrimo Uncertainties?

I’ve noticed a lot of uncertainties about Nanowrimo in various blog posts appearing in my reader. I generally agree with all these people. Nanowrimo is asking you to write a lot of words, not necessarily good words, and what does that mean at the end of the month?

I particularly like Rhonda Eudaly’s post about steady, sane word counts. One of my big epiphanies this year had to do with the value of clocking regular 500-word days.

This is my fourth year doing Nanowrimo, and I have to say I had my doubts about adding another pile of words to the big pile that’s already in the drawer. None of my previous three Nanowrimo novels have been anything I wanted to show anyone. Frankly, if you’re shipping your Nanowrimo novel straight off to a publisher at the end of November, I think you’re insane (it’s of course different to send out a novel you wrote in three days… heh). And, yeah, you can edit, but I don’t think my previous three Nanowrimo drafts are even editable–I have other novel drafts that are.

This year, I had the goal of producing an editable Nanowrimo draft, but I’m not yet sure if that was a good idea–I’ll report back at the end of the month. I got the wacky concept that it might be possible because I do feel that my 3-day novel drafts have been editable, and it’s just weird if what I write in three days is better than what I write in a month.

All that said, I think a lot of the debate about Nanowrimo misses the point. Some of this is encouraged by the Office of Letters and Light itself, when, for example, they make deals with companies like CreateSpace and FastPencil to give authors printed copies of their Nanowrimo novels. I think this suggests that at the end of November, you’ve written a novel that’s ready for publication, and that publication is the goal.

There’s also the matter of the Nanowrimo pep talks–don’t get me wrong, I love these things. They’re short essays by famous writers who give invaluable insights into the writing process. However, I’m always struck by how little they relate to the experience I have of doing Nanowrimo. They’re great information for the rest of my writing–but they feel out of place with what I understand Nanowrimo to be.

Part of the reason I’m not sure about trying to produce an editable novel this month is that Nanowrimo has always been a simple confirmation of my love of writing. It is writing for writing’s sake. It’s about the joy of a climbing word count, and the feeling of flow as my fingers move and I become immersed in my own imagination. It’s about characters speaking through me even if what they say is dumb.

All year, I edit and struggle and wrestle with acceptance and rejection alike. Nanowrimo is about me and the page, and the holiness of the act of creation regardless of what is being created. (And to clarify this point, I think the act of creation is just about always great, but this is completely unrelated to whether whatever’s been created should be shared with the public–I think our culture is sick with the idea that artistic creation is only valid when we’re paid for it or become famous for it or when some number of people read our immortal prose).

The first year I did Nanowrimo, I was in journalism school, feeling beaten down, wondering if I’d made some kind of terrible mistake thinking I should make a go of this writing thing. Nanowrimo reminded me that writing is fun. Sadly, it’s so easy to lose sight of that.

People get encouraged in our society to confuse their jobs and their hobbies. Most hobbies can be jobs. Chess players can become chess teachers, or try to make a living off winning tournaments. Writers can sell novels. Martial artists can open their own schools. That’s great, but one pitfall of wanting to convert the hobby of writing into the job of writing is that there’s a barrier of soul-crushing rejection between you and your dream. Events like Nanowrimo matter because they remind me of why I have the dream in the first place.

Nanowrimo is this beautiful place where all that’s needed for success is a big pile of words. It’s a fantasyland, a place I love to visit, an event I wouldn’t miss for the world. At write-ins, you ring the bell of success just for making word count, not for writing anything good or publishable or having anyone like what you wrote. I do it once a year to refresh my memory of that place, to carry it in my heart as I return to the effort of revision and submission.

I believe the attitude Nanowrimo brings is the foundation for continuing to produce new words. But that’s only step one, baby. I am good at new words. Really good. I am still learning about revision, an entirely different skill.

The new words are the first step. I think a lot of the uncertainties I’m hearing are coming about because many Nanowrimo participants don’t realize that the new words are only step one. More experienced writers feel nervous that the event does little to acknowledge steps two and beyond.

If you go to a Nanowrimo event, you will find that many of the novels being written are utter silliness. People will cheer for you if you describe an utterly silly premise. This tells you something about what’s going on here fundamentally. This is about joy and fun–not pressure and not professional writing.

I promise to do my next post on something different.

Nanowrimo Off to a Slow Start

Yesterday, I had a crisis of confidence and didn’t get off the ground with my Nanowrimo novel. By “didn’t get off the ground,” I mean, “spent my allotted writing time surfing for new web series.” Crisis of confidence seems to have been caused by the latest in a string of rejection letters.

I try to have a good attitude about rejection letters. The truth is that the only way to be sure I won’t receive rejection letters is to leave my stuff unwritten or sitting in a drawer, which would be counterproductive to say the least. Writing and submitting stories for publication requires I perform a strange sort of mental misdirection on myself. I have to do my best to edit the story and make it as good and publishable as I can. Then I have to send it out and have no expectations about the result. A lot can go wrong between steps one and two.

What I realized yesterday is that I got steps one and two tangled up somewhere along the way. I’ve been learning a lot about revision and have been sending out stories more ambitiously. I’ve gotten some “good” rejection letters, too, where the editor has let me know my piece almost made it. That’s all great stuff. None of it means, however, that I can start having expectations about what the result will be when I send out a story–that seems to be the road to depression.

This morning, I did manage to start my novel, and had the experience that Nanowrimo always gives me. I got caught up in putting the words on the page. That’s the only remedy I know to the disappointment of rejection. A rejection letter means that my work won’t be published in some particular place. As far as writing itself? Nothing can stop me (except myself…).

Nanowrimo, with its relentless attention to the simple production of words, is a great wakeup call to me every year. It reminds me that I write for the joy of writing. I like getting published, absolutely, but I can’t allow the business side of things to distract me from the reason I do this in the first place.

I’m only 560 words in so far, which means I’m starting out behind–to stay on schedule, a novelist needs 3,334 words by the end of the day on November 2. Still, it’s nice to have things moving a little.