RSS Feed

Posts Tagged ‘rewriting’

  1. 8 Tips for Bloggers, From One Who Knows

    August 23, 2015 by Diane

    hand opening red curtain on white.

    I’m a sucker for reading blogging tips, because:

    1. They distract me from blogging.

    2. They distract me from blogging while educating me on how to make the process easier or more efficient or somehow better for me and the reader and quite possibly the aliens who excavate this blog in the year 5000.

    So when I peeled back the writing curtain of a fellow scribe and discovered Nina Badzin’s post from 2011 titled Blogging Tips: What I Know Now, I eagerly read it.

    Here, paraphrased, is what this now-seasoned blogger thought she knew about blogging when she started out, versus what she discovered a year later.

    #1. She thought she needed a cute or catchy blog name, and now knows: “You don’t.”

    Uh-oh. I’ve got the cute or catchy blog name. But I must admit, I love forcing people to say “squirrels in the doohickey” aloud, especially the folks in technical services when something goes amuck on my server. However, I don’t like having to spell “doohickey,” so she might have a point.

    #2. She thought family and friends would read her blog, and now knows: “They mostly don’t.”

    Boy, is that the truth! Other than my aunt, it appears my family and friends have better things to do than read about the nutty stuff I do when confronted with the stuff that drives me nutty. Which, come to think of it, makes it fair game to blog about them regularly.

    #3. She thought the blog would suck up every minute of writing time, but now knows: “It doesn’t.”

    What!? How is this possible? Well, according to Nina, she posts once a week so she can spend the rest of the week on fiction. I noticed she’s also an advice columnist and contributing writer and essayist and WAIT A MINUTE…how does she find time for all that writing!? I post once a week too, but by the time I’ve drafted a piece in my head, typed it up, revised it fifty times, and realized the revisions are worse than the original draft, I’ve blown a good five hours. I need a time management plan. But who’s got the time?

    #4. She thought her readers would return to her blog to see her response to their comments, but now knows: “Most do not.”

    Since my aunt is the only person leaving a comment, I don’t have this problem. Okay, I’m lying. More people than my aunt leave comments. Three. Okay, I’m downplaying the truth here. There’s five. And two of them are friends, so I lied about that, too, and while I’m coming clean, my pops reads my blog, and comments via telephone. But I digress.

    While I’m digressing…

    I usually get somewhere between 1 and 70 hits on my blog per day. And then, on Friday, August 21, 2015, I had 928. That’s nine hundred and twenty-eight hits! Was this spam? Was this some underpaid computer genius in the Ukraine wasting company time? Or was this one of those five commenters checking back to see if I’d responded to their comments? No, these visitors came from Facebook. I’m not even on Facebook. But someone who is on Facebook and has a ton of followers (or a ton of aunts) ,“liked” my post (the one about introverts wanting to avoid becoming party poopers), and 450 more introverted Facebookers “liked” it, and the whole thing snowballed. And continues to snowball! Now, before you tell me this is a Facebook glitch: don’t. Let me bask in the delusion that 928 people other than my aunt actually read my work on Friday, August 21, 2015. And if you, dear reader, are the fairy godperson who initially started this snowball effect, please announce yourself so I can send you a lifetime supply of gratitude.

    But did any of those 928 people leave comments?

    Uh…no.

    #5. She thought she would be the kind of blogger who offered giveaways, displayed badges, sought ads, etc., but now knows: “I’m not.”

    Okay, I don’t even know what badges are. And giveaways? Of what? Aren’t my demented ramblings enough?

    #6. She wishes she had set up a self-hosted site from the get-go.

    Score! This I did. Self-hosting from the start is a must. I got that tip from Nina Amir (another seasoned blogger), the author of How to Blog a Book.

    So, those are Nina Badzin’s tips. To find out why she knows what she now knows, (or knew), in 2011, here’s a link to the post, which I heartily recommend reading. Leave a comment while you’re there.

    And as a bonus for reading this far, here’s two more tips, from me:

    #7. I thought I needed to come up with a new post every week, but now I know that I can re-purpose somebody else’s post and add my goofy comments. But only with the best intentions and utmost respect and prior permission.

    #8. I thought I wanted readers in the thousands, but now I know that if thousands of readers left comments, all of my free time (which is zero) would be filled trying to respond to each and every one (even though Nina Badzin advises against such madness, and rightly so); still, I would drive myself to respond, all the while yearning for the good ‘ol days when my aunt was the only person who read, and commented on, my blog.

    Feel free to leave a comment about this post. And “like” it. Let’s see if we can top Friday’s numbers!

    Category Behind the Writer's Curtain | Tags: ,,, | 27 Comments

  2. When it Comes to ReWriting That Novel, Are You Too Busy To Start?

    August 9, 2015 by Diane

    hand opening red curtain on white.

    It starts innocently enough.

    “Oh goodie, a new book about writing,” you say. “I’ll add it to the stack of books that I have no time to read.”

    And then…

    “Lookie! Another blog to distract me from my own work. I’ll subscribe!”

    And…

    “Oh joy! Another novel to analyze, so I can become a better novelist.”

    Until someday, some voice inside your head pipes up:

    “Hold on, buster. When are you going to rewrite that novel? All of this reading is taking time away from your work. GET BACK IN THE SADDLE!”

    “But I’m too busy!” you whine.

    “Doing WHAT?”

    Good question.

    Gooooood question.

    If you’re like me, you have no idea what’s keeping you occupied, but one thing is certain: you’re so busy doing it.

    Here’s how busy looks:

    You decide to just spend five minutes on Twitter. You set the timer. You start reading your Twitter feed. Five minutes later the timer is beeping and you’re reaching over to turn it off and you’re NOT EVEN AWARE. You’re entrenched in Twitterdom, and at some point you look up and say, “Hey, didn’t the alarm go off?”

    That’s twenty minutes of unconscious time.

    You tell yourself, “I’ll just check my emails.”

    Thirty minutes later, you’re still checking.

    “I’ll just check what’s on TV.”

    One hour.

    “I’ll just go through my inbox. Rearrange the stuff in there, write up a new To-Do list.”

    Thirty minutes.

    “I’ll just…”

    Just. Just. Just.

    There’s no justice in this mindless activity. You lose every time. You lose the opportunity to rewrite a chapter. Lose the connection to your muse. Lose the creative juice, the thread you were following, the through-action of that novel. You lose.

    Being busy is the easy option, says Tony Crabbe, author of Busy: How to Thrive in a World of Too Much.

    Easy? What’s so easy about feeling overwhelmed?

    According to Crabbe, it’s a method of avoidance, of feeling productive even though we’re procrastinating from doing a hard task. And it’s addictive, a dopamine rush every time we check our smartphones.

    You’re overwhelmed by all the books teetering on the shelf. You’re overwhelmed by all the emails lined up in your inbox. You’re overwhelmed because you’re turning your focus away from what you long to do, and now your eyes are spinning from all the distractions.

    “Hold on,” you say. “I really am busy. I’ve got meals to cook, and laundry to wash, and clients to meet, and kids to shuttle, and property to show and…”

    Okay, okay. You’re busy. Got it. But isn’t it interesting that you have time to do all that, and no time to do the one thing, the ONE THING, that only you can do?

    If you croaked tomorrow, someone else would, and could, cook the meals and wash the laundry and meet the clients and shuttle the kids and sell the house that Jack built.

    But no one else could write your novel. No one.

    So what’s the cure for all this busyness?

    First: admit what you’re doing. Out loud. To people you know. “I could be rewriting my novel, but I’m reading this blog post instead.” (Oops, bad example.) “I’m loafing. I’m avoiding.”

    Second: own it. Don’t blame your parents, your spouse, your kids, your job, or the executives of ABC programming. You’re the one who’s choosing to engage in behavior that’s not conducive to novel-writing (or cake decorating, or picture-taking, or whatever it is that you’re so actively avoiding). But be kind to yourself. Recognize and accept what you’re doing, and laugh.

    Third: feel your way along; even if it’s on hands and knees in the dark. You can’t get to the finish line by gazing at the moon. And you can’t remain stuck if you start moving.

    Fourth: Make your art your priority. Says Bernard Roth, author of The Achievement Habit: It won’t get done by checking your email. I’ll add: it won’t get done by hopping on social media sites, or sleeping in, or watching Bachelor in Paradise. Stop telling yourself, “I’ll just check my blog statistics.” Instead, say, “I’ll just rewrite one chapter of my novel.”

    Fifth: Stop the busyness. You’ll be surprised at how time opens up when you’re not filling it with mindless activities.

    Sixth: GET BACK IN THE SADDLE. Build that writing habit up again and you’ll lose your taste for all that other stuff. And just what was it you were doing, anyway?

    Takeaways this week:

    Not that I want to add to that teetering stack, but here are two books I recommend:

    Busy: How to Thrive in a World of Too Much by Tony Crabbe.

    The Achievement Habit: Stop Wishing, Start Doing, and Take Command of Your Life by Bernard Roth.

    Check out these tips on how to get back in the writing saddle.

    And if you want to know how long it will take you to read that teetering stack, here’s a nifty calculator, courtesy of Read it Forward.

    Category Behind the Writer's Curtain | Tags: ,,, | 16 Comments

  3. Writing: Why Do We Do It?

    June 14, 2015 by Diane

    hand opening red curtain on white.

    Why do writers write? What keeps us writing when the writing gets tough? For my own answer, let’s peek behind the writer’s curtain to the summer of ’95, to a writer’s conference held at a local college some five miles from my home. The cost was low, the caliber of guest authors was high, and I didn’t need to spring for air fare or a hotel room. Perfect. 

    He droops in the heat on his way to the English building: gray whiskers, black sleeves over pale arms, leather sandals. Any serious writer knows this man; we’ve heard his book reviews on NPR, read his tight writing, swallowed hard as he ripped through a student’s submission. At this writer’s conference there are other fiction manuscript workshops led by kinder, gentler authors, but I follow him, a man who is renowned not only for his writing, but for being the bad cop.

    From the front of the class he scrutinizes the room and we hunch forward as he discusses craft. “But enough about Nick Hornby,” he says with a clenched smile, “let’s talk about my work.” Meant as a joke, but the truest thing he’s said.

    When it’s my turn to read aloud, my voice trembles, my heart thuds. Halfway through the first page, he interrupts. “Too much nattering,” he says. Nattering? What does he mean, nattering? I ask another teacher after the workshop, who shrugs. “He probably means too much narrative.”

    Later, I’ll know: too much of nothing happening. No conflict. No drive. Too much nattering.

    At the dinner break I drive home and print out a short story from my archives—a story, I believe, free of nattering. I drive back to campus and linger in the courtyard, waiting. When he arrives, chatting with a fellow teacher, I make a beeline. “Would you mind?” I ask. “Would you take a moment to look over my work, see if I’m nattering?”

    He doesn’t say hello or ask my name. Behind wire-rimmed glasses his eyes rest on the page. He points to the first sentence. “I would have described the color,” he says, and his bent finger moves to the next. “Don’t tell me there’s no truck. I know that.” Next sentence. “This happened in the indeterminate past. You’ve pulled me from the present. Keep it positive.” For two paragraphs he shreds every word I’ve cherished, and then looks up and grins. “You’re taking the punches well,” he says. I try to pull his focus back to the page but it’s no use; the tears well up, and he notices. “Are you crying?” he asks, and I nod, covering my mouth. “Why?” His voice is bewildered, soft. “Is it something I said?”

    “I just want to get it,” I say. “I try so hard. I just want to get it.”

    “What do you read?” he asks. My mind goes blank. I’m an avid reader, but can’t recall a single title. “You need to read like a writer.” And I understand: writers are driven to read, not just for the pleasure, but to flower, to grow, to quench a thirst.

    We want to get it.

    So I read. Short stories. Poetry. Essays. Books about writing.

    I want to get it.

    I read literary stories for language and character; mysteries to analyze plot. I pick up a bestseller at the library.

    Popcorn, my inner critic says.

    “But people buy her work. A lot of people. She must be doing something right.”

    Bubblegum.

    I’m hooked by page two. Why?

    I want to get it.

    For a hefty fee, I enroll in an advanced fiction-writing workshop. We dissect each piece to uncover the beating heart, and I feel slightly sick afterwards. I write, draft after draft, as compelled as Sisyphus.

    I take the NaNoWriMo challenge and write a 50,000-word novella during the month of November—four years in a row. I learn to get out of my own way and pound out a rough first draft and emerge on the 30th, drained but high on the act of creating sinew and flesh from dialogue and narrative, the story unraveling as if I were reading it…a zillion times better than reading. Each year my voice gets stronger and my back gets weaker.

    In January, I unearth one of the skeletons from its storage box and read it.

    Not good.

    Not bad, either.

    Needs a rewrite.

    Many, many.

    How do I rewrite?

    More reading. Books on plot and structure and making fiction zing. More analyzing. More writing. And rewriting. Until I’ve written the life right out of it. Then it’s back to the lonely keyboard, pounding out even more words.

    I.

    Want.

    To.

    Get.

    It.

    But I’m ahead of myself.

    At the conference, after the tears, I rewrite my short story through the night, focusing on sensory details. In the morning, armed with ten copies, I stride past the bad cop (who’s really a good cop in disguise) standing outside the door to his workshop. “I’m back for round two,” I say, and he winces.

    When my turn comes, I read the first page aloud, then look up.

    He settles back in his chair.

    And smiles.

    “What a difference a day makes,” he says.

    Takeaways this week:

    Read. The good, the bad, and the so-so. Read to learn how other authors handle whatever elements of craft you struggle with in your own writing. Dialogue? Backstory? Character development? Plot? Whatever. Read.

    Write. The good, the bad, and the so-so. Keep your writing muscle strong. Like a trombonist who loses his lip if he doesn’t practice, we writers lose our chops when we get lazy. Five minutes a day, if that’s all the space you’ve got, but do it.

    Learn. From writing instructors, other writers, books on writing. Learn about story from country music. Learn about rhythm from jazz. Learn about form from dance, perspective from paintings, viewpoint from films. Learn about dialogue from listening, subtext from observation. Keep learning.

    Never give up. If writing is in your soul, don’t let anything stop you from creating. Not your inner critic, not your outer critics. No matter how many times you get knocked sideways, no matter how many rounds it takes, get back on your wobbly feet and keep plugging away.

    Category Behind the Writer's Curtain | Tags: , | 12 Comments

Older Entries
Newer Entries