RSS Feed

Posts Tagged ‘Top ten’

  1. Top Ten Tips to Survive NaNoWriMo

    October 26, 2014 by Diane

    hand opening red curtain on white.

    If you peek behind the writer’s curtain on November 1st, you’ll see novelists and novelist-wannabes around the world plopping down in front of their writing devices to begin the tortuous task of writing a 50,000-world novel in thirty days. This amounts to 1,667 words per day, or approximately seven double-spaced pages.

    Why do they do this?

    Because of the challenge.

    Because they are writers.

    Because it’s National Novel Writing Month. Otherwise known as NaNoWriMo.

    I have participated in this excruciating yet exhilarating task four times. I have “won” three times. To “win” means to write at least 50,000 words by November 30, email it to NaNoWriMo headquarters before the stroke of midnight, and receive in return a nifty graphic that flashes “YOU’RE A WINNER!” in bold letters on your computer screen.

    For this, I sacrificed  good posture, balanced meals, social activity, sleep, and any semblance of life beyond the day job and the writing of my novel.

    Or rather, novella.

    Let’s be honest. What you’ll end up with is less of a novel, and more of a work in progress.

    To be revised.

    And revised.

    And revised.

    Or stashed away in a cardboard box to be revised at a much later time.

    Don’t let that stop you! On November 1, open your laptop, or set out your pen and pad, and get ready to embark on an amazing journey of your imagination.

    As a seasoned NaNoWriMo finalist, I offer ten tips to get you to “The End” that I learned from my experience.

    1. The inner editor must go. Send the persnickety one on a vacation. If he (mine is definitely a “he”) refuses to leave, then write before he wakes up. Write quickly, so he can’t keep up if he’s leaning over your shoulder emitting noxious fumes. Do not pay attention if he leaps out of the closet and yells, “plot flaw!,” or whispers “your writing stinks” in your ear when you’re sleeping. Just lock him up again.

    2. Stock up on treats to keep you fueled. Or coerce your family  into providing them. My mother sent a weekly care package of power bars, dried fruit, and trail mix in an old Jif Peanut Butter jar. The jar held a place of honor next to my laptop.

    3. Every word counts. If you misspell a word, do not backspace to correct it. If you write garbage, do not delete it. If you can’t think of the right word to use, type a stream of words, and if none of them work, type FILL IN LATER which is three more words to add to your daily quota. If you write a scene and think of a better way to write it, write it again immediately. You can quickly italicize the weak scene so you know to cut it later. Trust me…if you backspace, your novel will flatline. Keep the heart beating in the piece and power on.

    4. Everything you encounter, dream, overhear, or recall is fodder for your story. Be open to these nuggets. The overweight man stepping out of an SUV will appear in the novel. You’ll notice the details: red sports cap, lumbering gate. The waitress with an attitude who serves you tuna salad for lunch will be your villain. You’ll wonder what drives people to behave that way. You’ll develop a novelist’s eye, a novelist’s mindset. You’ll gobble up details and turn them into a waking dream. It’s like making bean muck—opening the pantry and taking out a can of beans, a can of corn, a can of tomatoes, a carton of broth—whatever is on hand to fill the pot, adding a handful of cheese from the fridge. Sounds awful, but it all comes together in a weird way.

    5. Stay the course, but don’t fret if you wind up elsewhere. You will find yourself, somewhere around week three, veering off your plotted course. Don’t beat yourself up. Even Frank Sinatra veered. I saw him perform live, back when he was alive. He sang the classic “My Way” by Paul Anka, and at one point, he went his way, and the orchestra went another. Ol’ Blue Eyes meandered ’round the stage while the orchestra played gamely on and Sinatra’s bodyguards flexed their muscles. Eventually, he found his way again. You will, too.

    6. Your characters will take over. You can rein them back in, or let them take the lead. I say go with the flow. It will lead you to unexpected rewards. Remember: you can fix anything in the rewrite.

    7. Ideas will come to you in the shower. You’ll turn on the faucet and ideas will pour out. My advice: don’t power down your computer until after your shower, so you can quickly capture these thoughts.

    8. Move your body! Sitting for hours takes a physical toll. Be sure to get up now and then to stretch, squat, or walk around the block. Otherwise, when December 1st rolls around, you’ll be permanently hunched, blinking at the sun’s glare when you step outside.

    9. Trust that the words will come. Relax. The Muse will provide. And a nifty byproduct of all this wordsmithing is that it will improve your communication skills. Words will bubble up, and you’ll find yourself entertaining your coworkers, friends and family with stories, anecdotes and jokes. Milk it. You’ll be your boring self again come December. But you’ll be a novelist.

    10. Celebrate your growth as a writer. On the final third of this marathon writing madness you will find your writer’s voice. It’s a beautiful thing. Honor it. Treasure it. And celebrate.


  2. Rewriting: Ten Ways to Ease the Pain

    August 10, 2014 by Diane

    hand opening red curtain on white.

    If you peeked behind the curtain last week and didn’t see me, it’s because I was recharging instead of rewriting.

    Now I’m back. With a list of ten ways to ease the pain that comes with all of that mental activity. Ten ways to keep the body and mind healthy in the midst of tackling a rewrite.

    Here goes…

    1. Be gentle with yourself. You’re doing the best you can in the current moment with the knowledge you have.

    2. Schedule a time to write, and stick to it. Be mindful during this sacred time and focus only on your novel. Don’t engage in other activities. When the time is up, leave the writing and do something else. If ideas come, jot them down. Try not to obsess about your novel outside of that scheduled time slot. It tires the brain.

    3. Trust that the muse will appear at the scheduled time. Trust that the words will come when you begin typing or when you touch pen to page. Start the movement and let the words flow.

    4. When writing, get out of the chair every twenty minutes. All that sitting is bad for your heart, not to mention your spine. So get up. Do ten jumping jacks. Or five squats. Squats are good. You want to keep those leg muscles strong so you’re not relying on a walker when you’re eighty.

    5. Sit upright. Your head doesn’t need to be five inches from the screen. At the bottom of your pelvis are a couple of knobby muscles: the “sits bones.” Rest on them, and then roll forward so you’re sitting on the forward, flat part. This will align your pelvis so your spine can stack up properly. Your back muscles and digestive system will thank you. If you can’t manage to sit upright on your own, invest in a Nada-Chair. That “slouch-buster sling” will do the work for you.

    6. Or don’t sit at all. Build your desk up. Or invest in a treadmill desk. A doctor I know wrote a whole book in that fashion. You might find deals on eBay.

    7. Make sleep a priority. Set a bedtime schedule and stick to it. This gives the body a clear message that it’s sleepy-time; something your parents would announce if they were on hand to do so. Turn off all electronics an hour beforehand. If you slip up, and you’re on the computer writing into the wee hours of the night, at the very least download the free software program f.lux. It calibrates to your timezone, dimming your computer screen to a warm hue after sundown so all that blue light isn’t mucking up your melatonin, keeping you awake.

    8. As a pre-sleep ritual, do some light stretching to work out the tension in your muscles. This will also relax the brain. Another tension-buster is to lie on a mat, place a tennis ball on either side of your spine, and roll on them, pausing at the knotty areas and breathing deep to release the tightness. Do something to quiet the mind. Meditate, focusing on sounds, for five minutes before bedtime; or listen to a calming CD.

    9. Try to stay in the moment. When you write, write. When you sleep, sleep. When you plan, plan. If you find yourself planning the next chapter when you’re in bed trying to sleep, say to yourself, “planning, planning,” and let it go. If your mind is churning with thoughts, observe them as if they are leaves in a stream or clouds in the sky drifting by. It takes practice, but it works.

    10. Spend time in nature. Reconnect to the energy of the earth, which vibrates on a frequency that matches your own. All that sitting in front of a computer unsettles the nervous system. So go outside. Walk barefoot on the lawn. Or stretch out under a redwood tree and read a book. This isn’t being lazy. It’s called Earthing. And it’s healing.

    and a bonus tip:

    11. Know when to write, and when to walk away and be a good animal: eating, sleeping, and hanging out with the tribe. You’re a creative being in a physical body with human needs. Moderation is the key.

    Takeaways this week:

    Pain-Free Sitting, Standing, and Walking: Alleviate Chronic Pain by Relearning Natural Movement Patterns, by Craig Williamson, MSOT

    This. Only This: Mindfulness Strategies for Developing Peace in Every Moment by Michael H. Brooks

    Earthing: The Most Important Health Discovery Ever? by Clinton Ober and Stephen Sinatra

    The Nada-Chair

    Treadmill desk

    F.Lux Software

    In case you missed it, my rewriting journey began here.

     

     


  3. My Top Pet Peeves About the Women’s Locker Room

    June 29, 2014 by Diane

    Complaint department

    When it comes to the women’s locker room at the pool where I swim, I could list my top pet peeves. But I won’t.

    I’d have to list all those gross things. Like the globs of hair that swirl together into clumps and plaster themselves over the drain like roadkill, so I’m forced to tread water when I shower.

    I’d have to point out that six-year-old girls should use their “normal voices” in a tiled room, because their shrill tones will puncture the eardrums of all who enter.

    I’d have to admit that if a five-year-old boy is dragged into the locker room by his mother while she suits up, he should not spend the entire time staring at me—and only me—while I shower, with a blank expression on his face. Like he’s watching the test pattern on television.

    I’d have to reveal that all is not kosher in the women’s locker room. There are bare butts resting on the wooden benches where I set my gym bag. There are piles of white skin that someone has filed off her feet—piles that could fill a salt shaker. There are women who think nothing of bending over when toweling off, leaving me face-to-cheeks with a total stranger as I tie my shoe.

    I’d have to say something about that certain someone who sings Barry Manilow tunes in the shower. I’d have to point out that Barry Manilow wrote songs specifically designed to permanently lodge in the brain. Like water in the ear, they’re impossible to shake out.

    I’d have to mention how some people presume that if you accidentally leave a bottle of conditioner on the shower room shelf, it’s up for grabs. Even if it’s your favorite conditioner. And the manufacturer no longer makes it. I’ll give you a tip: don’t bother racing back to claim it. The bottle will be empty.

    I’d have to tell about the time a teensy-weensy field mouse scurried into the locker room and hid in a woman’s shoe. The shrill tones of a passel of six-year-olds are nothing compared to the screams of a woman encountering something warm and furry with her bare foot.

    I could list my pet peeves…but that would be complaining.

    Even though that’s what humor writers do. Complain.

    Humorists get paid to complain. For thirty minutes a comic will stand up in front of an audience and complain. Take my wife…please! Rodney Dangerfield and Don Rickles made a career out of complaining.

    The thing about complaints is that whatever it is we complain about is usually something that we do ourselves. We’re just irked that someone else is getting away with it.

    I’ll admit, the longer my hair gets, the more I find it lying about in places other than my head. But it’s blondish, so it’s not as obvious as those black clumps that would keep a wig maker in business for months. I’ve been known to sing in the shower, and have occasionally used a voice that’s in the range of a dog whistle. I’ve probably stared without realizing I was staring at a naked woman while she showers, and might have bent over without being mindful of the person sitting next to me. And yes, I’ve used someone else’s conditioner. But it was a pink bottle, and the stuff smelled like bubble gum, and it probably belonged to one of those six-year-old eardrum-splitters. Yeah, it was ME who used it.

    But I didn’t drain the bottle.

    And I’ve never filed my feet in public. That’s just wrong.

    And I’ve never tried to hide in somebody’s shoe.

    But that’s only because I wouldn’t fit.