I have a confession to make.
I -- Madelyn Alt, Author -- am not always in the mood to write.
I know. I know! I have been blessed with this crazy, wonderful, chaotic career. A career any working writer would be proud to call their own. It is the least I can do to give it my full attention. The depth and breadth of my energy. The last shreds of mojo I have in me.
And I do. Much of the time.
Sometimes, though, life throws these little temptations my way. You know what I'm talking about. Like a sunny summer day with the bluest of cloudless skies that not-so-subtly sends a sparkling, come-hither invitation through your open windows. Come outside and play, why don't you? You have to admit, it would be almost criminal not to give in to the urge to take the pooches out for a long walk on a day like that. Or how about those moments when I sit down to write and one of my Meezer girls instantly decides that's the perfect opportunity for some quality facetime. It's not an easy thing to resist the unrelenting headbutts of a Siamese cat, let me tell you. And then oftentimes the distractions stem from one of my boys who has something important he wants to share with me and cannot wait another moment to do just that. It's so easy to get lost watching the thought processes play across their young faces, the dance of laughter in their eyes. So easy to lock the computer down safely from mischievous Meezer paws and errant puppy noses and listen to my sons tell their tales with my heart in my throat, wondering how I got to be so lucky. So easy to just exist within the moment.
Life. I have to say, I kind of enjoy living it. Really living it. It keeps me from getting too serious; from taking myself too seriously. It is rather a matter of perspective. That is not to say I don't have worries, doubts, and fears working to drag me back down into the mire, just like everyone else. I do. But the less I let them have their way with me, and the more I pay attention to the good things around me, the more their hold on me seems to lessen, and the more energy and focus I have when I do put my fingers to keyboard. The writing, I have discovered, will be there for me when I need it to be, better than ever for the distractions and temptations that I allow to steal my attention from time to time. Paradoxically so.
What about you? What tempted you today, and did you give in to the moment?
Love to all,
Mad {madly!}
Showing posts with label The Creation Process. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Creation Process. Show all posts
Friday, January 23, 2009
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
On Signs, Banishing Rituals, and the Throne of Reckoning...
What led me to write paranormal? Nothing less than a sign. The kind of spiritual sign that is akin to the slap of a frozen salmon upside the head. The kind of sign that says, "Wake up, stupid! You haven't been listening! Go. Do. This. Now."
I need the big signs. I can be a bit dense... though I prefer to blame the constant need for multi-tasking. :)
I had been sticking to writing straight historical romance for so long that I had convinced myself that I couldn't/shouldn't/wouldn't try anything else. In fact, I had accumulated so many rejections that I had slowly, steadily, painfully arrived at the certainty that I would always be two steps behind the market trends in romance; that I was just not a person who could ever consider herself lucky. It just wasn't in the cards for me to be successful in romance.
I'd hit a particularly low point while attending an all-day workshop with a nearby group of writer friends. By that time, I'd already received the "SIGN!!!!!!"--an epic, fun, cool idea for a paranormal themed mystery series set in modern day Indiana--but didn't have the courage to follow the idea to fruition. At this everyday writers workshop, there was an exercise that we were all supposed to take part in, one that smacked of a banishing ritual to me. All writers present were supposed to take a length of toilet paper, and on it we were supposed to write a list of all the things that we saw as obstacles or challenges in the way of our success as writers, any frustrations that were affecting our work, any whining we needed to get off of our chests, and we weren't supposed to be nice, or hold back in any way. If we needed to bitch about anything and everything under the sun, this was our chance.
Well, I try to be a nice person on a day-to-day basis, but that wasn't what this exercise was about, and on that particular day, something inside me just . . . snapped. {I think maybe, just maybe, it was my niceness bone...} I measured out a length of toilet paper, then measured out a little more, broke out my gel pen, and started writing. And writing. And writing. Everyone present was laughing at how long it was getting, and at how fast and furious my pen was moving across the, um, page. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say, anything that had or was going wrong at that point in my adult life was touched upon. It was negative, and it was petty, and it felt SO GOOD to flush that toilet paper down the throne of reckoning.
And it was a turning point for me. Somehow, in some way, that simple act of symbolically flushing away all of the negativity in my life cleared the way and began to open new doors for me, both spiritually and mentally. I wrote the book that I worried I wasn't a good enough writer to do justice. I started plotting out the series in my airy-wispy-atmosphere-filled-seat-of-the-pants way -- enough to get the bones of it, but not enough to remove the element of synchronicity that keeps me going. I found an agent who loved it, who found a publisher who thought it could work. And from those baby steps, we moved forward with The Bewitching Mysteries.
What do I like best about telling Maggie's story? The freedom. The absolute, utter freedom of creating a world filled with characters I love. Characters who speak to me and whisper their stories. Characters who could be walking the streets of the town I live in {but who, of course, aren't}, who are familiar and down-to-earth and filled with the quirks and idiosyncrasies we all seem to have in abundance. I love being able to bring a taste of Indiana, one of those forgotten states that exist almost nebulously somewhere in the middle of this great nation, into the public eye {and yes, we are aware that most people know nothing about us beyond the Indy 500}. I love being able to show a variety of spiritual and religious beliefs, and I love being able to talk about religious intolerance and hopefully demonstrate that it is never a one-sided issue. I love exploring the spirit world, and the ways that it touches our own. And I love writing Maggie. She is a searcher, and through her journey toward self-discovery I have learned so much about so many lovely spiritual paths. And what's more, I get to do it with a wink and a smile.
Love to all on this lovely autumn day,
Mad {madly!}
I need the big signs. I can be a bit dense... though I prefer to blame the constant need for multi-tasking. :)
I had been sticking to writing straight historical romance for so long that I had convinced myself that I couldn't/shouldn't/wouldn't try anything else. In fact, I had accumulated so many rejections that I had slowly, steadily, painfully arrived at the certainty that I would always be two steps behind the market trends in romance; that I was just not a person who could ever consider herself lucky. It just wasn't in the cards for me to be successful in romance.
I'd hit a particularly low point while attending an all-day workshop with a nearby group of writer friends. By that time, I'd already received the "SIGN!!!!!!"--an epic, fun, cool idea for a paranormal themed mystery series set in modern day Indiana--but didn't have the courage to follow the idea to fruition. At this everyday writers workshop, there was an exercise that we were all supposed to take part in, one that smacked of a banishing ritual to me. All writers present were supposed to take a length of toilet paper, and on it we were supposed to write a list of all the things that we saw as obstacles or challenges in the way of our success as writers, any frustrations that were affecting our work, any whining we needed to get off of our chests, and we weren't supposed to be nice, or hold back in any way. If we needed to bitch about anything and everything under the sun, this was our chance.
Well, I try to be a nice person on a day-to-day basis, but that wasn't what this exercise was about, and on that particular day, something inside me just . . . snapped. {I think maybe, just maybe, it was my niceness bone...} I measured out a length of toilet paper, then measured out a little more, broke out my gel pen, and started writing. And writing. And writing. Everyone present was laughing at how long it was getting, and at how fast and furious my pen was moving across the, um, page. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say, anything that had or was going wrong at that point in my adult life was touched upon. It was negative, and it was petty, and it felt SO GOOD to flush that toilet paper down the throne of reckoning.
And it was a turning point for me. Somehow, in some way, that simple act of symbolically flushing away all of the negativity in my life cleared the way and began to open new doors for me, both spiritually and mentally. I wrote the book that I worried I wasn't a good enough writer to do justice. I started plotting out the series in my airy-wispy-atmosphere-filled-seat-of-the-pants way -- enough to get the bones of it, but not enough to remove the element of synchronicity that keeps me going. I found an agent who loved it, who found a publisher who thought it could work. And from those baby steps, we moved forward with The Bewitching Mysteries.
What do I like best about telling Maggie's story? The freedom. The absolute, utter freedom of creating a world filled with characters I love. Characters who speak to me and whisper their stories. Characters who could be walking the streets of the town I live in {but who, of course, aren't}, who are familiar and down-to-earth and filled with the quirks and idiosyncrasies we all seem to have in abundance. I love being able to bring a taste of Indiana, one of those forgotten states that exist almost nebulously somewhere in the middle of this great nation, into the public eye {and yes, we are aware that most people know nothing about us beyond the Indy 500}. I love being able to show a variety of spiritual and religious beliefs, and I love being able to talk about religious intolerance and hopefully demonstrate that it is never a one-sided issue. I love exploring the spirit world, and the ways that it touches our own. And I love writing Maggie. She is a searcher, and through her journey toward self-discovery I have learned so much about so many lovely spiritual paths. And what's more, I get to do it with a wink and a smile.
Love to all on this lovely autumn day,
Mad {madly!}
Monday, September 10, 2007
Tools of the Trade
Over with the Witchy Chicks, we were talking about audio/visual aids and what helps each of us in the writing process. It got me to thinking. Is it somehow wrong that I haven't often delved too deeply into the hows and the whys of writing? I'm not wearing blinders, honest. It's just that sometimes it seems as though by dissecting the process in a mad {heh} attempt to understand it more fully, I might strip some of the magick away . . . and I like to keep that intact, thankyouverymuch.
I can tell you I don't use pictures of people to inspire a character. The character always comes to me first, and in writing this series at least, they have come to me fully blown. Some readers have been suggesting various actors, most quite suitable indeed, that they envision in certain roles, and if that deepens their reading experience, I'm all for it . . . but as for me, it's not something I do often.
Music is always very important to me... although rarely while writing. I most often use music in between writing sessions, though not always to keep me in the Stony Mill world. Oftentimes the music I choose is simply to relax me, or to cater to the latest whim for atmosphere that I crave.
Atmosphere. This is the biggie for me. Atmosphere speaks to me, and it can come in so many different forms. I will often select movies for my DVD collection by the atmosphere in the film. Even if the film wasn't the best, its atmosphere will speak to me in some way. Music can give me atmosphere, but again, I don't often use it while writing -- I find it too involving. Something about the way my brain is wired makes me focus on the music itself rather than the story in front of me. Atmosphere can be found in anything, in any circumstance, if one keeps one's eyes open to it. It's the skirl of dried leaves sweeping down an empty street; the gathering of a bevy of vultures in a single tall tree that overlooks an entire neighborhood; the way a road cutting through a pair of cornfields can seem claustrophobic toward the end of summer; the sound of the wind whispering through said cornfields just before harvest. And now we're approaching autumn, my favorite time of year . . . and so appropriate for my writing. So many lovely and evocative images that propel and inspire my mind on its wild travails.
Atmosphere. I couldn't write without it.
Love to all,
Mad {madly!}
I can tell you I don't use pictures of people to inspire a character. The character always comes to me first, and in writing this series at least, they have come to me fully blown. Some readers have been suggesting various actors, most quite suitable indeed, that they envision in certain roles, and if that deepens their reading experience, I'm all for it . . . but as for me, it's not something I do often.
Music is always very important to me... although rarely while writing. I most often use music in between writing sessions, though not always to keep me in the Stony Mill world. Oftentimes the music I choose is simply to relax me, or to cater to the latest whim for atmosphere that I crave.
Atmosphere. This is the biggie for me. Atmosphere speaks to me, and it can come in so many different forms. I will often select movies for my DVD collection by the atmosphere in the film. Even if the film wasn't the best, its atmosphere will speak to me in some way. Music can give me atmosphere, but again, I don't often use it while writing -- I find it too involving. Something about the way my brain is wired makes me focus on the music itself rather than the story in front of me. Atmosphere can be found in anything, in any circumstance, if one keeps one's eyes open to it. It's the skirl of dried leaves sweeping down an empty street; the gathering of a bevy of vultures in a single tall tree that overlooks an entire neighborhood; the way a road cutting through a pair of cornfields can seem claustrophobic toward the end of summer; the sound of the wind whispering through said cornfields just before harvest. And now we're approaching autumn, my favorite time of year . . . and so appropriate for my writing. So many lovely and evocative images that propel and inspire my mind on its wild travails.
Atmosphere. I couldn't write without it.
Love to all,
Mad {madly!}
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Here a Muse, There a Muse... Where's Your Muse?
When I first began writing, I never really thought of creativity in terms of muses. Nope, back then, it was just me with the writing pad, the typewriter, the word processor, and eventually, the keyboard, hammering away at an idea that wouldn't leave me alone, and struggling to get down on paper what was in my mind. Just me . . . and the {insert writing instrument of the day here}.
Come to think of it, that does sound kind of lonely, doesn't it? Maybe that's why my muse finally swatted me over the head with her fairy dust wand and opened my eyes to her beneficent presence.
I have but one . . . but she has many faces.
I'm not sure quite how to describe her, but I know she's there. At times she is a fluttering, shimmering, sparkling deva that brings humor and wit to my stories, darting here and there about my shoulders as though wanting to be sure I get it all just right. At other times, she is a terrible taskmaster, her wand turning into a staff of power, heavy and gnarled, lending darkness to my writing where needed, and driving me to press on at even the most difficult moments.
When she's with me, the words flow, the ideas are effortless from brain to fingers, and I "drop into the page" as I'm writing, swallowed up by the story that is as much a part of me as my everyday life. When she's sulking because I'm not listening closely enough, every sentence is a battle, an entire paragraph a major accomplishment. She's feisty, opinionated, at times even snarky, and she knows just what I need at any given moment to turn me on, story-alistically speaking. She even knows when to back off, to give me time to recoup my energies. And when it's time to get back to work, she oft-times comes softly in dreams, whispering snippets of story, of people, of lost hopes and secrets and lies, and musing over what might be.
Her name is Leda, by the way. I don't know why. It just is.
How about you? Do you have a muse, or even gang of them? What gets you going, creatively?
Mad {madly}, not crazy, just muse-ically blessed :)
Come to think of it, that does sound kind of lonely, doesn't it? Maybe that's why my muse finally swatted me over the head with her fairy dust wand and opened my eyes to her beneficent presence.
I have but one . . . but she has many faces.
I'm not sure quite how to describe her, but I know she's there. At times she is a fluttering, shimmering, sparkling deva that brings humor and wit to my stories, darting here and there about my shoulders as though wanting to be sure I get it all just right. At other times, she is a terrible taskmaster, her wand turning into a staff of power, heavy and gnarled, lending darkness to my writing where needed, and driving me to press on at even the most difficult moments.
When she's with me, the words flow, the ideas are effortless from brain to fingers, and I "drop into the page" as I'm writing, swallowed up by the story that is as much a part of me as my everyday life. When she's sulking because I'm not listening closely enough, every sentence is a battle, an entire paragraph a major accomplishment. She's feisty, opinionated, at times even snarky, and she knows just what I need at any given moment to turn me on, story-alistically speaking. She even knows when to back off, to give me time to recoup my energies. And when it's time to get back to work, she oft-times comes softly in dreams, whispering snippets of story, of people, of lost hopes and secrets and lies, and musing over what might be.
Her name is Leda, by the way. I don't know why. It just is.
How about you? Do you have a muse, or even gang of them? What gets you going, creatively?
Mad {madly}, not crazy, just muse-ically blessed :)
Monday, June 04, 2007
How-to books
I'm often asked what writing books I look to for encouragement and inspiration.
I have to be honest with you. There aren't many, nowadays. It's not that I feel that I'm to the point in my writing where I have nothing further to learn. Far from it. I learn something new every day that I put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard, and IMHO that's the way that it should be. The day I decide that there is nothing more for me to learn in this challenging career-slash-obsession called writing is the day I close the book for good. {Lucky for me, that day is nowhere in sight! LOL.} But I am to the point where I have a good feel for my own writing process, for what works for me and what doesn't. I used to read every article and attend every writing class I could. It was fascinating to hear how others wrote, to gather what nuggets of wisdom I could, only to wonder later why their methods didn't work for me. No matter how logical they sounded, no matter whose brilliant method it was, none of them seemed to fit. Eventually I came to understand why some days I needed to be at the computer with seven different files open, sifting back and forth between them all, while others I needed to sit quietly with a notebook on my lap and a gel pen in hand, my process for that day as much about the smoothness of the flow of ink on the page as the flow of words. And sometimes my process isn't about the putting down of words at all. It's about watching a movie that possesses a sense of atmosphere that speaks to me, or listening to music that seemed to be saying something about a particular character. Or getting outdoors and walking for miles, or digging in my garden with its neverending supply of weeds to be cleared. For me, it's all part and parcel of my being a writer, which is why I wouldn't recommend my particular process at all. It isn't meant to be for anyone but me {though if it happens to speak to anyone else who might be reading this, GREAT! Feel free to emulate away...}.
The one book I would recommend if I had to choose at least one would be Stephen King's ON WRITING. .. mostly because he's not telling you how, he's just telling you to do. Write, write, write. Because that's the bottom line, really, isn't it. That's what it's all about.
And now... back to the Travel Channel. Samantha Brown is checking in at Edinburgh, Scotland, one of my favorite places in the whole world. Have I ever mentioned ::koff koff:: that Scotland and its many treasures of all varieties ::koff koff:: is a neverending source of inspiration for me?
Love to all,
Mad {madly!}
Some links you may find useful:
Predators & Editors: www.anotherealm.com/prededitors/ Warning site for editors and agents, very helpful...
Mystery Writers of America: www.mysterywriters.org/
Sisters in Crime: www.sistersincrime.org/
Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America: www.sfwa.org/ including Writer Beware www.sfwa.org/beware/
Romance Writers of America: www.rwanational.org/
Duirwaigh Gallery: www.DuirwaighGallery.com {on the list simply because I believe there is magic in creativity, and this site is so beautiful and inspiring and soul-stirring... and it never fails to lift my spirits high}
I have to be honest with you. There aren't many, nowadays. It's not that I feel that I'm to the point in my writing where I have nothing further to learn. Far from it. I learn something new every day that I put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard, and IMHO that's the way that it should be. The day I decide that there is nothing more for me to learn in this challenging career-slash-obsession called writing is the day I close the book for good. {Lucky for me, that day is nowhere in sight! LOL.} But I am to the point where I have a good feel for my own writing process, for what works for me and what doesn't. I used to read every article and attend every writing class I could. It was fascinating to hear how others wrote, to gather what nuggets of wisdom I could, only to wonder later why their methods didn't work for me. No matter how logical they sounded, no matter whose brilliant method it was, none of them seemed to fit. Eventually I came to understand why some days I needed to be at the computer with seven different files open, sifting back and forth between them all, while others I needed to sit quietly with a notebook on my lap and a gel pen in hand, my process for that day as much about the smoothness of the flow of ink on the page as the flow of words. And sometimes my process isn't about the putting down of words at all. It's about watching a movie that possesses a sense of atmosphere that speaks to me, or listening to music that seemed to be saying something about a particular character. Or getting outdoors and walking for miles, or digging in my garden with its neverending supply of weeds to be cleared. For me, it's all part and parcel of my being a writer, which is why I wouldn't recommend my particular process at all. It isn't meant to be for anyone but me {though if it happens to speak to anyone else who might be reading this, GREAT! Feel free to emulate away...}.
The one book I would recommend if I had to choose at least one would be Stephen King's ON WRITING. .. mostly because he's not telling you how, he's just telling you to do. Write, write, write. Because that's the bottom line, really, isn't it. That's what it's all about.
And now... back to the Travel Channel. Samantha Brown is checking in at Edinburgh, Scotland, one of my favorite places in the whole world. Have I ever mentioned ::koff koff:: that Scotland and its many treasures of all varieties ::koff koff:: is a neverending source of inspiration for me?
Love to all,
Mad {madly!}
Some links you may find useful:
Predators & Editors: www.anotherealm.com/prededitors/ Warning site for editors and agents, very helpful...
Mystery Writers of America: www.mysterywriters.org/
Sisters in Crime: www.sistersincrime.org/
Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America: www.sfwa.org/ including Writer Beware www.sfwa.org/beware/
Romance Writers of America: www.rwanational.org/
Duirwaigh Gallery: www.DuirwaighGallery.com {on the list simply because I believe there is magic in creativity, and this site is so beautiful and inspiring and soul-stirring... and it never fails to lift my spirits high}
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
A long and winding road... or how I came to be an author of paranormal mysteries
When I first started writing, lo, these many years ago {fourteen, to be precise}, I had no idea if I could write an entire book. Oh, I'd always written -- journals, essays, poetry -- because writing about my experiences was my way of dealing with the world. But a whole book, with characters I could relate to and care about, and situations that made sense, and a story that wouldn't let go? Did I really have the creativity? I didn't know, but I knew I wanted to try.
They say to write what you know, so it seemed sensible to try to write what I was most often reading at the time -- straight historical romance. It was harder than it looked. There were so many wonderful authors out there, so many who inspired me but at the same time made me think I could never be as good. But since I was writing just for myself, there was no pressure, no reason not to continue. Each new scene was a challenge, each chapter completed a major accomplishment. By the time I had finished the manuscript eighteen months later I was well and rightly hooked by the process of writing, but I still thought of myself as a dabbler. Sure, I was writing, but it was just for fun. No one else could possibly want to read my stuff...
I did mention my recent hobby to a couple of friends, and they asked to read what I had written. When they professed to actually enjoy it, I thought they were just being kind... as were members of a writing group I had found all the way across the state. But it got me to thinking. Could it be possible? Did I have a talent for this that I had never really expected to find?
The writing group suggested that I try submitting the manuscript to a New York publisher. So, with courage born of naivete, I went to my bookshelves and made a list of all the publishers represented there. A book at the library described the submission process. Armed with this new and foreign knowledge, I made my best attempt at writing a query letter and synopsis and sent off a few letters. Most of these came back with form rejections. I was more surprised than anyone when I received an actual request for the complete manuscript a month or two later from a major publisher. Back then I was writing on an old model home computer {a big step up from the typewriter I had started on, let me tell you} with an inkjet printer that was slow as molasses at printing off a 400 page manuscript, but print it I did. The expense of postage added to the expense of printing made me gulp, but it was far too late to turn back. I closed my eyes, crossed my fingers, and mailed it anyway.
As you might have guessed, that manuscript never did sell. The publisher kept it for eight months before rejecting it with a one and a half page letter telling me why they were returning it to me. Since I never really expected it to sell anyway, it didn't even hurt all that much. {Or is that pain just dulled by the time that has passed? Hmm...} I set the manuscript and the letter aside and just kept writing my stories, slowly, but surely. But my critique group didn't want to let it go. A letter with details wasn't just any old rejection. It was {and still is} rare to receive that kind of feedback. The publishing business worked with a set of unspoken rules and credos. Best that I learned them now and save myself heartache later.
Armed with my writing friends' collective knowledge, so graciously shared, and filled with a new hope, I continued to write and submit. But with each new manuscript submitted and rejected by all, the hope dwindled, and the self-confidence I had fought to attain began to wither. How could anyone continue to receive so-called "good" rejections for so many years but not sell the books she was writing? Maybe it was just not meant to be. Maybe I was kidding myself about this writing business. Maybe I should just quit while I was ahead.
I came to that point several times. Nearly quitting. Wanting to and not understanding why I couldn't seem to do it, why I clung to that last vestige of... well, not quite hope, but perhaps compulsion might describe it best, and all the while, a part of me was dying inside. Finally, even that part of me reached rock bottom. What was I doing? Why was I torturing myself this way?
Around that time I had had a strange experience where a story idea -- a character herself, really -- had come to me out of the blue and insisted I take down what she had to say, word for word. Information flowed from my brain to my fingers and out on the screen. Three pages of monologue in a kind of "brain dump" I had never before experienced. When all was said and done, I saved the file in my IDEAS folder and promptly forgot about it. I really had no clue what I could ever do with it. It wasn't suitable for historical romance. It wasn't even a romance at all, and furthermore, it was in first person. I had never liked first person! And it was paranormal. Now I have been a lifelong reader and researcher of the paranormal, so that part about it I liked, but it had never even occurred to me to include it in my writing. I was a writer of straight historical romance. This idea would never work for me. It was probably silly to even have saved it. Why-oh-why couldn't I get ideas that would sell?
I nearly gave up on writing altogether during that summer of my supreme discontent. But the universe had other ideas. I did actually stop writing for a few months. I read a lot, but I could no longer find things that sang to me. Nothing that resonated. Was it not enough that I was giving up on writing? Did I have to lose my love for reading as well? It hardly seemed fair.
I thought back to the last story I had read that had really gripped me, that had reached down into the very core of me and refused to let go: Outlander, by Diana Gabaldon. I took the book down again and tried to look at it with fresh eyes. What was it about that book in particular that I enjoyed so much? What I found surprised me. It wasn't the Scottish history or the wonderful Scotsman Jamie Fraser, as compelling as both of those things were to my soul. It was the epic nature of the book, the way it blended so many things -- including the paranormal -- and yet not one felt out of place. A cross-genre book that broke all the rules. It just felt... natural. Right. Meant to be.
And then there was the Goddess writer's seminar I attended, given by the wonderful Barbara Samuels and Jennifer Crusie. These two amazing women spoke eloquently about their "Girls in the Basement," their muses whom they likened to tough-and-difficult-to-please teenage girls. It was when they started writing to please their girls that they felt they truly found their niche. The sweet spot of story. Their seminar really got me to thinking. What if I let my inner self go? What if I forgot all about the editors I was trying to please? What if I forgot all about markets and writing rules and requirements and just wrote something for myself? What would that something be?
My mind kept wandering back to the strange idea I'd had months before. Well, it wasn't romance. It wasn't historical. It was completely and utterly different from anything I'd ever done before... but maybe that was what I needed most at that point in time. Somehow I needed to find the joy again. Maybe this was just what the muses ordered.
So I gave myself permission to turn off all the voices, all the editorial, to break whatever rules I wanted to break for the sake of the story, to just write what came to me through my Maggie's voice. If I wanted to throw in a kitchen sink, then I was going to do just that, and if I wanted it to be orange, then that's what it was going to be. The story idea had come to me as a mystery, so that's what I wrote. Maggie was a fresh voice in my head, like a friend I had known forever, and she made me laugh amidst the darker goings-on in the story. Another rule broken, ha ha! And all of spookiness made it that much better. Light and dark, funny and yet unnerving, modern and yet rooted in the Old Ways... Ghosts, and witches, and murder, oh my! And the story that came as a result scrubbed away the sadness and despair of ever publishing and it renewed my faith in my writing. I was a writer. Whether I was a writer who would publish or not, the fact that I wrote was a part of me that could never be taken away unless I allowed it to be.
Why it never occurred to me before to include the paranormal in my writing, I will never know. Maybe I just wasn't ready. Maybe I needed to discover my inner strength as I expanded my writing abilities. Maybe I had to go through everything I did in order to believe in myself in the end. Whatever the reason, by finally letting go and yielding to the wisdom of the universe, I found myself again. It was a long road, a winding one, but in the end one that gave me confidence and satisfaction both. Sometimes I wonder where the road will end, but I don't allow myself to dwell on that thought too long. After all, the joy of any journey should include points of interest along the path taken as much as the end destination itself. Something tells me I would do well not to forget that hard-won lesson again.
Love to all,
Mad {madly!}
www.MadelynAlt.com
They say to write what you know, so it seemed sensible to try to write what I was most often reading at the time -- straight historical romance. It was harder than it looked. There were so many wonderful authors out there, so many who inspired me but at the same time made me think I could never be as good. But since I was writing just for myself, there was no pressure, no reason not to continue. Each new scene was a challenge, each chapter completed a major accomplishment. By the time I had finished the manuscript eighteen months later I was well and rightly hooked by the process of writing, but I still thought of myself as a dabbler. Sure, I was writing, but it was just for fun. No one else could possibly want to read my stuff...
I did mention my recent hobby to a couple of friends, and they asked to read what I had written. When they professed to actually enjoy it, I thought they were just being kind... as were members of a writing group I had found all the way across the state. But it got me to thinking. Could it be possible? Did I have a talent for this that I had never really expected to find?
The writing group suggested that I try submitting the manuscript to a New York publisher. So, with courage born of naivete, I went to my bookshelves and made a list of all the publishers represented there. A book at the library described the submission process. Armed with this new and foreign knowledge, I made my best attempt at writing a query letter and synopsis and sent off a few letters. Most of these came back with form rejections. I was more surprised than anyone when I received an actual request for the complete manuscript a month or two later from a major publisher. Back then I was writing on an old model home computer {a big step up from the typewriter I had started on, let me tell you} with an inkjet printer that was slow as molasses at printing off a 400 page manuscript, but print it I did. The expense of postage added to the expense of printing made me gulp, but it was far too late to turn back. I closed my eyes, crossed my fingers, and mailed it anyway.
As you might have guessed, that manuscript never did sell. The publisher kept it for eight months before rejecting it with a one and a half page letter telling me why they were returning it to me. Since I never really expected it to sell anyway, it didn't even hurt all that much. {Or is that pain just dulled by the time that has passed? Hmm...} I set the manuscript and the letter aside and just kept writing my stories, slowly, but surely. But my critique group didn't want to let it go. A letter with details wasn't just any old rejection. It was {and still is} rare to receive that kind of feedback. The publishing business worked with a set of unspoken rules and credos. Best that I learned them now and save myself heartache later.
Armed with my writing friends' collective knowledge, so graciously shared, and filled with a new hope, I continued to write and submit. But with each new manuscript submitted and rejected by all, the hope dwindled, and the self-confidence I had fought to attain began to wither. How could anyone continue to receive so-called "good" rejections for so many years but not sell the books she was writing? Maybe it was just not meant to be. Maybe I was kidding myself about this writing business. Maybe I should just quit while I was ahead.
I came to that point several times. Nearly quitting. Wanting to and not understanding why I couldn't seem to do it, why I clung to that last vestige of... well, not quite hope, but perhaps compulsion might describe it best, and all the while, a part of me was dying inside. Finally, even that part of me reached rock bottom. What was I doing? Why was I torturing myself this way?
Around that time I had had a strange experience where a story idea -- a character herself, really -- had come to me out of the blue and insisted I take down what she had to say, word for word. Information flowed from my brain to my fingers and out on the screen. Three pages of monologue in a kind of "brain dump" I had never before experienced. When all was said and done, I saved the file in my IDEAS folder and promptly forgot about it. I really had no clue what I could ever do with it. It wasn't suitable for historical romance. It wasn't even a romance at all, and furthermore, it was in first person. I had never liked first person! And it was paranormal. Now I have been a lifelong reader and researcher of the paranormal, so that part about it I liked, but it had never even occurred to me to include it in my writing. I was a writer of straight historical romance. This idea would never work for me. It was probably silly to even have saved it. Why-oh-why couldn't I get ideas that would sell?
I nearly gave up on writing altogether during that summer of my supreme discontent. But the universe had other ideas. I did actually stop writing for a few months. I read a lot, but I could no longer find things that sang to me. Nothing that resonated. Was it not enough that I was giving up on writing? Did I have to lose my love for reading as well? It hardly seemed fair.
I thought back to the last story I had read that had really gripped me, that had reached down into the very core of me and refused to let go: Outlander, by Diana Gabaldon. I took the book down again and tried to look at it with fresh eyes. What was it about that book in particular that I enjoyed so much? What I found surprised me. It wasn't the Scottish history or the wonderful Scotsman Jamie Fraser, as compelling as both of those things were to my soul. It was the epic nature of the book, the way it blended so many things -- including the paranormal -- and yet not one felt out of place. A cross-genre book that broke all the rules. It just felt... natural. Right. Meant to be.
And then there was the Goddess writer's seminar I attended, given by the wonderful Barbara Samuels and Jennifer Crusie. These two amazing women spoke eloquently about their "Girls in the Basement," their muses whom they likened to tough-and-difficult-to-please teenage girls. It was when they started writing to please their girls that they felt they truly found their niche. The sweet spot of story. Their seminar really got me to thinking. What if I let my inner self go? What if I forgot all about the editors I was trying to please? What if I forgot all about markets and writing rules and requirements and just wrote something for myself? What would that something be?
My mind kept wandering back to the strange idea I'd had months before. Well, it wasn't romance. It wasn't historical. It was completely and utterly different from anything I'd ever done before... but maybe that was what I needed most at that point in time. Somehow I needed to find the joy again. Maybe this was just what the muses ordered.
So I gave myself permission to turn off all the voices, all the editorial, to break whatever rules I wanted to break for the sake of the story, to just write what came to me through my Maggie's voice. If I wanted to throw in a kitchen sink, then I was going to do just that, and if I wanted it to be orange, then that's what it was going to be. The story idea had come to me as a mystery, so that's what I wrote. Maggie was a fresh voice in my head, like a friend I had known forever, and she made me laugh amidst the darker goings-on in the story. Another rule broken, ha ha! And all of spookiness made it that much better. Light and dark, funny and yet unnerving, modern and yet rooted in the Old Ways... Ghosts, and witches, and murder, oh my! And the story that came as a result scrubbed away the sadness and despair of ever publishing and it renewed my faith in my writing. I was a writer. Whether I was a writer who would publish or not, the fact that I wrote was a part of me that could never be taken away unless I allowed it to be.
Why it never occurred to me before to include the paranormal in my writing, I will never know. Maybe I just wasn't ready. Maybe I needed to discover my inner strength as I expanded my writing abilities. Maybe I had to go through everything I did in order to believe in myself in the end. Whatever the reason, by finally letting go and yielding to the wisdom of the universe, I found myself again. It was a long road, a winding one, but in the end one that gave me confidence and satisfaction both. Sometimes I wonder where the road will end, but I don't allow myself to dwell on that thought too long. After all, the joy of any journey should include points of interest along the path taken as much as the end destination itself. Something tells me I would do well not to forget that hard-won lesson again.
Love to all,
Mad {madly!}
www.MadelynAlt.com
Sunday, April 08, 2007
The Creation Process
Over on the Witchy Chicks we were discussing the creation process each of us uses. This was a post in which I was supposed to sound very author-ish, very cool and in control as I intelligently discussed Creation, that strange, otherworldly state that occurs when I sit down at the computer and begin to write. How I create what I do, tools and techniques, how do I keep everything straight in my head.
The truth is . . .
The truth is, tools and techniques and bibles sound just a little too hardcore for little ol' fly-into-the-mist me. They're the kinds of things I should be doing but can't bring myself to put much effort into. I don't know why. I'm funny that way, I guess. Maybe because so much of it hasn't been put into words yet, because it's all still stewing away in that mysterious cauldron of creation, waiting for its turn to boil . . . and trying to find words for it before it's ready would be kind of like tasting a recipe before all the ingredients are in there. It just doesn't do it justice.
I'm a seat of the pants writer. When I sit down to write a new project, I develop a very generalized plan for what's going to happen. I know which main characters are going to be involved. I know who the victim will be, and his or her relationships with the people in their lives. I know how my Maggie will come to be involved. I know a few of the scenes that will need to be there to carry on the series arc due to what happened in the last book. I choose a point in Maggie's life to open things, and I allow her and her friends and relatives to guide me, and--voila--creation happens. Beyond that, though, it's all very nebulous and hazy and requires a great deal of trust from me.
Trust. I'm very big on it.
I have faith that the characters will come through for me. I have faith that the magic will happen. And because I have faith, it always does. I close my eyes, I take that leap of faith. The bridge always appears beneath my feet. Sometimes it appears a step at a time, sometimes I see a dozen feet at a time, but I'm always given a briefest glimpse of the entire blessed thing as reassurance that I'll be able to walk the walk when the time comes.
This process has never failed me, and I don't expect that it ever will.
What I do keep in a file is a list of characters and the books they first appear in, the briefest of descriptions and major character issues; a list of establishments Maggie has frequented, and their general location in town; and a huge number of pictures that "speak" to me with their imagery. I'm big on imagery and atmosphere, because they appeal on a subconscious level and lend a bit of creative magic to the mystical dreamworld going on somewhere in my brain.
Creation really is an interesting process, isn't it? One would think that, since the end result is the same, the process itself must also be the same, but I've found that it's very different from author to author to author. Flying into the mist is not for the faint of heart, and it's not for anyone who must control every aspect of everything at all times, but it works for me, and that's all that matters.
Love to all,
Mad {madly!} ... and now that label probably makes sense, heh ;>
P.S. The Find function {Control-F} is my best friend :) :)
The truth is . . .
The truth is, tools and techniques and bibles sound just a little too hardcore for little ol' fly-into-the-mist me. They're the kinds of things I should be doing but can't bring myself to put much effort into. I don't know why. I'm funny that way, I guess. Maybe because so much of it hasn't been put into words yet, because it's all still stewing away in that mysterious cauldron of creation, waiting for its turn to boil . . . and trying to find words for it before it's ready would be kind of like tasting a recipe before all the ingredients are in there. It just doesn't do it justice.
I'm a seat of the pants writer. When I sit down to write a new project, I develop a very generalized plan for what's going to happen. I know which main characters are going to be involved. I know who the victim will be, and his or her relationships with the people in their lives. I know how my Maggie will come to be involved. I know a few of the scenes that will need to be there to carry on the series arc due to what happened in the last book. I choose a point in Maggie's life to open things, and I allow her and her friends and relatives to guide me, and--voila--creation happens. Beyond that, though, it's all very nebulous and hazy and requires a great deal of trust from me.
Trust. I'm very big on it.
I have faith that the characters will come through for me. I have faith that the magic will happen. And because I have faith, it always does. I close my eyes, I take that leap of faith. The bridge always appears beneath my feet. Sometimes it appears a step at a time, sometimes I see a dozen feet at a time, but I'm always given a briefest glimpse of the entire blessed thing as reassurance that I'll be able to walk the walk when the time comes.
This process has never failed me, and I don't expect that it ever will.
What I do keep in a file is a list of characters and the books they first appear in, the briefest of descriptions and major character issues; a list of establishments Maggie has frequented, and their general location in town; and a huge number of pictures that "speak" to me with their imagery. I'm big on imagery and atmosphere, because they appeal on a subconscious level and lend a bit of creative magic to the mystical dreamworld going on somewhere in my brain.
Creation really is an interesting process, isn't it? One would think that, since the end result is the same, the process itself must also be the same, but I've found that it's very different from author to author to author. Flying into the mist is not for the faint of heart, and it's not for anyone who must control every aspect of everything at all times, but it works for me, and that's all that matters.
Love to all,
Mad {madly!} ... and now that label probably makes sense, heh ;>
P.S. The Find function {Control-F} is my best friend :) :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)