I’m antsy today. Got a few things done. Wrote a couple thousand words. Fixed my printer. Waited for my son to be done with my laptop. Shared a friend’s article online. Decided this Irish man on Twitter has amazingly expressive eyes. Debated saving a picture of him onto my Pinterest, thinking of my main character Roonan, then felt a bit stalker so nixed it.
In the middle of that, yes: I wrote a couple thousand words. It’s a good day: I’m busy with revisions and they are going well enough that I see the light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve had small breakthroughs at every turn. Big improvement over last week (Novel Revision: Work is Messy, Book May Bite or Revising a Flat Character).
Prompts are Everywhere
When a novel is rabid inside me, it seems prompts are everywhere.
I read the first line of Neil Gaiman’s new book ( The Ocean at the End of the Lane ), which starts, “I wore…” and I’m prompted to start a chapter with a simple sentence, active verb, simple statement. I read the 3-step prompt shared at Tuesday Quick-Write and all I hear is, “Make your character say she has a problem.” I know she does — but make her say it. ITunes flashes a reminder and now the “problem” scene starts with Carinne in the car and The Killers come on the stereo. You can’t ride with armed men, listening to The Killers and not admit you have a problem. So the scene spills out. Carinne’s inner conflict slips into her perception of the external conflict and the readers get hint of what she’s hiding — what would motivate her to go along with these men. …It raced up in her chest, this anger she’d never owned before. It was a problem. She would have to face it. No excuse now. No one telling her not to talk. In the night, her mouth close to Roonan’s collarbone, his mouth against her ear saying her name, no one was telling her to stop. No one told her not to talk about Danny. No one said, “Not now. Let it go.”…
Nice (not that little snippet, the whole scene). Twenty minutes of writing and I have one big chunk that weaves an original scene together with Carinne’s newly drafted internal motivation.
So take a break. Notice the Instagram pic of that Irishman with the amazing eyes. Oh, look. His friend posted pic of a silky golden retriever’s head thrusting in a car window. And we’re off again… They’re in a field with sticks of peat stacked 3 by 3 in small pyres every few feet, circling around them, Roonan woken by the nose of a silken retriever, a happy scene yet she reacts with terror…
Enough with Instagram. So, check for friends who registered at the site for Camp NaNoWriMo. Sure, okay, I’ll log on, too. Account asks for a synopsis of my novel. Seriously, do I have time for this? Type-type-type… Next I know… Wasn’t I just saying I was beginning to stress over writing the query? Here it is, nearly done:
Michael Roonan’s best friend would do anything to save him from the man bent on killing him, but Roonan himself thinks death is fair end to the guilt he carries for lives he has ended. Except, facing death, Roonan suddenly sees only beauty in the world. In the moment he meets traveling American, Carinne Browning — herself clearly at odds with her mother or her husband — he sees chance to borrow and recreate what his parents had, the one thing he would have wanted to experience before the end of life: to be in love with a wife. Five years later, after the day she watched Michael Roonan shot down in a Dublin park, Carinne is faced with the question from the child born of that affair: “Is my father dead? Is he buried in the ground?” Tracking down Michael Roonan means unraveling the secrets that led him to a life of violence, as well as the painful mystery that compelled her to bond with such a man. The crossing of their lives unveils how deceptive memory can be, and how life’s biggest choices — even those impacting the outcomes of wars and history — can be born of personal fears and mistaken perceptions.
As much as I tease myself for being antsy today, it’s sometimes just that hyper energy that gets the work written.
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Writing with Friends
All of this is to say, as much as I value all the reclusive time I spend writing alone, there is a powerful value in a circle of writing friends and the interaction that brings.
I decided to join in with some friends who are participating in Camp NaNoWriMo this month. I’m a camping “rebel” in that I already have a finished novel draft well over the 50,000 word goal (Wake is heavy at 145,000 words right now, with a good 30,000 destined to get chopped) — but I’m among those using the camaraderie of the camp to keep motivated and share mini-milestones as I go. I’ll drop it if it’s a distraction, but will keep cheering on my participating friends.
With the same group of friends (Wordsmith Studio — #wschat on Twitter), I’m participating in an online discussion of writing craft July-September, using two books: Donald Maass’s Writing the Breakout Novel and John Gardner’s classic On Becoming a Novelist. With a different group, I’ve been sharing in daily writing prompts at an online “writing camp” for teachers, called Teachers Write.
I know what I’m doing with my revisions this summer — I’m working through a series of tasks that aren’t in any forums online. They’re what I know needs to be done; I could do it alone.
But there is power in community, and I’m glad to be “camping out” with writing friends this month.
Check out tomorrow’s post: Motivated to Write: 12 Tools to Get Writing, Now
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What About You?
What communities — online, in person or otherwise — do you write with?
Do you have set goals you are working toward? What helps prompt your ideas, or do you wish you had more sources of discipline or inspiration?
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