As the Writer Writes

There are four perceptions of writers.

1. They are masters of their art, continuously pumping out fantastic works of genius
2. They are looney recluses who should be avoided at all time, if you get a chance to before they go ahead and avoid you
3. They are awesomely quirky and eccentric; wearing their hair in messy buns, donning geeky glasses and fingerless gloves, and possibly smoking pipes
4. They are lazy bums who do nothing but sit at their computer all day moving their fingers as their butts get wider, never bothering to contribute something of worth to the world (the writers, not their butts)

The facts are, each of these stereotypes are quite real, in most senses. And, yes, all at once. Here is the key:

New friends believe stereotype #1:
New Friend: “What’cha doin’?”
Writer: “Just writing a book.”
New Friend: “What, really?? What kind of book?”
Writer: “A novel.”
New Friend: “That is SO COOL! Can I be in it?? Can I read it?? When are you going to PUBLISH IT????”
Writer:
New Friend: “I’ll bet it is amazing. This is so awesome.”
Writer: “Um.”

People who don’t know any writers believe stereotype #2:
Typically, these people are afraid of me and we do not carry on conversations. I also try as hard as I possibly can to affirm their stereotype. That is the extent of our interactions.

People who are very good friends of writers believe stereotype #3 (and will not stop, much to the ego enlargement of those writers):
Old, Dear Friend: “How is your novel coming?”
Writer: “Oh, it’s coming alright. I had a pretty good writing session last night.”
Old, Dear Friend: “Did you write by candlelight?”
Writer: “What? Oh, yes, definitely. Just one, solitary candle. I wrote with my quill pen till the candle had burned down to a mere pool of wax, and even then I kept writing a bit to finish my thoughts for the night, albeit my fingers were terrifyingly cramped and frigid.”
Old, Dear Friend: “Do you not have heating? Or can you not afford coal for the fire this time of the year?”
Writer: “Yes, I am afraid that coal is just too expensive for me; I am already living off of one meal a day of bread and cheese.”
Old, Dear Friend: “Oh, my dear! Here, have my red scarf, that will at least help warm you up a bit. And, there! You look like such an inspirational writer! I wish I was you.”
Writer: “Oh, thank you, my old, dear friend. I don’t know how I will ever repay you for a kind favor for a poor soul such as myself.”
Old, Dear Friend: “Think nothing of it! You live such a tragically romantic life...”

Last, but not least, the family and/or people whom you live with believe stereotype #4:
Writer sleeps late. Writer gets up and fixes coffee. Writer returns to bedroom. Writer emerges an hour later with an empty coffee mug. Writer makes an egg and cheese sandwich and returns to room. Writer emerges with empty plate... scratch that. Writer lets plates and cups pile up on desk and then on bookshelves when the desk is full. Perhaps this is Writer’s monthly Dish Day. Writer tries to sneak out all the dishes and wash them while People of the House are distracted. Succeeds 25% of the time; the other 75%, is ridiculed by People of the House until Writer retreats back to room. Writer emerges at about 4pm to fix some canned soup, which is eaten in room. Writer comes back out half an hour later and, taking laptop, goes down to local coffee joint to eat, drink, and sit in a dark corner and write. Writer returns; People of the House are busy watching television, so do not notice. People of the House offer Writer tea later. Writer accepts absentmindedly; Writer remembers the offer of tea at about 11pm, at which time Writer eats spaghetti at the dining room table while reading a book, and actually puts dishes in the dishwasher. Writer pours cold tea and then goes and drinks it while writing into the night. Repeat.

This is performed with various levels of questions and “constructive criticism” from the People of the House. Writer wonders why the argument, “what if I were a college student??” never works and only seems to anger the People of the House further.

But what does the Writer think of the Writer?

The Writer is intimidated by the Writer who is more accomplished.
The Writer gets higher self-esteem from the Writer who can’t write as well.

But as for the opinion of the Writer: she feels a little bit of all four stereotypes at the same time as well. The Writer feels like what she is writing is frivolously about everyone she has ever met and definitely worth publishing; like she is weird and reclusive; like she is quirky and writerly; like she is a bum. This is somewhat of her own accord, for sure, but 99% influenced by the people who believe in those stereotypes.

Other than that, she doesn’t really think much of herself, actually; more only on what she is doing. Is she producing the thing she intended to? Does it sound right? Is it entertaining? Will others like to read this? When they do like reading it, she wonders, will people like the next thing I write? Can I really write something as good as what I wrote before? What if it’s better? What if it is relatively the worst thing ever? Should I keep writing in this genre? Am I really telling the truth; do I really know what I am talking about?

Why do I like writing again???

And I leave you with that.

~Jessica

Just call me Rip Van Winkle

So, dear readers, perhaps you are wondering what happened to the writer of this blog. Did she get consumed by a man-eating tiger while on a safari in India? Did she find El Dorado and promptly get kidnapped and put in some El Doradian dungeon? Did she fall into a sidewalk chalk picture with Mary Poppins? Did she get attacked by Twilight fangirls for declaring that Edward and Jacob were both ugly?

No, none of these valiant things occurred; at least, not in real life. Instead, she was writing a novel. Again.

Now, here is the lady herself:

Greetings, folks! It is I, Jess. I am alive and well. Like my announcer said in the paragraphs above, I have simply been writing a novel. You see, November is National Novel Writing Month, which is a challenge to write a 50,000-word novel within the thirty days. I participated in it last year (you can refer yourself back to my Backstory), and I felt compelled, naturally, to participate this year as well. The result at the end of four weeks? 51,720 words, 106 pages, of pure gold! And by gold, I mean… well, not gold.

NaNoWriMo was an interesting experience for me this year, on a number of levels. You see, last year, I had planned excessively for the novel I wrote. As in, I had already tried writing it multiple times in the years prior (before I knew about NaNoWriMo); and then, once I signed up for the retreat in Oregon, I basically spent August, September, and October making sure my outlines and character profiles were perfect. This resulted in me writing a despicably boring book, to me, because I knew everything that was going to happen, and all I had to do was write it out. No room left for the spontaneity of flying by the ‘pants of my seat’, going with wherever would be exciting to write.

This year, I concluded that it was a horribly bad idea to do that to myself again. I spent a total of maybe four or five days spread out over several weeks to come up with what I wanted in the novel, and basically left it at that. The only extra planning I did came in little spurts of ideas that I would quickly jot down in my notebook so I could move on with life.

But as I wrote I still felt like I had planned too much. I think this is because I felt like I had to stick with something; and that something was the little I had planned. I ended up beginning the novel with no inciting incident other than, “It was a dark and stormy night, so I decided to go on an adventure.” Wow, Jess. Epic storytelling abilities for the win.

What made it harder to write the novel was the fact that during three of NaNoWriMo’s four weeks, I was travelling the country and visiting friends. This, ladies and gentlemen, was not in the original NaNoWriMo plan; I made the decision to go a week before I peaced out of North Carolina. And this would have been fine, but for an introvert like me, it is extremely difficult to concentrate and be creative when there is bustle all around, and people you like being with are doing funny and distracting things… and, frankly, you would actually like to visit with them since that is what you came to do in the first place.

After the rough start of the first week, I was basically able to concentrate to some degree or another; and then I finally got into the flow of writing in the third week. This can be compared to running or swimming a long distance: the first couple of miles or first 500 yards are ridiculous and awful; and then you get in the flow, and you can just keep running or swimming forever, and it feels great. And, after spending so many days behind on my word count (and even coming down with a killer virus over Thanksgiving weekend), I finished a day early with almost an extra 2,000 words tacked on to the end.

That is certainly not to say it is The Great American Novel. It is more like The Great and Terrible Solid, Visual Form of Jessica’s Brain for the Month of November 2010. It is all over the place. It basically has no point. It’s dramatic, hilarious, irrelevant, rambling, improbable, nonsensical, and certainly Not Like It Was Supposed to Go. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. What matters is I DID IT.

This is my second time doing NaNoWriMo; technically, my third, since I also tried to do my own NaNoWriMo challenge in June. I did not make it to 50,000 words either of those times; in November, I made it to 47,000, and in June I made it to 43,000. So, this is the first time I have ever made it to 50,000 words in the required time. Needless to say, I feel extremely accomplished. I danced around the house for the next few days… and now, looking back, I want to dance again.

So, folks, that is what I have been up to in my absence! I hope you were even more productive than I.

Happy Winter, everyone!