Sometimes I write a little. Sometimes I write a lot. And other times, I'm ashamed to say, I just don't write at all. Oh, I think about it. I reprimand and reproach myself. But even while the creativity simmers, that spark just doesn't fan into a flame of productivity.
I become frustrated with myself. And it's at that time I look for a little motivation and advice from writers far more successful than I:
"If you want to be a writer, you must do two thing above all others: Read a lot, and write a lot. There's no way around these two things that I'm aware of, no shortcut." - Stephen King
"Writer's block is a lot like a head cold. You feel all stuffed up. Nobody seems to be able to help you. And you'll probably get well pretty soon all by yourself." - Marshall Cook
"Remember to get the weather in your god damned book. Weather is very important."
- Ernest Hemingway.
"When you write, don't say, 'I'm going to write a poem.' That attitude will freeze you right away. Sit down with the least expectation of yourself. Say, "I am free to write the worst junk in the world."If every time you sat down, you expected something great, writing would always be a great disappointment. And that expectation would keep you from writing." - Natalie Goldberg
"Look for clutter in your work. Be grateful for everything you can throw away. Re-examine each sentence that you put on paper. Is every word doing new work? Can any thought be expressed with more economy? Is anything pompous or pretentious? Are you hanging onto something useless just because you think it's beautiful? Simplify, simplify." William Zinsser
"Faire et se taire." (Shut up and get on with it.) - Flaubert
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Capturing emotion through words
"Show, don't tell." That's the advice all writers get, isn't it? Whether you're writing fiction or non-fiction, the best stories come from description borne of narrative. But finding the right words to illustrate emotion can be tough, I know.
There are some interviews, though, that make it easy.
In early December, 2001, I was doing a series on local folks who had volunteered with the Red Cross in New York City, going where they were needed, doing what they were asked, assisting with the aftermath of Sept. 11. Thinking back, it was a confusing, depressing time. But these volunteers were amazing. They were sincere. They were dedicated. And most of them had done simple, administrative work. But not the last woman I interviewed.
She didn't want to talk to me at first. She almost canceled, she told me. Nothing personal - she was just nervous.
She had been assigned to the Fresh Kills landfill, where they were taking the tons of scrap metal from the Twin Towers. Day after day, she told me, the barges would come in, loaded down with twisted, gnarled steel. She didn't know what was on the metal, or under it, and she didn't want to look.
"The smell," she told me, grasping my wrist, "was indescribable."
She had short red hair, and her eyes were bloodshot. Sometimes when she was talking, her hands shook, and when I looked down at them, I saw the nails had been chewed down past the quick - bitten so low they bled. When she saw me looking, she curled her fingertips under.
While she was on assignment, she said, she made coffee for exhausted workers. She fed their dogs. She washed their clothes and made their lunches. She wanted to cry nearly every day she was there, she said, thinking about those endless piles of smoking metal. But she didn't, she said. She didn't think she should. But when she got home, she said, she almost couldn't stop.
She ran her hand through her hair over and over again throughout the interview, and she burst into tears twice. At the end, she thanked me for listening.
"She's having a hard time," the Red Cross facilitator told me after she left. She didn't need to tell me. I'd already been shown.
Nearly two weeks later, the volunteer showed up at my newsroom with an envelope she'd made for me - for my little daughter, actually. She'd put it together herself. It was a letter from Santa, along with some reindeer "food" and some fake snow - in case we didn't get any that year, she said, and she smiled.
"It made me feel good to be able to do something for someone," she told me. "Even something small." I looked down at her hands as she handed me the envelope. Her fingertips were just starting to heal.
There are some interviews, though, that make it easy.
In early December, 2001, I was doing a series on local folks who had volunteered with the Red Cross in New York City, going where they were needed, doing what they were asked, assisting with the aftermath of Sept. 11. Thinking back, it was a confusing, depressing time. But these volunteers were amazing. They were sincere. They were dedicated. And most of them had done simple, administrative work. But not the last woman I interviewed.
She didn't want to talk to me at first. She almost canceled, she told me. Nothing personal - she was just nervous.
She had been assigned to the Fresh Kills landfill, where they were taking the tons of scrap metal from the Twin Towers. Day after day, she told me, the barges would come in, loaded down with twisted, gnarled steel. She didn't know what was on the metal, or under it, and she didn't want to look.
"The smell," she told me, grasping my wrist, "was indescribable."
She had short red hair, and her eyes were bloodshot. Sometimes when she was talking, her hands shook, and when I looked down at them, I saw the nails had been chewed down past the quick - bitten so low they bled. When she saw me looking, she curled her fingertips under.
While she was on assignment, she said, she made coffee for exhausted workers. She fed their dogs. She washed their clothes and made their lunches. She wanted to cry nearly every day she was there, she said, thinking about those endless piles of smoking metal. But she didn't, she said. She didn't think she should. But when she got home, she said, she almost couldn't stop.
She ran her hand through her hair over and over again throughout the interview, and she burst into tears twice. At the end, she thanked me for listening.
"She's having a hard time," the Red Cross facilitator told me after she left. She didn't need to tell me. I'd already been shown.
Nearly two weeks later, the volunteer showed up at my newsroom with an envelope she'd made for me - for my little daughter, actually. She'd put it together herself. It was a letter from Santa, along with some reindeer "food" and some fake snow - in case we didn't get any that year, she said, and she smiled.
"It made me feel good to be able to do something for someone," she told me. "Even something small." I looked down at her hands as she handed me the envelope. Her fingertips were just starting to heal.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Death on Deadline - excerpt
"...I wandered over to my computer desk. On top of it sat an old, portable manual typewriter – a relic that belonged to my dad, a leftover from his early days as a writer. I never used it, of course; I couldn't imagine pounding those heavy keys every day, but there was something about it I really liked. It was inspiring. It reminded me of my journalistic roots. I ran my hands over the smooth keys and thought of the hands that had painstakingly typed out words, letters and stories before me. These days, I’d take all the inspiration I could get.
To the side of the computer desk, in the kitchen, is the back wall of the apartment, with three parallel windows. In the daytime, they flood the place with natural light and now, at night, the lights in the surrounding homes twinkle, reminding me I’m not alone. It’s a good feeling.
Because, even though I rarely admit it, living alone can be a little daunting. Oh, it’s not the X, it’s not anybody. It’s just good to know sometimes that others are around. That’s why I like Yowza – it’s nice to have another heartbeat in the house.
I stretched. Good night. After a quick brush and a floss that would leave my dentist frowning, I slid under the covers and let my head fall against the pillow. I almost reached for a book on the nightstand, but I knew I’d never make it through the prologue.
I ran through tomorrow’s agenda in my head; it seemed like it would be pretty quiet. That was the last thing I thought before I dozed off.
I couldn't have been more wrong...."
From Death on Deadline, Chapter One. Available at www.smashwords.com
To the side of the computer desk, in the kitchen, is the back wall of the apartment, with three parallel windows. In the daytime, they flood the place with natural light and now, at night, the lights in the surrounding homes twinkle, reminding me I’m not alone. It’s a good feeling.
Because, even though I rarely admit it, living alone can be a little daunting. Oh, it’s not the X, it’s not anybody. It’s just good to know sometimes that others are around. That’s why I like Yowza – it’s nice to have another heartbeat in the house.
I stretched. Good night. After a quick brush and a floss that would leave my dentist frowning, I slid under the covers and let my head fall against the pillow. I almost reached for a book on the nightstand, but I knew I’d never make it through the prologue.
I ran through tomorrow’s agenda in my head; it seemed like it would be pretty quiet. That was the last thing I thought before I dozed off.
I couldn't have been more wrong...."
From Death on Deadline, Chapter One. Available at www.smashwords.com
Monday, February 15, 2010
Don't bet it all on SpellCheck
It seems so easy. You simply press a button, and - ta da!! - those spelling woes are over. But don't do it. Please. Don't trust SpellCheck. SpellCheck is like that bad boy (or girl) your parents always warned you about - it's impossible to stay away completely, but it's better for you if you try.
SpellCheck is, of course, that online dictionary that so many of us know and love. And I have no problem using it as a backup - I use it myself. It's a great tool when you know what you're looking for. And when you're typing fast or on deadline, it's wonderful to be able to double-check yourself.
But writers need to know how to spell; it's just that simple. And if we don't, we need to have a real dictionary by our side. I know some people find grammar boring and tedious and confusing, but it's all part of the game. We can't expect someone else to catch our errors - especially not overworked editors. That's just playing with fire. These words that we work so hard to find and develop and massage - they have our names above them. We want to be proud of them.
SpellCheck doesn't understand homonyms like their and there, or two, to and too. SpellCheck won't save us from the embarrassment of using it's and its incorrectly.
And sometimes (gasp!) SpellCheck works against us. SpellCheck offers suggestions, ones that can make "Obama" Osama, or change a "public" servant to someone far more risque. SpellCheck relies on us. We can't rely on SpellCheck. One wrong click, and ...
True horror story: At a tiny paper where I used to work, a reporter was chatting to her friend while she used SpellCheck on her story about a local bank robbery trial. This was awhile ago, so I'm sure the version she was using was extremely primitive. Regardless, her helpful SpellCheck suggested she change "testimony" to "testicle" throughout the copy. Engrossed in her phone conversation, she made the fateful wrong click. A very confused copy editor caught the errors and sent it back to her. The reporter was horrified and very angry - until she figured out what had happened, she assumed she was the victim of a mean-spirited prank.
And I'm betting she never offered SpellCheck the same level of trust again.
SpellCheck is, of course, that online dictionary that so many of us know and love. And I have no problem using it as a backup - I use it myself. It's a great tool when you know what you're looking for. And when you're typing fast or on deadline, it's wonderful to be able to double-check yourself.
But writers need to know how to spell; it's just that simple. And if we don't, we need to have a real dictionary by our side. I know some people find grammar boring and tedious and confusing, but it's all part of the game. We can't expect someone else to catch our errors - especially not overworked editors. That's just playing with fire. These words that we work so hard to find and develop and massage - they have our names above them. We want to be proud of them.
SpellCheck doesn't understand homonyms like their and there, or two, to and too. SpellCheck won't save us from the embarrassment of using it's and its incorrectly.
And sometimes (gasp!) SpellCheck works against us. SpellCheck offers suggestions, ones that can make "Obama" Osama, or change a "public" servant to someone far more risque. SpellCheck relies on us. We can't rely on SpellCheck. One wrong click, and ...
True horror story: At a tiny paper where I used to work, a reporter was chatting to her friend while she used SpellCheck on her story about a local bank robbery trial. This was awhile ago, so I'm sure the version she was using was extremely primitive. Regardless, her helpful SpellCheck suggested she change "testimony" to "testicle" throughout the copy. Engrossed in her phone conversation, she made the fateful wrong click. A very confused copy editor caught the errors and sent it back to her. The reporter was horrified and very angry - until she figured out what had happened, she assumed she was the victim of a mean-spirited prank.
And I'm betting she never offered SpellCheck the same level of trust again.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Read a little, write a lot
There are hundreds of books out there that are designed to hone your skills as a writer. I know this because I think I own half of them. Some of them are wonderful. Others, not so much.
The best ones are the ones that are motivating, that really infuse in you the desire to devour the information in the pages and then create your own magic. Others are ponderous; the authors get caught up in their own hype, promoting their own offerings until you decide, reluctantly, that it just might be time for a nap.
A few of my favorites: "Writing Down the Bones," by the extremely motivational Natalie Goldberg; "On Writing," by Stephen King, (No, he's not scary - he's actually quite funny); "Bird by Bird," by Anne Lamott, which speaks more to the whole philosophy of writing; and "The Artist's Way," by Julia Cameron, a classic for would-be writers that is really a workbook. It forces you, with daily writing exercises, to get off your butt and get creative.
Oh, and about that - a little cautionary tale. I love to read. Almost too much, if there is such a thing. So, for a while, I pretty much collected writing books. And while I became quite schooled in all the nuances and motivations of other writers, I wasn't really getting anything done. I was employing a very specialized type of writer's procrastination, I guess. I highly recommend not falling into that trap.
Read a little, write a lot.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Just write something - anything!
We all have great story ideas, words we want to get from our heads to our hands to the screens in front of us. But too many times, they never make it.
"I'm just not a writer," we say, shaking our heads. Or, "I wouldn't know how to begin." Sometimes, we get so close - we actually sit down, pencil and notebook in hand or laptop at the ready, and we ... stop. Those ideas? They stay just that - ideas. And regretfully, they never go any further.
I want to share with you what a clever editor once told me. She said, "Write something. Anything. Even if it's bad. Because if it's not down on paper, you can't fix it."
Her words have helped me dozens of times. I have written absolutely cringe-worthy leads. I've started stories with cliches. I've rifled through my notes, hemmed and hawed, and finally just picked a place to start. But once I had something down on paper, I could start editing. I could fix things. I could change a verb, add an adjective, take out some silly melodrama. I could write.
Not everybody is a terrific writer, not right off the bat. But we all have great ideas. And you get better at writing by reading great writing, and then creating some of your own. Don't let your great ideas go to waste. Put them down on paper - and then worry about the tough stuff.
"I'm just not a writer," we say, shaking our heads. Or, "I wouldn't know how to begin." Sometimes, we get so close - we actually sit down, pencil and notebook in hand or laptop at the ready, and we ... stop. Those ideas? They stay just that - ideas. And regretfully, they never go any further.
I want to share with you what a clever editor once told me. She said, "Write something. Anything. Even if it's bad. Because if it's not down on paper, you can't fix it."
Her words have helped me dozens of times. I have written absolutely cringe-worthy leads. I've started stories with cliches. I've rifled through my notes, hemmed and hawed, and finally just picked a place to start. But once I had something down on paper, I could start editing. I could fix things. I could change a verb, add an adjective, take out some silly melodrama. I could write.
Not everybody is a terrific writer, not right off the bat. But we all have great ideas. And you get better at writing by reading great writing, and then creating some of your own. Don't let your great ideas go to waste. Put them down on paper - and then worry about the tough stuff.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Writing for your health
I write because I like to, because it's fun for me. But did you know that it's good for you? Seriously. Turns out that journaling, or writing down your thoughts and feelings, actually has a multitude of health benefits.
Writing about the stresses of your day, the problems in your life, and figuring it all out on on paper is supposed to not only increase your cognitive function but strengthen your immune system and help you handle stress better. The only caveat is that you can't just write and write about how awful your life is and end it there - not that you would. Jeez, how depressing. You need to come up with a plan to make it better, or at least work through your feelings.
And for heaven's sake, please don't decide to write an angry letter to your boss or your mother-in-law, have a few drinks, and then mail it in a flurry of drunken rightousness. (Although, note to self: That could be a funny short story . . .)
I have a friend - and I swear this is a true story - who used to deal with her anger and stress by going out for a drive. Can you imagine?? In the ranking of bad choices, how high is that??? After a few near-misses on the highway, I think she began to realize the error of her ways. Journaling is at least a healthy, safe outlet for our feelings.
So will you be instantly happier once you start journaling? Maybe. Maybe not. But hey, I say it's like chicken soup when you have a cold: It can't hurt.
Writing about the stresses of your day, the problems in your life, and figuring it all out on on paper is supposed to not only increase your cognitive function but strengthen your immune system and help you handle stress better. The only caveat is that you can't just write and write about how awful your life is and end it there - not that you would. Jeez, how depressing. You need to come up with a plan to make it better, or at least work through your feelings.
And for heaven's sake, please don't decide to write an angry letter to your boss or your mother-in-law, have a few drinks, and then mail it in a flurry of drunken rightousness. (Although, note to self: That could be a funny short story . . .)
I have a friend - and I swear this is a true story - who used to deal with her anger and stress by going out for a drive. Can you imagine?? In the ranking of bad choices, how high is that??? After a few near-misses on the highway, I think she began to realize the error of her ways. Journaling is at least a healthy, safe outlet for our feelings.
So will you be instantly happier once you start journaling? Maybe. Maybe not. But hey, I say it's like chicken soup when you have a cold: It can't hurt.
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