A Step Into the Real World of Writing

Today I did something I've never done. I submitted a manuscript. Not to a publisher, just a contest. The last time I did anything so writerly (other than writing, of course) was when I was in college. I entered several poems into the literary journals of the colleges I attended. (See Alma Mater 1 and 2 in my links section.) I had some success with those, but this is my first tentative forray into the "grownup" world of writing.

The contest is the Alabama Writer's Conclave annual writing competition. I submitted a short story in the fiction category. It's got a fairly quick turn around, so I'll find out next month if I've placed or not. Why does it feel like I'm waiting to find out if I matter or not?

But submission (and rejection) are a necessary part of the process. I've got to start practicing sometime. It's easier to send out a shor story now so that my novel manuscript (yes! still unfinished!) doesn't have to bear that extra weight of anxiety.

I'll let you know how it turns out.

Motherhood vs. Writing

Being a mother makes me a bad writer. I violate all the rules that the pros tell you are essential to creating the writing life. Instead of writing at the same time each day and making sure to set a daily quota of pages or time, I write very sporadically, once a week if I'm in the groove, but often not even that frequently. It's been over a month since I have touched my novel. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

In the time I haven't been writing, I have finished two other projects...my first quilt is done, and my beautiful baby is here. I am aware that I have a deadline looming on December 31st if I want to enter the Delacorte contest this year...and that has been my goal for a long time. But right now, the most important thing is my family. I have a new baby who needs a lot of love and attention as he adjusts to living in this world, and I also have a pre-schooler who needs just as much love and attention adjusting to sharing the spotlight.

I would much rather say that being a mother makes me a bad writer than that being a writer makes me a bad mother. I do hope to get back to my novel soon. I want to have enough time after finishing the first draft to do a thorough revision before my submission deadline.

next time: Fear of Failure and Writer's Block

Near the Finish Line

I am getting near the end of three projects in my life...so close I can feel my fingers grasping the prize--the satisfaction of finishing. I'll elaborate, from least to greatest.

First, I am almost done with what will be my first finished quilt. Just a little more time sewing, and the binding will be done. It won't win any contests. In fact, I'm pretty sure I won't be showing it to anyone who has even entered a quilt in a contest. The quilting is ameturish and all but one of the corners are a mess. But in the end, I will be so proud to have completed it. I will feel worthy of calling myself a quilter.

The second big project nearing completion is the one most relevant here; I am just a few short scenes away from having the first draft of my first novel finished and ready to revise. Even better, I now know what is going to happen in those scenes. Not knowing what would happen made the end seem impossibly far away, but with a little more writing and pondering, I've figured out where I'm going--I can see the target before me. The sense of victory that will come with meeting this milestone is so close I can taste it. I have already stated that I am a writer because I write, but the prospect of finishing this step that so many writers never reach is extremely validating. I also realize that finishing this first draft is not finishing the manuscript, but it is getting past the most difficult part, and I count it as a huge victory.

What could be more important than finishing my story? I'll tell you. Having a baby. In just a few weeks, I'll be nearingthe end of this most important "project," pregnancy. I haven't said much about my personal life in these entries because frankly, in this world, it seems dangerous to let total strangers know too much about myself. But the goals that I work toward as a writer pale in comparison to the goals that I have as a mother. It seems silly to commit to words the ups and downs of my writing without framing them in the bigger picture of my life. If I only get a few pages written every week, what does that matter? I have little lives in my care.

And, in case you haven't guessed, the nearly-finished quilt is for the nearly-finished baby. I'm guessing he won't notice the uneven stitches.

Next time: more on motherhood and writing

Ok, so I've been writing, not blogging...

I guess if I have to do one or the other, it's better for me to work on my novel than chatter on to no one in particular about my aspirations.

The good news is, I'm getting close to finishing my first draft. After that, the fun starts...I'm really looking forward to doing revisions.

I still struggle to work on the book in a daily way. I've thought about why that is, and I've come to the conclusion that I'm not very good at doing anything on a daily basis, besides the necessities. I need to put more effort into creating daily routines in all areas of my life. I'm more motivated by my weekly deadline of writing group. If we meet Monday night, I end up doing most of my writing Monday afternoon. Still I am making progress. I just know that I would be making more progress if I wrote and/or edited every day.

So far, only the people in my writing group have read any of my manuscript. I have a great fear of letting my other friends and my family read it. I'm not afraid they'll blast it; I'm more afraid they'll think it's not very good, but won't tell me. Recently, my mother has been pressuring me to let her read what I have finished so far. I'm just not ready.

The Path to Here

(I haven't written today, but I've written plenty since my last post.)

I didn’t just decide one day, “I think I’ll be a writer” and start writing. I have wanted to be a writer for as long as I can remember. I have scraps of poems and stories saved going back for years. But wanting to be a writer and becoming one are very different things.

I can remember when I was in high school, I knew some people who were in a creative writing class. When they told me what they did in class, I thought, “I could never do that.” They SHARED their writing with each other and got critiqued so they could improve. The very idea made my blood run cold. So how did I get from there to a point in my life where I will plan my vacation so I don’t have to miss a meeting of my writer’s critique group?

It happened in stages. First, I began sharing poems with teachers—first in high school and then with some of my college professors. Then I found that I could share the stuff I thought was really good with friends that I trusted. From there, I submitted some of my stuff to the literary magazines of the colleges I attended. Some of it was published. I even won a contest! That boosted my confidence, and as a junior in college I took two creative writing courses—one in poetry, one in fiction. Both were workshop based, and I found it very hard to read my stuff to the class or even to the teacher and receive feedback. But I did it. Still, at that time, the feedback had the effect of squelching my writing rather than fueling it. I was still not ready.

When I left college I became a teacher. I had the opportunity to teach a creative writing class and jumped on it. It was wonderful, but one of the rules of being a good teacher is that you have to model for your students. If I wanted my students to write and share their work, I had to let them see me write and share my work. Doing that on a daily basis got me more used to the sensation of opening myself up that way. I soon found that sharing my writing with teenagers could be a lot rougher than sharing it with peers. I toughened up a bit.

I quit my teaching job when I was pregnant with my first child, and I didn’t do much writing for a while. While launching my new “career” as a stay-at-home mom, I thought I’d check out what community courses were offered, just for fun. And there it was, the “Write Your Novel Workshop,” taught by a published author. It was a big step and more than a little intimidating. But this time I was ready. I did it. I’ve just finished my fifth quarter in that class, and the first draft of my first novel is 2/3 finished. Starting this week, some long-time members of the class are breaking off with me to start our own, independent writing group.

When I look back, I feel that all of my previous experience with writing and sharing my work was just to prepare me for this writing class. Because of that, I wonder if it is the hand of God leading me down this path. I wish I knew how to be sure what His will for me is.

Next Time: Is this what I’m supposed to be doing?

The thing I can't do without: Writing Group

(2.5 pages written, finising a scene and chapter.)

For about a year, Tuesday night has been writing group night for me.

I live near a major public university, and they offer quarterly community courses. One that I daydreamed about for a while was called, "Writing Your Novel, a Workshop." Finally, last year, I asked that it be my birthday present.

I began when my son was nine months old, so part of the gift was for my dear husband to volunteer to be at home, alone, with our boy for a couple of hours a week. This was a big step for us as a family. It's been great for my husband's relationship with my son, and it's given me an activity that is just for me.

It was, it's safe to say, a very big step for me as a writer, too. I didn't realize how big at the time. This class has been one of the most important things I have ever done in my life. It is where I have become a real writer, not just a wannabe. The ways it has helped me are numerous.

First, it has given me a reason to get at least a few pages written every week--I think I have averaged about five pages a week, a huge improvement over the zero pages a week I was producing before. Second, and also very important, it has given me a support group of fellow writers. These are the only people I feel perfectly safe with, where my writing is concerned. They are utterly sympathetic because, although we are all writing in different genres, we are all in essentially the same boat; we have the same questions, the same anxieties. Third, and just as critical as the first two, I have a source for good, thoughtful critique. The group praises me on what I'm doing well and gently prods me to improve where I need to. The suggestions I get from my peers are truly priceless; the quality of what I am producing with their help is immeasurably higher that what I would be able to write in isolation.

Without this class, I would not have the ~125 pages. There would be no manuscript, partial or otherwise. There would be only the kernel idea, still there, nagging me to do something with it. For me, the class has been essential. And yet, I can't count it as the beginning of my writing life. Other experiences before the class prepared me, so that I was ready to write a few pages a week and share them with others.

Next time: the path to here.

Goals and Rules

Goals:

• Short term/daily--to write every day, M-F, preferably for an hour during my dear son's nap.
• Mid-range--to finish a complete draft of this manuscript before the end of October
• Ultimate, for this manuscript--to have it ready to submit to a contest that ends December 31st.

That means I really have to get into the groove with this daily habit thing. Inertia can work for or against you, and right now I feel like it's sitting on my chest.

Rules:

• No writing, no blog.

• Each blog starts with record of what I've written that day.

Here we go.