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I know that NaNoWriMo is set up with a specific word count in mind. And word counts are, indeed, a useful way to keep track of you progress. However, do not get obsessed with them. The world will not end if you don’t meet your daily word count. Nor will it end if you don’t have 50,000 words at the end of November.
I’m seeing too many people stressing out about word counts and beating up on themselves when they fall short of them. Cut yourself some slack!
Here’s why:
NaNoWriMo is meant to be a fun, companionable way to try your hand at novel writing. That means that over the month you’re going to start to learn what kind of writer you are.1 One of the things you might learn is that you are not a fast writer. There is no shame in that. Lots of very fine writers are slow. Nalo Hopkinson rarely writes more than 500 words a day. Doesn’t get in the way of her producing many wonderful books.
You may also discover that you’re a very fast writer. No shame in that either. I swear I’ve seen Maureen Johnson bang out 20,000 words in a single sitting. That would kill me. She continues to live and breathe and write more wickedly funny words.
Give yourself permission to enjoy NaNoWriMo. So if at the end of the day you’ve only written 150 words, celebrate those words. Do a 150-word dance! Same if it was a one-word day or a six-thousand word day.
Some of you won’t get anywhere near 50,000 words in the month. Perhaps you’ll spend a lot of time thinking about your novel. That’s writing too. There are many writers who need to nut the whole novel out first in their heads before they can start writing. Could be you’re one of those.
Like I said, use the month of November to explore. Whatever you wind up with—on paper or in your head—you’ll know more about yourself as a writer.
Have fun!
-----------------------------------
Quick side note:
There is a contest going around for Cassandra Clare's TMI trilogy. You can win the whole series here:
http://koreenclemens.com/2010/07/11/city_of_birthdays_contest/Enjoy!
After all your great responses to Monday’s Nano Tip post, I though I’d spend one more post looking at the story. So many of you had cool interpretations and in interesting questions, so I thought I’d give you my own version.
(For those of you who haven’t read the Dialog Spine Story, and most importantly the comments, you should go do that now. And don’t forget Justine’s Nano Tip #2 from yesterday.)
Now, the author’s interpretation is privileged in some ways (people tend to give it extra weight) but that doesn’t mean that my version is “right” and any that differs from mine is “wrong.”
But here’s what I was thinking as I wrote the story:
- Yes, there is a dead person and a live person. The dead one has no quote marks.
- I kept the genders non-specific. Either of the two could be male or female, and they could be a hetero pairing or not. I sort of had a picture in my mind, but I don’t see the point in declaring it, given that there was no clear consensus in your comments. The rest works no matter which way you fall with the gender stereotypes/readings.
- Yes, the live person was driving in the accident, which was few days ago. The ghost was in the passenger seat without seatbelt. And it’s the day of the ghost’s funeral.
- The live person is having lunch in town, skipping the funeral out of shame. (You didn’t expect to see anyone in town today. Least of all me.)
- It’s not a huge town, but it’s a 30-60-minute drive from the funeral, which is out in the country.
- No one else can see/hear the ghost. (Tell him black.//“Black, please.”)
- They were having an affair. (And I’d have worn one if you’d asked. I did a lot of things for you.)
- The affair was secret, because the living person is somewhat older, and was friends with the ghost’s parents (as stated). Some markers of age: drinking gin, eating cold salmon, general fussiness, and mostly: “But it’s not as though . . . you’re eighteen, after all.”//Ah. You’ve been practicing that line, haven’t you?//“Don’t be crass.”
- The affair was more or less revealed because of the crash, even if the ghosts’ parents haven’t said anything about it yet. So the living person feels guilty about a lot more than just driving that night.
- The ghost is plotting the living person’s death. (I wish I could hold a knife.//You’ll have to drive fast.//Drive safely.//etc.) This is partly out of a need for revenge (a dish best “Served Cold”) but it’s mostly that the ghost is still in love and is angry that the living person’s survival has separated them. (Don’t let me go down there alone.)
- You can also read the story as being entirely inside the living person’s head. It doesn’t seem as though anyone can hear either side of the conversation, after all. So maybe the survivor is changing their mind about going to the funeral, and convincing themselves to do something dramatic and unsafe to make amends.
- You should always wear your seatbelt.
This is the most important tip of all: It’s only a first draft, it doesn’t have to be perfect.
You know what that means? You can relax. A first draft can be bad. In fact, it will be bad. Don’t worry about it. Plow on. Don’t even think of it as a first draft. That’s too much pressure, not to mention insulting to first drafts, think of it as your zero draft.
That’s what I do.
I get a lot of people asking for tips for dealing with writer’s block. I don’t get writer’s block. But only because I’ve learned not to be bothered by writing utter, utter rubbish.1 I expect my zero draft to be the worst writing in the history of writing thus when it turns out shockingly badly, I am unconcerned. “Why, yes, it is rubbish. No matter, that’s what I was going for.”
I write myself out of trouble,2 but that also mean I write myself into trouble: my zero drafts are full of insanely repetitive passages, and thus full of redundancies. Here is a short example:
Even though he’d now taken it away I could still feel the warmth of where his thumb had briefly brushed against my shoulder.
In the final version it became this:
I felt warmth where his thumb had been.
I have no idea how many drafts the novel went through before that slim sentence emerged from the bloated one. Lots.
I also usually wind up writing something like this at least once in the course of a zero draft:
She wasn’t sure what she was doing there. What was the point? Maybe he wouldn’t meet her after all. She should have stayed in class. She should never have answered the phone. Or talked to him. Or agreed to meet him. Or been born. Why was she here? Why wasn’t she doing something more productive? Somewhere else?
In the final version it looks like this:
. . .
Yup, that’s right, deleted, gone, wiped out, obliterated, not in the book. And if I were writing the preceding sentence in a novel I’d probably pare it down and all. Unless I was going for the laughs. Sometimes repetition can be funny. But only if used sparingly.
So, there you have it my tip is to have fun with your first draft and don’t worry about writing rubbish. Expect it! You can fix it later.
Disclaimer: If this advice doesn’t work for you and you keep getting stuck it could be that you’re an outliner. Down tools and start outlining. But don’t ask me for advice on how to do that cause I have no idea. However, I suspect that once you’ve outlined and start writing your first draft then the above advice may well apply.
Good luck!
So here’s my first tip: The Dialog Spine.
Many writers use the so-called “dialog spine” as a way of mapping out a scene. As a sort of “zero draft,” they write just dialog, with no setting, action, or even attribution. It’s a quick once-over of conflict and resolution in a scene, without any tricky bits to slow you down.
This, of course, assumes that you find dialog easy. For some people, writing the action/description/whatever first might make more sense. In any case, you don’t have to make your dialog (or whatever) perfect. It’s just a way of mapping out the main beats in a scene.
But there’s another trick that I use the dialog spine for: blowing out the cobwebs. And by cobwebs, I mean “writer’s block,” “general ennui,” or “an idea that just needs to be written down, but I don’t have time.”
For example, over the last three days I’ve had a small but persistent short story idea. Of course, I’m on tour and just about to start doing revisions on Behemoth, book two of Leviathan. I don’t have time to write a short story, but I want to get this idea down. Once I write the dialog spine, maybe I’ll realize that there’s not that much to it. Or at least it’ll be on paper and out of my busy, busy brain.
And occasionally, a dialog-only short story is a lovely thing on its own. This falls less into the “novel writing advice” category and more into “a weird writing exercise.” But it’s all useful. Quite often in the middle of a novel, it’s good therapy to write a simple short story.
So here are my personal rules to writing a Dialog Spine Story:
1) Only dialog. That’s it. Zero exceptions.
2) Only two characters speak. Other characters and their dialog may be
implied, but their words do not appear on paper.
3) One character’s dialog uses quotation marks, the other doesn’t. (This
saves fiddling with attribution, or spending a lot of time creating
verbal ticks to tell the characters apart. Remember, the point of this
is to be quick and dirty. Not astonishingly artful.)
So what do these stories look like? I thought you’d never ask.
Here’s one I did just yesterday, for Halloween:
Served Cold
By Scott Westerfeld
October 31, 2009Mind if I sit down?
“Oh, my goodness.”
Sorry to surprise you.
“But you . . . ”
I know. You didn’t expect to see anyone in town today. Least of all me.
“No, I didn’t. But of course it’s wonderful to see you. Please.”
For heaven’s sake, don’t get up! Does that arm hurt much?
“They say it’ll be fine. It throbs in a bit, but I’m full of codeine. Can I get you anything . . . ? Ah. That’s probably a stupid question.”
No, it’s not. Coffee would be wonderful.
“Really? You’re not just making fun of me?”
I would never make fun of you. Anyway, I always liked the smell of coffee better than the taste.
“Yes, I remember that . . . Excuse me, waiter, but could I have a coffee, please?”
Tell him black.
“Black, please.”
You’re very kind.
“Well, it’s the least I can do.”
Don’t be silly. It wasn’t your fault, you know. Just one of those things.
“Really? I mean, that’s what the police said. It was the ice.”
And they were perfectly right. It isn’t safe on those small roads out of town. Goodness, is that gin I smell?
“Yes. A bit early, I suppose.”
But it’s been a long week, as you always say. And look, you’ve hardly touched your salmon. It looks quite cold.
“The salmon is served cold here. But yes, it’s slow, eating with one hand.”
Poor baby. I wish I could hold a knife. Ah, here’s my coffee. Do you mind pushing it across, please?
“Of course.”
Yes, that’s a lovely smell. It’s the little things, you know. Even now.
“I’ve always thought so. Not that I would know anything about . . . ”
No, you’ve no idea. There must be lots of questions you want to ask.
“Of course.”
Well, don’t be tongue tied.
“I suppose . . . the main thing is, is it good? Or is it horrible?”
Hmm. It’s melancholy, more than anything. Like not being invited to a party, and all your friends are there. Speaking of which, you were invited to the funeral, weren’t you?
“Of course.”
And it’s today.
“Yes. It’s just starting now, I suppose.”
Then why aren’t you there?
“Well . . . I could ask you the same thing, you know.”
Ha! I suppose you could. And I was going to go. But you know what they say. It’s not for me; it’s for them.
“Well, maybe I’m not one of them.”
Don’t be philosophical, darling. You are one of them. You’re only here in town because you’re afraid.
“Well . . . not afraid, exactly.”
Yes, exactly afraid. Afraid that everyone will stare. With that arm still in a sling, who could help staring? And they’d ask if it hurts, like I just did. Really, how awkward.
“I’m so sorry.”
Don’t be silly. I told you, it wasn’t your fault. It was a patch of ice.
“Are you sure?”
About the ice? Yes. I took a good long look at it again this morning. It was back again, after melting in the sun yesterday! The roads are quite unsafe. Someone should do something.
“But there’s nothing I could have done, right?”
Well . . . perhaps there was one little thing.
“What?”
If I’d been wearing my seatbelt, I’d be sitting here properly, wouldn’t I? Having cold salmon with you.
“You hate salmon, and you never bothered with seatbelts.”
I would have put mine on, if you’d asked me. I’d have done that for you.
“Really?”
Yes.
“But it’s not as though . . . you’re eighteen, after all.”
Ah. You’ve been practicing that line, haven’t you?
“Don’t be crass.”
Sorry. But I was wondering if my parents had asked yet. About why we were out so late.
“No. They haven’t said anything.”
That means you’re in trouble, of course.
“Well, they’re still quite overwhelmed.”
No—you’re in trouble. Just look at you, sitting here all alone, pushing your lunch around with one hand. In trouble and drinking gin on top of your codeine.
“And missing you.”
And missing my funeral, you mean. The nerve of you. They’ll only talk more because you’re not there. It’s an admission of shame.
“I’m not ashamed.”
You were wearing a seatbelt.
“I . . . yes, I always do.”
And I’d have worn one if you’d asked. I did a lot of things for you.
“I know.”
Good. Then you’ll do something for me? One last thing?
“Of course.”
Go to my funeral.
“But . . . now?”
Yes, now. I know it’s already started, but funerals are always endless. Leave right away, and you’ll catch the main event. I want you to be there.
“I . . . I suppose I could still make it. Are you coming . . . with me?”
No, I’ll go ahead. But I’ll be beside you all the way, in spirit. Look, here’s the waiter.
“Check, please? Listen, I’m not quite sure your parents want me there.”
Of course they do. You’re their best friend! And I want you there, so steel yourself, darling. Here, finish your gin, that’s right. Look, he’s got your check already. Pay with cash, it’s quicker.
“All right. Don’t rush me.”
You’ll have to drive fast, won’t you?
“It’s rather tricky, with one hand. Do you really want this so much?”
More than anything. Please be there to watch them lower me. Don’t let me go down there alone.
“Of course. I promise I’ll be there. I’m so sorry.”
Don’t be silly. It was just the ice. Just go.
. . .
Drive safely.
Mwa-hah-hah! Like I said, it’s a quick-and-dirty Halloween story.
Anyway, feel free to discuss what you think is going on in the comments. And behold the power of dialog!
On my next Nano Tip day, November 3, I’ll discuss this story in more detail.
For me, personally, writing is both easy and hard. If I just had a cup of coffee, then it's easy. If I just got home from school, and then tried to write I wouldn't even stand a chance. All I have to say is listen to the advice, think about how it applies to your poem/short story/book and then see if it was right or wrong. Because all advice from authors really is, is just the author sharing what helped them, and in essence might help you.
Well since I am talking about advice, I decided to post all the old NaNo tips from last November.
What is NaNo, you might ask? Well back in November (and every November), they had a thing called NaNoWriMo, and in the whole month of November different authors offer tips/advice on how to write. What is the object of this thing, you might ask? Well the object is for you, the young writers, to write ten thousand words in November alone. And if you accomplish this task, then you get a prize! The satisfaction of writing!!!! I know, not a good enough prize, huh? I wish they had a better one too, so when it starts again in November, trust me, I'll have a prize for y'all.
So I will post one per day, so check back, because each one is extraordinarily awesome!
Keep Writing!
~Lauren
You know the drill, take ten minutes to write about what you see:
Margo Lanagan has written for children, young adults and adults—she’s best known for her YA fantasy writing. She’s put out 3 collections of short stories (White Time, Black Juice and Red Spikes, with Yellowcake to come out next), and her novel Tender Morsels was a Printz Honor Book and won the World Fantasy Award for Best Novel. Margo lives in Sydney all year round, except when her glamorous writing life affords her the opportunity to travel. She has silver hair, brown eyes, a GSOH, and no pets.
Step AWAY from the page
Where did I hear, the other day, that some well-known, well-published writer had decided to give writing away? She’d done so, she said, because she was ‘sick of the sound of her own voice’. And I knew exactly what she was talking about, because there are times when I stop writing, temporarily, for the same reason. (Note: this is not the same thing as writer’s block.)
Tiring of your own voice can happen when, because you’re so darn regular and dutiful in your writing habits, your writing rate overtakes your generation-of-ideas rate. Lots of writers are very fierce about the notion of applying your bum to a chair on a regular basis, and they’re not entirely wrong. There is a time for regular bum-application—when you’re partway through a draft or a revision of a novel, you have to work steadily. You need to keep the entire novel and all its offshoots uploaded to your mind for a sustained period, if you want the story to have integrity at the end.
But there’s also a time for running around outside, or partying-and-then-sleeping-in, or having a glut of reading for several weeks, or just moping off to the day-job and back. There are times, and they’re more frequent than a lot of people like to admit, when it’s a bad idea to sit down, set your jaw and force yourself once again to your story. You learn to judge, after many years of trying to be so determined, of forcing yourself to this uncomfortable duty, when to press yourself into the story’s service, and when to just disengage, banish the thing to your subconscious mind, and leave its problems alone to work themselves out.
But this isn’t about problem-solving. This is about feeling as if you’ve got nothing new to say. You sit down with what you thought was a good idea, and you start out on it, or you’re halfway through, and you find yourself reaching for the same similes or images, the same kinds of phrasing, the same plot turns as you always do. And it’s not reassuring, it’s not interesting, it’s not good. Everything is stale and worn-feeling; nothing makes you sit up and care about what you’re doing. Curses, another wet young protagonist who thinks too much? Can’t you create any other POV character? Can you not stop using the words ‘dark’ or ‘great’ before every damned thing you describe? Does everything you write have to be so sad, or so ambiguous, so qualified by cynical asides? What is wrong with you?
You begin on something else, some idea you’ve been hoarding and really looking forward to. Perhaps if you treat yourself, give yourself free rein, you’ll find new energy; before you know it you’ll be galloping off over the hills, gasping in fresh air and tossing your mane with the sheer joy of creation. And you bang away at it for a while, but then . . . you find yourself just nibbling weeds in the corner of some chewed-flat field again, berating yourself, bored to sobs.
I did this once just after I finished one of the drafts of Tender Morsels. I went off to a 5-day workshop of intensive writing. It was a fine workshop, full of stimulating tasks, full of fellow workshoppers doing wonderful things. I wrote and I wrote and I wrote, all over the shop. None of it was useful; none of it came to anything. Not a single story was born of 5 days of solid writing. At the end of it I flipped through the dutiful words, page after page of them, and I knew there was nothing there. Even now I don’t like to look in that notebook; the deadness, the effortfulness of the sentences, the absence of direction, is too dispiriting.
Sometimes you’re just drained; sometimes you’re just used up. Sometimes you’re not the kind of person who can get useful material from writing every day—I’m certainly not, not month in, month out. Sometimes you have to lie fallow for a while, remove yourself far enough from your own words, your own style, that you can come at them afresh later. Sometimes there’s a good story waiting, but your subconscious hasn’t worked out how you’ll approach it yet. Leave it alone; let it grow, unforced, un-angsted-over.
I wonder if she will give it up completely, that writer, whoever she was? Maybe she just needs to move beyond her current self a bit, get out of the shadow of what she’s already written, break out a different part of herself into her writing somehow—use a pseudonym? Try something funny? Have a crack at the lyric poem? Who knows? Maybe her public declaration is just her way of pushing herself far enough away from her past to feel free to move on?
Or maybe she really is done, for good. Maybe she’s said everything that seems to need saying. Maybe no stories are presenting themselves to her any more, and there’s plenty else in her life to fill her days and keep her sane. I can’t imagine what it would be like to run out of story, and it sounds like an awful thing to happen. But perhaps it isn’t; perhaps it feels quite natural; perhaps life is none the poorer for not including writing. Now, there’s a new thought.
What do YOU do when you get sick of the sound of yourself? Have you ever given up writing entirely—for a spell, or forever, or just one particular genre or form? Can you imagine retiring from writing (because I can’t, and I’d be fascinated to know what it’s like)—and if you can, what do you think would fill the gap?
Surprise!
I have a new book coming out. It's called The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner. Well, it's more of a novella than an actual book—my version of a short story.
Actually, this has been a surprise to me, too. The reason why it's a surprise was that I never intended to publish this story as a stand-alone book. I began this story a long time ago—before Twilight was even released. Back then I was just editing Eclipse, and in the thick of my vampire world. I was thinking a lot about the newborns, imagining their side of the story, and one thing led to another. I started writing from Bree's perspective about those final days, and what it was like to be a newborn.
This story was something that I worked on off and on for a while, just for fun, in between the times I was writing or editing other Twilight novels. Later, when the concept for The Twilight Saga: The Official Guide came up, I thought that might be a good place for Bree. Her story is a nice complement to Eclipse; it explains a lot of the things that Bella never knew. So I dusted it off and finished it up for placement in the Guide.
At the same time, it came in handy for the Eclipse film. Melissa (Rosenberg, the screenwriter) had a ton of questions about what exactly was going on in Seattle, how Victoria managed things, what Riley was like, etc. I let her read what I had then, and later gave the whole thing to the director, David Slade. David asked if Xavier, Bryce, and Jodelle (Riley, Victoria, and Bree) could read it as well, so all the parties involved would end up having a really strong foundation for their characters before the cameras started rolling. I was pleased that this side of the story would make it into the film and was looking forward to including it in the Guide.
(Keeping it confidential: Here is Jodelle next to the bucket of waterlogged ashes that were once the pages of her copy of the Bree manuscript.)
Then I got the news: my "short story" was nearly 200 pages long when typeset. It was too long to fit into the Guide—without ending up with a tome as heavy as the Oxford English Dictionary. My publisher approached me with the idea of releasing the Bree story on its own. One of the major benefits of this plan was that it would be out before the movie, so people would get to know Bree before they saw her in the film. That made sense to me, and we decided to go ahead with it.
There was one thing I asked for: since this story had always been an extra for me, and was meant to be released with the Guide, I wanted to be able to offer it to my fans for free. You all have bought a ton of my books, and I wanted to give you this story as a gift. My publisher was awesome and embraced this idea. We still wanted to also produce a physical book with a cool cover (see below) that you can add to your set if you like, but starting at noon on June 7th until July 5th, it will also be available online at www.breetanner.com.
One other aspect of this release is the plan to give a more important gift to people who really need it. One dollar of each book purchased in the US from the first printing will be donated to the American Red Cross for their relief efforts in Haiti and Chile and other parts of the world where people are in great need. We're going to have an option online as well, so you can choose to make a donation if you want when you read the story online. I hope you will. I think that we can really help a lot of people with this.
I really hope you all enjoy this story. I had a blast writing it. I'm glad that after all this time cooling her heels in my files, Bree finally gets her chance to shine.
Thanks for all the support,
Steph
Notes from the webmaster:
[Here is the official press release from the publishing company if you are interested.]
Click here to order The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner: An
Eclipse Novella
Read more about the story at USAToday.com
FREE BOOK! It looks better than the Twilight Series, This is one FREE book I think I just might look forward to reading!
http://poetryinmotiongroups.piczo.com/?cr=3
Awesome, Right?
Okay! you know what to do! Take ten minutes, and write about what you see be descriptive, post what you wrote, and add detail. It could be about anything, because art is different in the eyes of the beholder.
