Category Archives: Writing Life

Making an annual writing master plan

I sat down to figure out what I needed to do the first week of this year, and I was stuck right away. I had no idea what I needed to do that week because I didn’t know what I needed to do that year. I had a few ideas about what I wanted to do, but I needed to know what I should be working on each month to figure out how to allot my time.

(I didn’t allot time for writing this article. You’re welcome anyway.)

So, how do you figure out what you should be working on in a week, month, year? You’ve got to create your writing master plan. There are lots of great ways to do this, and of course you can use any method that works for you (just like in everything else with writing). I’ve been doing this for five years now–and I’ve done it for up to three years at a time. Here’s how I do it.

To get started you need:

  • a decent idea of how long each phase of a project typically takes you (and how long it can take worst case)
  • office supplies: post-it notes, paper, index cards, poster, whiteboard, magnets, whatever works for you. I’ve used a computer spreadsheet in the past. It’s very helpful if you can rearrange the various pieces, so post-its, cards or magnets are extra useful.
  • a list of the major engagements/vacations/busy times of your year.
  • a year calendar for reference.

Step one: brainstorm

As with any good writing project, at the beginning, we need IDEAS. First, on a piece of paper or on the computer, list all the projects you’re in the middle of, whether they’re active or not. (Projects you’ve truly abandoned don’t have to be on the list.) Drafting, revising, editing, polishing, publishing, wherever a current project falls, write those down on the list. Now, add projects that you know you want to (or need to) write—the next book(s) in your series, that shiny new idea you just got, the sekrit project that’s been simmering forever. Finally, add in a line or two (or more) for any shinier, newer ideas that might come along this year.

Step two: prioritize

We’ll be doing this a lot.

Next, pick out the most important projects to you: the ones you want to work on the most, the ones that make you happiest, the ones that have contracts and deadlines—however you define important. I typically pick three bigger projects per year (i.e., full-length novels: one to write, one to edit, one to publish) and three shorter projects, although sometimes I’ll change up the balance, fewer big projects and more small ones. If you can do more, GREAT! I always have a tendency to bite off more than I can chew, so I’m constantly coming back to my list and moving things to the next year. It kinda sucks.

Step 3: break it down
(dance break optional)

For each project that made it to your short list, break it down into its smaller project phases: drafting, revising, editing, querying/publishing. Each of these phases gets its own post-it or index card. These are the pieces that we want to be repositionable. It’s useful to write down how long you anticipate this phase taking (be generous, super super generous in giving yourself time for this!) It’s also helpful to color code these. I prefer to color code by project, with all my cards for one project the same color, but it might also work to color code them by phase. My pictures here aren’t color coded. Sad. One more tip here: you could also number them so you don’t forget you need to write a project before you edit it.

I feel like I work best in blocks: editing a whole project for a month or even two. You might work best changing your focus project every week. If that’s the case, you might want a card for each week of a project—for example, four drafting cards if you’ll spend four weeks drafting, six revision cards if you’ll spend six weeks revising, etc.


This year did not go the way I thought.

Step 4: make the calendar

On another piece of paper or surface, lay out the calendar. I’ve done this week by week for a year in a spreadsheet, or month by month on paper—in my bullet journal/planner, so it’s all ready. Once you’ve laid out the calendar, mark off any chunks of time you know you won’t be writing (much): vacations, conferences, events, work or family obligations. I don’t bother with the occasional day off here. Also add in any firm deadlines here. I like to put NaNoWriMo on my calendar.

The less you know about these big pieces of your schedule, the more leeway you’ll need in planning, of course.

Step 5: IT BEGINS AT THE END (with deadlines)

Now you can put your cards on your calendar! I start with the firm deadlines I’ve already written in and work backwards from there. If it’s a publishing date, when do I need to have the book to my editor to get it back in time for formatting? I need to be done with my edits by then, so I stick that post-it/card before that date, with time for betas in between (you can also have a card or post-it for sending a work to betas). Same with revisions—I give a window for beta readers and then place revisions before that. Be mindful of the events you’ve put in your schedule, of course.

Step 6: passion projects start at the beginning

Once my deadline project phases are all in position, my calendar is scary full, I prioritize my other projects. What do I want to work on the most? How long will the next phase of that project take? Where do I have time for that on my calendar? Here’s another spot where we want to make sure we keep the phases in order!

If you don’t have time for a given phase, can you move things around to make time for that? I try to move things earlier rather than make more pressure later. For example, maybe I have a month of revision on a deadline project and I stuck it in March, with betas in April and editing in May. I want to work on a project I love, but I need two months for its phase. I can move up revision on the deadline project into February, if there’s space, so I get two consecutive months to work on my “passion project.” Or I can break up that task.

Step 7: evaluate

Now comes the hard part: ask yourself if this is really a realistic amount for you to do in a given week or month. If it’s too much to manage in a month, you have too much to manage in a single year. So do I. This is another time to reprioritize.

In this step, I also look at whether I’m changing up tasks enough—four months in a row of a grueling level of editing, even if I’m changing projects, is a recipe for burnout. I try to change things up between drafting, revising and editing.

Also here, I make sure I’ve got either a phase or a project I really love as often as possible. Sometimes revision or editing can wear me down while drafting tends to fill me up in a different way, so I try to schedule drafting a couple times throughout the year. But that tends to pile up my editing projects, so if I can’t draft, I make sure I’m working on a passion project frequently.

Keep in mind that—unless you’re under contract—it’s okay to move projects off your calendar. When I was planning this year, I originally had six publication dates scheduled. I realized it would be impossible for me to work on my pet passion project if I ran to that schedule, so I pushed one of those books back a year. It hurt on some level, but I knew if I tried to keep up with my original schedule, I’d end up burned out or fall impossibly far behind, or both.

Step 8: record

Once you’ve got a reasonable calendar laid out, write it down. I did this with post-its for this year, so I took a picture, then peeled them off the months one at a time and wrote the text down. Now my year plan is safe in my planner (and on my phone).

You have a master writing plan!

Now what?

Once you’ve laid out your plan on this macro level, you can drill down to a “micro” level. After finishing my year plan this year, I immediately jumped into my January plan back at step 1. I took my list of things for the month from my master plan and “exploded” them into individual tasks. For example, if the project phase is drafting, you might explode that into three days of prewriting, and then X of words per day. If you’re revising, you might spend three days working on issue A, five days working on issue B, four days in a general readthrough, two days entering your notes, and a day (or a minute) sending it to betas. I made a list of these and any other tasks I might need to do this month for my business. Then I wrote them on post-its (still not color coded) and made up a 4×6 grid (four weeks, six days—on the seventh day, I rest). I worked backward from a deadline, then put other tasks into the gaps. I evaluated the plan, shuffled a couple things, then wrote it down (putting dates by the tasks in the original list). Voilà! My master plan has translated into a day-by-day goal list.


Various planner pages. Mostly showing off my new stamps…

But, like I said before, this article wasn’t on that list. So . . . I’d better get to work!

Are you sabotaging your muse?

I think all writers—all creative people—sometimes struggle with self-doubt. If we don’t defeat the latest bout in a reasonable amount of time, learning and growing and improving or just becoming more confident, sometimes we really start to believe that doubt and buy into its lies. The longer we buy into the lies, the harder it becomes to be creative.

Sound like a vicious cycle? Um, yep.

My husband came across this video and was telling me about it today. As he described it, I immediately likened the story and the moral to the challenge of self-doubt. More on that after the video.

We start off “riding the writing bicycle.” We struggle at first but soon we’re able to write reasonably well. (Granted, the learning curve for writing really well is probably longer than that of learning to ride a bike well. Or maybe it would be more accurate to compare writing for publication to training for Olympic cycling or something. Let’s not push the metaphor, okay?)

But then we turn our creative world backwards. Maybe a bad review or critique sets us off. Maybe we’re disappointed with how we’ve executed a scene. Maybe we get hate mail. Maybe we struggle with our next project. And instead of bouncing back, we buy into this cycle. Everything you know is wrong, backward, unhelpful. You used to be able to do this very simple task and now every step is a stumble. In fact, maybe what you thought was good was actually bad and stupid and so are you.

(Stop talking to yourself like that, okay? Also, stop leaving yourself hate notes in your first drafts about how much it needs revision. It’s a first draft. Of course it needs revision.)

Eventually, we buy into this negative self-talk so much that it becomes our default. We’re riding the backwards bike. And it hurts and feels foreign and everything we know is wrong, so we stop trying to write ride like we used to. The lies we’ve been telling ourselves begin to feel that much more true. We can’t write. We didn’t know what we were doing. We suck.

But because we’re creative people, the desire doesn’t go away—not yet, at least. That flash of inspiration strikes and we have to write.

And it’s hard. And it hurts. And it feels foreign.

This is the moment of truth. We can stay in this rut of self-hate and denigration, or we can keep. Trying.

It’s still hard. It still hurts. It still feels foreign. But as we persevere, there will come a moment when suddenly it clicks back into place—our muse, our skills, our efforts. It’s not as easy as it once was, not at first, but finally we’re moving forward again.

And it feels good again.

So if you’re riding the backwards bicycle right now, stop. If you’re hopping back on the forwards bike, don’t give up yet. And if you haven’t hit the backwards bicycle yet, push through those self-doubts, because they. Are. Lies.

You’re good enough. You’re smart enough. And gosh darn it, people like you. And your books.

Keep riding writing.

Good luck.

Becoming a better writer: find a critique group

I know, it’s easier said than done, but truly, one of the best things you can do to improve your writing is to create or join a critique group. Having a network of writing friends helps to keep you sane, but more than that, a good critique group gives you hands-on help that no writing conference or craft book can touch.

Finding critique partners

This is truly the hard part. There are often critique partner matches going on ad hoc in the comments of popular blog posts, but you can also look to the forums of sites like Absolute Write and (I believe) CPseek.

Writers conferences can be another great place to meet potential critique partners. My critique group formed at a (kinda awkward) writers’ meeting. Another plus: we live close enough to meet in-person!

Poet and photographe, version toile

Finding GOOD critique partners

Just finding other writers isn’t the tricky part. You critique partners don’t have to write in the same genre, but you should at least be familiar with the conventions of one another’s genres. More than that, however, effective critique partners understand the mechanics of storytelling, characterization, and good writing. It can be very difficult to balance widely divergent skill levels, but this can be a personal preference.

For an effective critique group, you’ll probably need three to seven or so members. More than that and it gets unwieldy; less, and you’re only getting one additional set of eyes. Also important—although this can take a little time—you have to be able to talk freely and trust one another’s feedback. Critique partners should also know how to give useful, helpful feedback without tearing you down. Even the best advice in the world isn’t helpful if it cripples your ability to write.

Scheduling

At the officeFor a longstanding critique group, as Josi S. Kilpack says, a set meeting schedule really helps to keep your group from petering out, especially if your group is online only. My critique group usually meets in-person twice a month, but during busy times we’ve met via Skype or just sent feedback in Word docs.

Format

Typically, a critique group has each member submit one chapter per meeting, then all chapters are read and discussed in a roundtable manner. But that’s not the only workable format for a critique group.

In my critique group, for example, we have one person submit their entire novel, a quarter at a time. We typically look at higher level problems of plot, pacing, character arc and characterization. It’s hard to dig too deep into word-level issues, but more than that, when we read the novel this quickly and in these large chunks, we’re able to see these high-level gaps more easily than if we’d read the first chapter six months ago, with six others’ chapters.

When is my book ready for a critique group?

This may also depend on how your critique group works. Some people use critique groups for a final polish, others bring rough ideas or outlines to work on the basic direction of the story.

I use my critique group as my first or second round of readers. If they’re my second round, my first round gets my book as soon as I’ve smoothed out the gaps I left in the first draft, just to see if the story works overall. Then my critique group breaks it down by quarters, focusing more on the storytelling particulars.

Another plus of this: because some of the changes we have to make are large, no one has wasted too much time nitpicking text that might change or be cut altogether.

After I go back through and make the changes from critique notes and work on the copy editing, if I’ve made big changes, my group will (kindly) take another look, either before or after a round of beta readers. Then it goes off to my editor!

What do you think? How does your critique group work? How did you find your critique partners?

Photo credits: Poet and photographe, version toile—Julie Kertesz; At the office—C/N N/G

The accidental novel

This entry is part 13 of 13 in the series All my novels

Did you ever accidentally write a novel? Just me?

So I, Spy starts off with Talia already dating her boyfriend Danny. When I started writing prequel novellas, I really felt like I would have to tell the story of how they got together. Also, just for the characters’ general backstory, I wanted to know how it all played out. And to get a better feel for Danny before I, Spy came out, I started writing the story of how they started dating from his POV.

This would come back to bite me.

My research trip:

The book stats

Title: True Spy? Subject to change Spy by Night
Genre: Romantic suspense
Inspiration: figuring out the backstory and rounding out a trilogy
Writing dates: November 2013 – June 2014, with a few scenes written in fall 2012. Editing in progress through November 2014. Published November 2014.
Length: First draft: ~62,000 words. Published form: 84,000 words
Elevator pitch: CIA operative Talia Reynolds does not do romance. With her job—and her life—it’s just too many secrets. But can she let down her guard to let in a friend who needs her without losing her heart? (Check out how the published novel is described here!)

What I learned from writing this book

I’m still in the process of learning from this book!

I really need to fix the big picture problems before I start working on the scene-level problems. I stopped doing this in previous two books and it made prepping them for my critique group so much harder. This time around (so far!), I’ve two fast rounds to get those bigger problems that I’d found in the course of drafting, then to get more into the nitty-gritty of the text (instead of tackling both at once). Oh my goodness it’s so much easier!

Okay, but the real question here is . . . HOW DO YOU ACCIDENTALLY WRITE A NOVEL??? I know. I’m crazy.

After stewing over this story for nearly two years, I had a lot of details about how the plot would go. I knew all the fun twists, all the cool stuff, a lot of the characters’ arcs (well, as much as you know in the first draft!). But at the same time, I wanted to keep this to a novella. My other novellas were about 20,000 words, so this one could be 30,000, I decided. Then I could have them all printed together in a single volume, about the same printing cost as my other books, or a little cheaper (since they’d probably have to be priced a little lower).

Spaghetti....Oops!

You ever have a perfect plan? Yeah, me neither.

So first, my ideas for the opening spy scene fell into place—but I was trying to write Tomorrow We Spy. That scene wouldn’t leave me alone, so I wrote it just to get it out of my head. I actually thought I’d have to switch to do the novella for Nano, but once I got that scene out, I was ready to go back to TWS.

That initial scene waited until early this year when I could get back to it. I finished the scene and added two more, then came to the scene where Danny and Talia actually meet. I started writing it from Talia’s POV but it just wasn’t . . . cute. And the first meeting is supposed to be cute!

I’d already written the scene from Danny’s POV, and I was using that as a guide, but the more I looked at it, the sadder I was to lose his thoughts here. I turned to a trusted, insightful friend and showed her both versions of the scene.

She liked Danny’s better. And she was right: his voice added a new dimension to Talia’s story (and she’s already gotten 3 novels of her own!). But this made things even more complicated. I only had about 7000 words in his story, but I was projecting it at around 30,000 as well. I’d have to be careful to give his character arc enough attention and screen time, and somehow balance it with Talia’s more exciting external plot.

And how did it go? Well, it’s still a work-in-progress, but I think I can do it (with help from my amazing CPs of course!).

whooshingSo I decided to let the story take its course. 30,000 words came and went. (Whoosh it said as it went by.) But I knew I could keep it less than 50,000. Right? Nope. Whoosh. 60,000? Whoosh. I finally finished a little over 62,000 words—and I kept telling myself I could get it under 50,000. Except that I add 20-30% in revisions, and I knew some of the scenes I’d need to add. So….

Finally, I had to admit it. My rebellious novella (rebelliovella?) wasn’t a novella at all. It was a novel. And that was okay—except that I didn’t have time to edit another novel in my production schedule, and I didn’t want the prequel that started it all to be the last installment released. I want the end of the series to “have the last word.”

So what will I do? I don’t know! I’m dancing as fast as I can! But I hope to have some decisions/announcements next month!

UPDATE: Spy by Night is available now! (I ended up delaying TWS to put Spy by Night out first, but only just.)

Did you ever accidentally write a novel?

Oops photo by Neal Fowler via Flickr/CC

Finishing the series

This entry is part 12 of 13 in the series All my novels

When I first started writing I, Spy, it was supposed to be a standalone. I never envisioned it as part of a series. But by the time I made it to critique group, I had ideas for two sequels: one where Talia faced off with an bad ex within the Agency (Spy for a Spy) and one where Talia and Danny had to work together.

Spy for a Spy was a difficult book—and I’d had a baby in the middle of writing it. Between writing struggles and the demands of motherhood, tackling another book in the series was a bit daunting. Combine that with taking time off NaNoWriMo to launch Spy for a Spy and run a big promotion, and I was worried.

However, I did have some positives coming into this: I’d just drafted Spy Noon just a few weeks before, and it was so much fun to write! I was hoping to be able to replicate that experience.

SAMSUNG
My plotting brain dump. It’s actually still hanging there.

Once I had Spy for a Spy launched, however, I was ready to buckle down and write—with just over half of November left. Amazingly, I pulled it out to get 50,000 words by the end of the month. I was a little burned out, so it took me a few weeks to come back to it and finish in December, but at least it was done.

Huh. I just realized this will be my first (of three) Nano novels to be published. Cool!

The book stats

Title: Tomorrow We Spy
Genre: Romantic suspense
Inspiration: another dream
Writing dates: November – December 2013. Editing through July 2014. Published November 2014.
Length: First draft: ~70,000 words. Currently sitting at: 84,000 words
Elevator pitch: CIA operative Talia Reynolds is off the clock, off the continent and off on her honeymoon—but when the Agency calls her new husband in for a special mission, there’s a lot more at stake than the stolen plans for the spy drone he designed. (See the full description & read the first chapter here!)

What I learned from writing this book

While I didn’t recapture the pure fun of Spy Noon, this book wasn’t quite as challenging as Spy for a Spy. For one, the writing process didn’t drag out as much. But for another, I’d learned that I can fix even a very broken, off-track novel, so I had the confidence I could fix this one..

FinishNow, with the novel getting close to “finished,” I’ve forgotten how dreck-y it felt at first. But back in January, after I finished writing it, I described it as a “less-than-perfect-and-perhaps-not-quite-coherent manuscript, where the character arc wasn’t where I needed it to be and . . . maybe the entire main plot is sketchy at best and completely missing at worst.”

And, as I’d anticipated, my critique partners helped me whip those character arcs into shape—not the shape I’d anticipated at first, but the right one, and helped me develop better motivations for my characters’ actions, and put in a missing save-the-cat moment. I still have some perfecting to do, but I’m really excited about how it’s turned out so far!

Another really important lesson from this book: as I did my gesture crutches and deep edit, they weren’t easy (they never are)—but they weren’t as hard as with my first book in the series. Part of me worried that I’d lost my edge. While it’s important not to go too easy on yourself, I think another thing to keep in mind is that the more we edit focusing on a particular technique, the more we internalize those techniques, and the more we can (and do!) use them on a first draft. So editing probably does get easier over time, not because we’re getting worse at editing, but because we’re getting better at writing!

Editing is always necessary, but it’s nice to know you can still improve!

What do you think? What editing techniques have you seen popping up in first drafts (or at least earlier drafts than that used to)?

Photo credit: finish line by Philo Nordlund

Indie publishing one year in

Sometimes, “independence” = “freedom”

Tomorrow will be my book’s first birthday (of course, I uploaded it a few days in advance, and the print version a month in advance for proofs, but I still consider June 5 the “birthday”). When I announced my first novel last year, I wrote about how I feel about indie publishing. Most of what I said there is still true, except that I’m no longer sure I’m interested in working with a trade publisher, and I’ve shifted in my approach to indie publishing (more on that in a minute).

somerville independence day fireworks

The results

This blog isn’t really about my self-publishing journey, but I love seeing hard data out there. So here’s how the first year of indie publishing has gone for those first two books:

  • I’ve sold nearly 1700 copies of I, Spy
  • I’ve given away over 5000 copies of Mr. Nice Spy (so many that I really stopped keeping track).
  • I’ve published four more books—one more novella, one more novel, and two nonfiction books. I haven’t advertised these hardly at all, and they’ve done fairly well considering.

By far, the most successful times I’ve had have been when I ran ads at Bookbub and Ereader News Today—but there have also been random peaks at full price, selling 50 or 100 copies in a day. I originally wrote a novella as a “freebie” to generate interest in the novels (and as a little lagniappe for people who’ve read the novels, if they don’t mind spoilers). The freebie has done well, obviously, spending over six months on the free best”sellers” lists, but I can’t really see a correlation between “sales” of that book and sales of my later books, so it doesn’t seem to have worked in that sense.

A less measurable result has been the response. I’ve had some really great, encouraging feedback (and a few less so; I’ve stopped reading reviews, so I don’t really keep up on them anymore). Having both of my novels named among the five Whitney finalists was a big honor, a daydream possibility that might have idly wandered through my mind once. I did not expect to win, and I didn’t, but that honor has lead to some other positives—I believe it’s helped my print sales through my distributor (though we’ll have to see how returns pan out), and it got me reviews through a local newspaper, even being featured in the print edition.

But in the end, it always comes back to what I knew even before I started publishing: I write because I love it. If I don’t love it, I’ve learned, I need to stop writing for a while. You know, aside from the drudgery of nitty-gritty line edits.

The feels

Oh the feels. As with all publishing, I don’t think anyone’s truly prepared for the emotional roller coaster. One day you’re up because you got a great review or sold another book; the next you’re down because of a bad review or stinking writer envy.

(Stinking writer envy.)

R1-29

Self-publishing has the notable drawback of not having a team of people who’ve at least endorsed your book as good. Though maybe not. It seems sometimes that benefit has probably already had its effect by the time most trade published books hit the shelves. Sales—generally within the first few weeks—are still regarded as the true measure of a book’s worth to a publisher. Sometimes, I fall into that same mentality, like my book’s (virtual) shelflife is over and I failed.

But I haven’t failed. I’ve got nothing but time, and my book isn’t going away unless I decide to kill it. Time is on my side, because every sale for the rest of forever “counts.” Toward, you know, nothing. My wallet. Whatever I want.

But again, the drawbacks and benefits aren’t all so easy to measure as dollar signs. Several times a week, I am either directly or indirectly informed of how bad self-published books are. When I’ve worked on (and paid for) the best book and most professional presentation possible, it hurts to be told that because of the route I chose to take to share my work, my book is automatically bad. Cue that emotional roller coaster.

The future: would I trade publish?

On the other hand, almost as frequently, I am either directly or indirectly informed of something a trade publisher has done that makes me so, so, so glad to not have gone that route. Anything from silly, careless mistakes to blatant disregard for their authors to hearing a trade published author worry about finding a home for their next work reminds me that I never, ever, ever have to do that. (Happy dance.)

The silly mistakes and mistreatment aren’t the biggest reason I’m glad to be indie—and that reason hasn’t changed over the last year. I still retain full control and full rights to my work. I make my editorial decisions, right or wrong. I pick my covers and my designer. I haven’t assigned my copyright to anyone for the next thirty-five minutes, let alone thirty-five years. I don’t need anyone else’s approval or authorization to share my work.

Unfortunately, over the last year, I’ve lost what little faith I once had in trade publishers. Last year, I felt like I was releasing a niche book and hoped to connect with my niche audience. A year later, I honestly feel like I dodged a bullet in not accepting an offer from a publisher (extended waaay back in 2011; more on that another time). I’ve really refined how I see that niche (not quite the one I thought I was releasing to, but pretty close).

More than that, though, I’ve realized that I regard publishing not only from the viewpoint of a businessperson and a writer, but as an artisan.

To borrow an example from another craft, I knit. I love it. A few of the things I’m most proud of are gifts for my family, and when I’m knitting for them, I almost always take the time and the care to undo mistakes, to make things the right way, to get all my decreases leaning the right direction (which is hard because I knit sort of “backwards”). I’m pretty proud of the results:



(Hang on. Have to take a minute to marvel at how much those baby girls have grown up: the one on pink will be 6 next month, the one on purple will be 4 tomorrow and the one on yellow is 1. Man.) (My husband and son are pictured from a couple weeks ago, so just the usual amount of marveling for them 😉 .)

We’ve all seen or heard horror stories of some awful ugly sweater knitted by someone’s apparently half-blind grandma. But does that mean all hand knit items are crap?

Of course not! Would anyone seriously argue that? No! People pay for the privilege of owning and wearing hand knit items. (As a reference, I made a lace shawl very like the above for a niece in December. The yarn cost <$10. I looked up how much people were selling that exact shawl for on Etsy: $100.)

I view my books much like I view these crafts (without the $100 price tag). I’ve taken the care and the time (and the capital) to handcraft the best books I can. People will always deride the acrylic abominations of visually-and-sartorially-challenged (but well meaning!) grannies, but that doesn’t mean that everything hand made is garbage. And people will always deride the unedited drafts that some people throw on Amazon, but that doesn’t mean I should give up or feel like my stuff is garbage because I truly, lovingly crafted each scene and didn’t wait for someone else’s endorsement/permission to share it.

I still struggle for approval, even from myself, but in the end, I realize more and more, I do this for myself. I’m a perfectionist, and I would hand craft these books with care even if no one read them. Getting paid a little bit to share my writing is a privilege. And as I’m only a year in, I hope that privilege will continue to increase with time.

What do you think? How has your opinion of indie publishing changed over the last year?

Photo credits: Fireworks—Matt; masks—MFer Photography; both via Flickr/CC
Knitting photos by me

Falling in love (with your story) again

Last days to enter the review contest!!

It’s no secret I’ve been flirting with burnout. I’m halfway through the very first revision (i.e. the major work of fixing the story problems, and the frustration of not always knowing how to do that and still working in a vacuum).

But I know what I most need to do: I need to fall in love with my story again.

Here are some ideas I’ve had to help me:

  • Read awesome (and awful!) books in your genre—but not too similar to your story.
  • Reread your favorite parts of your story, the “candy bar scenes” you waited and waited and waited to attack (or attacked first).
  • Make sure you’re not “renovating a condemned novel
  • Rethink your story structure. These things that you think are written in stone—are they really? Do they have to happen this way? Is there a way that’s better for your story, your readers, your genre?
  • Read craft books directly related to the problem areas
  • Take a break and explore other creative outlets—or even menial tasks!
  • Remember your original inspiration. What made you devote months of your life to this in the first place?
  • Write something short and fun, or challenging. See how good it feels to finish something? Don’t you want to feel that way about your novel??

What do you think? How do you fall in love all over again with your story?

Photo by A Klar

Originally posted May 2011

Avoiding burnout

So I set a goal to finish my revisions by May 25th.

Ha. Hahaaha. HA!

I set the goal because I was having a hard time getting motivated. But in this case, a deadline just made my problem worse. I wasn’t having a hard time focusing and working because I was lazy or distracted. I was shirking because I was on the verge of burning out.

Burnout, for me, happens when I push myself too hard just for the sake of being done. I find myself completely blocked. If I do may any progress at all, it’s just throwing something on the page so I can move on and be done with it, often not really improving the problems (or simply noting them and moving on).

I can work quickly, especially when I’m really excited about a story. But if I’m not excited about the story at the moment (or just overwhelmed by it), I need to allow myself to slow down. So I am. I might flirt with a story I shouldn’t be writing if something strikes me. I might just work on my crafts or play the piano, or explore another creative outlet.

How do you avoid burnout?

Photo by Patricia Espedal

Originally posted May 2011