Writing a book is hard. I know that. You know that. You have to know your characters better than you know yourself. You have to have a deep understanding of a fictional world that doesn't exist. You have the make the plot run smoothly, with limited holes, all while finding the right words to do it. It's not easy.
But hey, I never signed up for easy.
One of the biggest problems I have is with actually finishing something. A common trend with me is that I'll spend a couple of months on one story, then get distracted by some shiny object and abandon it indefinitely.
That shiny object is usually a new story idea.
Don't you just hate that? When your love and excitement for a current story fades, and as you're struggling to pull some minuscule amount of joy from it, something sparks. It's not a spark inspired by your current WIP, of course. That would just be too easy. No, this spark is something different, something fresh....something new.
I can't count how many times I've left a story to collect dust on my computer because my eye has been attracted to this New Idea. I've lost track of how many times this New Idea has been so GREAT, so WONDERFUL and BEAUTIFUL that it just can't wait a few more months, until I've finished what I've started.
I also can't count the amount of times this New Idea has, eventually, turned out like all of the rest: abandoned. Dismissed. Left behind with minimal chances of survival, while I pursue the new New Idea, which will most certainly be the one I finish, no doubt about it.
I know I'm not the only one who does this. (At least I certainly hope I'm not.)
Lately, I feel like I've gotten better at sticking to what I start, instead of ditching it in favour of something new. I've developed a new system, which acts as follows:
STEP 1: RECORD NEW IDEA
So you have a new idea. FANTASTIC! No no no, don't start writing it. Put the word document down and step away from the laptop! There's a better way to handle this!
Take out a notebook, your journal, your phone, whatever, and write this idea down. Write down as much info as you can come up with right now; names, plot points, whatever. Use up as much paper as you want, fill up as many lines as you can. Just don't start writing any scenes, and you'll be fine.
STEP 2: SAVE NEW IDEA FOR LATER
Now you have a shiny New Idea, in physical form, in the palms of your hands. Wonderful. Now put it away.
Set the notebook down, real easy now. That's it! Store it somewhere that you'll be able to find it later. Put a post-it note or a bookmark on the page. Type it in a document and save it in a folder on your computer. Whatever works best for you--just stuff it somewhere. Out of sight, out of mind.
STEP 3: FINISH YOUR CURRENT WIP
It doesn't even have to be polished and edited. I'm not picky. Just finish the current draft. You can do it.
STEP 4: RETRIEVE NEW IDEA
So your old WIP is finished (to an extent). Lovely! Good for you! I'm proud.
Now, if you like, you can go back to your New Idea. Go on--you've earned it! Work on it for as long as you want.
I've fallen into a bit of a pattern with this. Once I finish a draft of a WIP, I switch over to a new (or old) project. Then, once I've finished a draft there, I switch back again. I feel like this keeps me from getting too sick and tired of one story--not to mention it gives me the break I need to look at my writing (somewhat) objectively.
(Saving up a bunch of ideas over time also comes in handy around November, when I need an idea to use for NaNoWriMo. The only issues I ever have then is which idea to pick from.)\
Does this system work for you, or do you have a different way of handling the dreaded New Idea? Let me know in the comments below!
Until later,
- Justyne
Friday, May 30, 2014
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Back to the Start (Part II)
The following is a continuation of last week's post. If you missed it, you can go back and read it here.
It all started with Sailor Moon.
No, that was not a joke. It will not be followed with some snide, sarcastic remark, or a sentence that provides much better context to it. As silly as it may seem--and I am very much aware that it sounds extremely silly--it did all start with Sailor Moon.
To say I was a huge fan was...well, a bit of an understatement. I watched it religiously, every day--even if it meant waking up at six in the morning. When it was cancelled, I cried my poor little eight-year-old eyes out. I borrowed the two VHS tapes that the local library owned continuously, watching them constantly until they simply wouldn't work anymore.
When I was around nine years old, I got a tiny little locket for Christmas. Lord only knows where it is now, but at the time, the very first thing that went through my mind was the locket that Sailor Moon had used (that's what they had called it in the English version, anyway) to transform. With this locket, I could be a Sailor Scout, too.
I was nine when I wrote my first real story. It was a story about a group of girls, who used magical lockets to transform into superheroes. Sound familiar?
For me, that story was more than just a story. Just like that show became more than just a show. It was a way for me to be something more--more than just an ordinary girl. That stupid little story, the one I wrote all those years ago, that was my way of being a Sailor Scout. That was my way of saving the world. I often complain about how badly written my first writing attempt was, but really?
That story is my favourite.
Back then, there were no dreams of publication. There were no terribly unrealistic fantasies of becoming rich and famous through writing. (Well, not at first, anyway. Trust me, those came quickly.) There was only me, and the daydreams I spent saving the world. It was the first time, the very first time, that I was excited to write, and live in a fictional world all my own.
That is what I need to be looking for. Not stories that will make me money, but stories that make me excited. Excited to write, to feel, to live. One of my favourite quotes is from Neil Gaiman, who said, "I decided that I'd do my best in the future not to write books just for the money. If you didn't get the money, then you didn't have anything. And if I did work I was proud of, and I didn't get the money, at least I'd have the work."
I heard that quote a couple of years ago, in a video I stumbled upon while browsing the web. I've carried it with me ever since.
I'm not saying that I shouldn't aim for publication. And I'm definitely not saying that I'm going to stop aiming for it anytime soon, either. I will not rest until I can walk into just about any Chapters or Indigo bookstore in the country and see my book--my story--sitting on the shelf.
What I'm trying to say is that, for a moment, I forgot why I started. I forgot how wonderful it felt to be truly, genuinely excited about writing; to not worry about whether it was good, or whether people would like it, or how much money it would make.
To write for the thrill;
To write myself into the person I always wanted to be;
To write for the sake of writing;
That is my goal.
Until later,
- Justyne
It all started with Sailor Moon.
No, that was not a joke. It will not be followed with some snide, sarcastic remark, or a sentence that provides much better context to it. As silly as it may seem--and I am very much aware that it sounds extremely silly--it did all start with Sailor Moon.
To say I was a huge fan was...well, a bit of an understatement. I watched it religiously, every day--even if it meant waking up at six in the morning. When it was cancelled, I cried my poor little eight-year-old eyes out. I borrowed the two VHS tapes that the local library owned continuously, watching them constantly until they simply wouldn't work anymore.
When I was around nine years old, I got a tiny little locket for Christmas. Lord only knows where it is now, but at the time, the very first thing that went through my mind was the locket that Sailor Moon had used (that's what they had called it in the English version, anyway) to transform. With this locket, I could be a Sailor Scout, too.
I was nine when I wrote my first real story. It was a story about a group of girls, who used magical lockets to transform into superheroes. Sound familiar?
For me, that story was more than just a story. Just like that show became more than just a show. It was a way for me to be something more--more than just an ordinary girl. That stupid little story, the one I wrote all those years ago, that was my way of being a Sailor Scout. That was my way of saving the world. I often complain about how badly written my first writing attempt was, but really?
That story is my favourite.
Back then, there were no dreams of publication. There were no terribly unrealistic fantasies of becoming rich and famous through writing. (Well, not at first, anyway. Trust me, those came quickly.) There was only me, and the daydreams I spent saving the world. It was the first time, the very first time, that I was excited to write, and live in a fictional world all my own.
That is what I need to be looking for. Not stories that will make me money, but stories that make me excited. Excited to write, to feel, to live. One of my favourite quotes is from Neil Gaiman, who said, "I decided that I'd do my best in the future not to write books just for the money. If you didn't get the money, then you didn't have anything. And if I did work I was proud of, and I didn't get the money, at least I'd have the work."
I heard that quote a couple of years ago, in a video I stumbled upon while browsing the web. I've carried it with me ever since.
I'm not saying that I shouldn't aim for publication. And I'm definitely not saying that I'm going to stop aiming for it anytime soon, either. I will not rest until I can walk into just about any Chapters or Indigo bookstore in the country and see my book--my story--sitting on the shelf.
What I'm trying to say is that, for a moment, I forgot why I started. I forgot how wonderful it felt to be truly, genuinely excited about writing; to not worry about whether it was good, or whether people would like it, or how much money it would make.
To write for the thrill;
To write myself into the person I always wanted to be;
To write for the sake of writing;
That is my goal.
Until later,
- Justyne
Friday, May 9, 2014
Back to the Start (Part I)
It's no secret that I want to make a living off of my writing. Being able to focus whatever hour of the day on my creative projects, without having to schedule around a day job, would be absolutely incredible. It's my ultimate goal of where I want to end up.
I think there's a risk associated, though, with striving to achieve such a thing. Generally, people don't begin creative hobbies for the money--we're attracted to them because we love to create new things, be them stories or paintings or movies or whatever. It's what makes us happy, and that's wonderful. And there's nothing wrong with wanting to make money off of something that makes you happy.
The thing is, though, there is a fine line between writing for yourself and writing for money. And it's very easy to cross it. I would know; I crossed that line, myself. And I didn't even realize it.
I suffered a bit of a slump during April. Or maybe that's just what I've been telling myself, to feel better about having come so close to my goal for Camp NaNoWriMo. Either way, I was stressing. When I returned home from PEI a year ago, I promised myself two things:
1) I would move out by my 20th birthday, and
2) During this time at home, I would finish a manuscript. Written, revised, edited--everything. Done. Completed. Fini. Simple, right?
Not so much.
Despite the constant planning with my friends--and the constant discussions at work--the whole moving thing seemed a million years away. It wasn't until a few months ago, probably around March, that I realized it was only five months away. Five months.
And suddenly, life was moving too fast. Weeks were racing by at break-neck speed, days were soaring out the window as though they were nothing, and I was left in a frazzled, stressed, panicked state. It was like my final year of high school all over again--a day was coming, and once that day arrived, my life would change forever.
I am excited to move out, I really am. I'm excited to be independent and on my own and just to have a fresh start in a (semi) new place.
But I'm also terrified.
And, among all of this chaos, there was my writing. Projects that I had anticipated to be well on their way to completion were left at an eerie pause halfway through the first draft. Suddenly, my goal to have a manuscript finished and polished didn't seem so plausible anymore. It wasn't just discouraging--it was downright frightening. This, the very reason I had left university in the first place, wasn't even going the way it was supposed to. If I couldn't handle this now--living with my parents, with only a part-time job and minimal bills to worry about--how could I possibly hope to handle it in the months to come, with bills galore and a full-time job and other independent, adult things to worry about?
I wasn't sure if I could do it. So, my mind turned to the prospect of money.
The goal was no longer to have a polished manuscript--no, it was to have a manuscript ready to sell and several ebooks on the Kindle market, to help the flow of money. If I start making money, I assumed, then I couldn't consider the past year a failure.
No. Just....no.
It dawned on me, halfway through April, just what I was doing. I wasn't writing for myself anymore--I wasn't focusing on the stories I loved more than anything, on the things that actually made me excited to sit down at my desk. I was just writing for the sake of being published, for making money.
I write for the story. I write because there's a message I want to share, characters I want to introduce, a whole world that I want to make known. I write because I have a story to tell, and only I can tell it.
But honestly? That's not why I started.
To be continued next week!
Until later,
- Justyne
I think there's a risk associated, though, with striving to achieve such a thing. Generally, people don't begin creative hobbies for the money--we're attracted to them because we love to create new things, be them stories or paintings or movies or whatever. It's what makes us happy, and that's wonderful. And there's nothing wrong with wanting to make money off of something that makes you happy.
The thing is, though, there is a fine line between writing for yourself and writing for money. And it's very easy to cross it. I would know; I crossed that line, myself. And I didn't even realize it.
I suffered a bit of a slump during April. Or maybe that's just what I've been telling myself, to feel better about having come so close to my goal for Camp NaNoWriMo. Either way, I was stressing. When I returned home from PEI a year ago, I promised myself two things:
1) I would move out by my 20th birthday, and
2) During this time at home, I would finish a manuscript. Written, revised, edited--everything. Done. Completed. Fini. Simple, right?
Not so much.
Despite the constant planning with my friends--and the constant discussions at work--the whole moving thing seemed a million years away. It wasn't until a few months ago, probably around March, that I realized it was only five months away. Five months.
And suddenly, life was moving too fast. Weeks were racing by at break-neck speed, days were soaring out the window as though they were nothing, and I was left in a frazzled, stressed, panicked state. It was like my final year of high school all over again--a day was coming, and once that day arrived, my life would change forever.
I am excited to move out, I really am. I'm excited to be independent and on my own and just to have a fresh start in a (semi) new place.
But I'm also terrified.
And, among all of this chaos, there was my writing. Projects that I had anticipated to be well on their way to completion were left at an eerie pause halfway through the first draft. Suddenly, my goal to have a manuscript finished and polished didn't seem so plausible anymore. It wasn't just discouraging--it was downright frightening. This, the very reason I had left university in the first place, wasn't even going the way it was supposed to. If I couldn't handle this now--living with my parents, with only a part-time job and minimal bills to worry about--how could I possibly hope to handle it in the months to come, with bills galore and a full-time job and other independent, adult things to worry about?
I wasn't sure if I could do it. So, my mind turned to the prospect of money.
The goal was no longer to have a polished manuscript--no, it was to have a manuscript ready to sell and several ebooks on the Kindle market, to help the flow of money. If I start making money, I assumed, then I couldn't consider the past year a failure.
No. Just....no.
It dawned on me, halfway through April, just what I was doing. I wasn't writing for myself anymore--I wasn't focusing on the stories I loved more than anything, on the things that actually made me excited to sit down at my desk. I was just writing for the sake of being published, for making money.
I write for the story. I write because there's a message I want to share, characters I want to introduce, a whole world that I want to make known. I write because I have a story to tell, and only I can tell it.
But honestly? That's not why I started.
To be continued next week!
Until later,
- Justyne
Friday, May 2, 2014
About Failure (and Giving Up)
Hello, everyone! I'm back, 100%.
First: Camp NaNoWriMo results. Unfortunately, I did not win; my goal was to write 27,000 words (over the course of 9 different short stories), and by the end of Wednesday I only had about 17,100 words (and 4 different short stories) finished.
Have you ever reached the point of a project--be it for school or work or anything else--where the harsh reality of the situation sinks in and it dawns on you that it is physically impossible to finish in time? It's a weird feeling; like a mix of disappointment, utter relief, and that weird sensation that you should be working frantically on something when you have nothing urgent to work on.
It's not giving up, per say. It's more like realizing that you only have four hours left to turn 10,000 unwritten words into five different short stories. It's realizing that, in order to finish on time, you would have to write 2,500 words every half hour--which means writing constantly, nonstop, for four hours and hoping that you finish slightly before midnight so you can validate your word count (and also praying that your hands don't fall off in the process). And this isn't even taking into consideration the fact that you haven't even begun to think of how the plots will work for two of your 5 remaining stories.
So yeah. Didn't give up. Simply just realized my inevitable failure and decided to play Sims for the final few hours, instead.
In all seriousness, though, I don't consider this a true failure. I accomplished quite a bit this month--I finished 4 different stories (3 of which I absolutely loved working on, by the way), and more words between them than I originally anticipated. Sure, I don't get to print off another fancy certificate to put on the wall beside my desk, but I am closer to the end of this project than I was this time last month.
Bright side, people. Always look on the bright side.
There was more I wanted to cover, this week, but after writing most of it down, I realized that it made the blog post stretch out a fair bit more than I wanted it to. So, I shall save it for next week.
Until later,
- Justyne
First: Camp NaNoWriMo results. Unfortunately, I did not win; my goal was to write 27,000 words (over the course of 9 different short stories), and by the end of Wednesday I only had about 17,100 words (and 4 different short stories) finished.
Have you ever reached the point of a project--be it for school or work or anything else--where the harsh reality of the situation sinks in and it dawns on you that it is physically impossible to finish in time? It's a weird feeling; like a mix of disappointment, utter relief, and that weird sensation that you should be working frantically on something when you have nothing urgent to work on.
It's not giving up, per say. It's more like realizing that you only have four hours left to turn 10,000 unwritten words into five different short stories. It's realizing that, in order to finish on time, you would have to write 2,500 words every half hour--which means writing constantly, nonstop, for four hours and hoping that you finish slightly before midnight so you can validate your word count (and also praying that your hands don't fall off in the process). And this isn't even taking into consideration the fact that you haven't even begun to think of how the plots will work for two of your 5 remaining stories.
So yeah. Didn't give up. Simply just realized my inevitable failure and decided to play Sims for the final few hours, instead.
In all seriousness, though, I don't consider this a true failure. I accomplished quite a bit this month--I finished 4 different stories (3 of which I absolutely loved working on, by the way), and more words between them than I originally anticipated. Sure, I don't get to print off another fancy certificate to put on the wall beside my desk, but I am closer to the end of this project than I was this time last month.
Bright side, people. Always look on the bright side.
There was more I wanted to cover, this week, but after writing most of it down, I realized that it made the blog post stretch out a fair bit more than I wanted it to. So, I shall save it for next week.
Until later,
- Justyne
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