Listening to Our Characters

Posted on by sereichert

Good morning dear readers and writers. First, may I offer a huge thank you for all the comments and encouragement I received from the last post. Writer’s know what it is to get bogged down in the process, and no one is better at pulling you up from that dark, dusting off the weight of the little failures that cling to your shoulders, and giving you a gentle but determined shove back up on the road. So thank you for your advice and encouraging words. They mean a lot.

Between that last blog and this one, I was lucky enough to take Todd Mitchell’s workshop on Creativity. I’d been to a few of his classes but this one seemed serendipitous. I knew I needed to start writing again, a novel. A big project to immerse myself in, and I have a beautiful trio sort of dangling between first draft and not quite done currently on my computer. I love the second book, and that’s obvious by how close to done it is. The third, similarly has pulled me in and I’m enjoying working through the rough patches. But the first. Ah…the first. Kind of the keystone in a series…well…it’s a piece of shit.

And it took me a while to really figure out why during rewrites last year. The main character had somehow taken on the dreaded Susie Sunshine persona (probably because the concept of her was born many years ago.) So, I put her through a character-lift (like a facelift but for imaginary people without faces yet). She got a spanking new name and I roughed up her edges. But nothing in the story seemed to make sense and it felt like trying to force an incorrect puzzle piece into a million different holes that did not fit. What in the hell was wrong with her? I knew what she needed to do and the plot and arc of the book was solid.

But I didn’t believe she was the woman to live it. And I was stuck.

And then Todd said something about struggling with a novel for years until he finally sat down and wrote a letter to his main character and asked him “What is it you want me to know? What’s your story? What am I not seeing?”

For the average human reading this post, I’ve just solidified in your head what absolute insanity writers possess. What do you mean you ask your characters? You created them. You know them. That’s your brain.

But the brain is a tricky place, silly non-writer. It’s vast, and expansive and it has a million rooms we’ve never even found the doors to, let alone explored. And sometimes, characters and answers lay behind those doors. And the only way to access them is to stop trying to force the answer. (I’m planning a post on Alpha State writing so hanging in for that one). Answers com only when we calm the hell down, and sit quietly outside the door, letting go of our ego and our need to tell the story, and just listen to their story.

Sounds crazy. Absolutely, bat-shit, bonkers.

And it totally works.

I put on a meditative playlist, took some deep breaths and focused on her name. Her new name. Her newly rough edges. And I sat, with my back to her door and took some deep breaths. I closed my eyes and started typing. And I didn’t question or stop, or allow myself to think of what she was saying. I just listened to her.

Here’s what it looked like:

Hey Dani,

Hey Sarah.

So, I’ve been struggling with you.

Yeah, I know.

I want to create you

You can’t create me. I just am.

So who are you?

Wrong question

What is it you want me to know? What am I missing about you?

I’m dark.

You began so light and perfect

That’s not how the world works. Not for babies abandoned, babies with parents like mine.

What does that mean? Who are you?

I am Danika Brennen. I was left at a fire station as a baby. An orphan.

Who left you there?

A pregnant vagabond, disowned. My mom

Who was she?

An member of the High Guard,

kicked out

Are you ***’s daughter?

No, I’m Loki’s.

holy shit.

Now, I’m not going to give everything away, but that last thing she said…that was an answer I didn’t know until I let her talk to me. And it’s an answer that I can write a book from. That will help me, help her navigate through this story…to a better place. To a life she deserves. As dark as she thinks she is.

It’s crazy right? But talk to any fiction writer and I guarantee they’ve had some kind of experience with their characters talking to them, to each other, offering unwanted suggestions or criticism along the way. And yes, they’re all in our heads. But I think as humans we underestimate the expansive reach of our brains and neural capacity.

I mean what if they’re not just our consciousness, what if they’re wavelengths in a much bigger plane of existence that we’ve only just started to understand. The wavelengths and dimensions that only open to us, When we listen.

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Edit Somber: Part II

Posted on by sereichert

Today, I’m rerunning a blog from a couple of years ago. It’s interesting that I’m yet again in the editing process…and oddly enough, it’s the same book. Only it’s not the same book. This book is much better. It has grown from a gangly little ugly duckling, into a less gangly, slightly less ugly, near-adult swan. Ok, that makes it seem like it hasn’t improved, which doesn’t say much for my first foray into editing it. But it has. This round of edits comes from an incredibly talented and experienced editor from the publisher the book was picked up by. So, it has progressed, and it goes to show, that every book can always be better.

But, after a few hours of starting the first round of collaborations, I realized that old habits concerning editing for writers, can be hard to break. While I know my bugaboos, and I’m infinitely better at accepting constructive advice and putting aside my writerly pride, than I once was, it can still feel daunting when faced with all of those track changes remarks. I’m here to remind you, in this process to don’t give in when it gets daunting. Don’t give in to pride, when what you’re being told makes sense. So, without further ado, here’s a little piece on editing.

EDIT SOMBER

Nope, that’s not a typo. You’ve all heard the adage (or if you’re a writer worth their Peter DeVries salt you have…)

“Write drunk, Edit sober.”

I’m not going to recommend you write drunk. You can… It’s totally possible, and more often than not, highly amusing the morning after. Unlike the headache you’ll be nursing.

DeVries’ meaning was simpler. Write with abandon, in love, fervent and without inhibition. Lower your boundaries and kiss the words you wouldn’t normally, dance with phrases you’d been afraid to hold in your arms. Grab the lampshade of crazy plot twist and wear that son-of-a-bitch as a hat while you twirl through the story.

But in the morning…edit like you’re highly regretful and aiming to pinpoint every mistake you’d made the night before so as to never repeat the debauchery again. Be remorseful. Be judgemental, and like the Spanish Inquisition, show no mercy.

I’m in, let’s say the twelfth round of editing on my WIP. A round that was inspired by a recent submission editor’s advice. This time I’m proceeding with a more somber attitude, one that knows I wrote it, in part, like a drunken idiot and now have dropped my ego enough to be receptive to the advice.

Never before have I been so close to getting a traditional publishing contract for one of my books. Part of this is due to a more polished product (it’s not my first rodeo…or book kids), a more general genre and subject (why do people shy away from paranormal romances and hot ghost sex?), and, I like to think, a cute, relatable plot that’s just enough dark to be interesting.

So, I’m buckling down and doing what I was told to help get this baby off the ground. I’m about thirty pages in and catching some of the ‘problems’ that were brought to my attention. But as I work, I have a concern:

How much of myself and my voice am I taking out of this thing to appeal to the personal likes/dislikes of one editor.

So we come back to somber. Serious. Earnest. Grave. Unsmiling.

Sometimes there are hoops we have to jump through to get to where we want to go. Sometimes we have to shelve our pride and ego and be willing to see past what we love about our work to what could be better.

How do we make sure it’s not just some dime-store novella like the fifty other ones on the shelf? How do I make sure, with all the dead darlings lying beside my computer, that its still my story?

I don’t know those answers exactly, but I’ll tell you what I do know.

I know my characters and the way they react to situations and each other. And where my grammatical prowess may be lacking, I will always stay loyal to them first. When the critique is centered on prepositions or wordy description, I can be earnest in cutting it clean. And not only will my story be stronger, it will be easier to read…hopefully to the point where hands don’t want to let go of it until they finish “just one more chapter”.

So my advice for this week is this:

Take good advice from people in the industry who know when it comes to the technical mishaps of your work. Take the advice to tighten your writing from people who have to spend hours of their lives sifting through the slushiest of slush piles.

But always keep true to the drunken passion of your story that made your heart dance and giggle while it awkwardly pulled that plot line in for a kiss. Keep your story’s heart, but don’t be afraid to pluck it’s wayward eyebrows and wipe its nose.

Good luck, in whatever step you are of your process. Editing, writing, or contemplation of either.

Happy writing, kids!

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Writer; Know Thyself

Posted on by sereichert

Today’s blog comes to you from a second-floor hotel room after a full and productive day of classes at the 2019 Northern Colorado Writers Conference. The second floor is also hosting the attendees of the Brewery Collectable Club of America, so this humble blogger has witnessed some interesting trade deals in the world of rare Colt 45 paraphernalia.

On to my point:

For every year I attend the NCW Conference, I add a layer to the writer in me. That is to say, through the people I meet, the classes I take, and the lectures I attend, I learn more about the craft. How, and when, and why, and what, and all the technical attributes that come along with the delicate balance of creativity and grammatical science. But more than just the sum of these limitless parts, I learn a greater whole.

 

The whole that is me as a writer.

 

And in doing so, I’ve learned how to enjoy myself more at these kinds of functions by listening to my body, my brain, and my growing years of experience.

 

Back in the day, I would be hand-cramping from the steady stream of notes at each session. I would be tumbling from one class to the next, chugging down coffee between in hopes to keep my energy up so I wouldn’t miss a thing. I would strategically place myself at the agent’s table who I wanted to garner the literary affections of. I would, in essence, be the adult version of my grade-school, brown-nosing self.

 

Then…Something happened last year, when I drug myself to the meet and greet “networking” event, long past my emotional and mental boundary and crossing all lines of my introvert nature, to garner the attention of at least a few more experts in the field, I stood on very shaky ground. I spilled my drink, I felt like crying,

 

I didn’t want to be there.

 

I hated that I hated being around other writers. Which seems a terrible thing to say, but bear with me.

 

I didn’t know I had a limit to writing.

 

I thought I could talk it all day, learn it all day, do it all day. I could go to class for days!!! Nerding on a pro-level is a quintessential part of who I am. I loved hearing about other projects much more than I like talking about my own and reveled in the creativity and ingenuity of my fellow conference goers.

 

But…the more stories I heard the more I questioned if I was doing enough. The less sure I became of my ability. The more tired I got, the more flustered I became, the wearier my mind, the less information I could process.

 

Until everything was just noise and words.

 

Then I learned a secret.

 

(come closer…closer…)

 

You don’t have to throw yourself under a bus to catch it.

 

Knowing your limits is not just useful in this particular scenario. Knowing your limits is useful for all humans in many aspects of our lives. It comes with age and the ability to let go of unrealistic expectations.

 

During a few of my sessions, even as I listened to the speaker, I listened to myself. If I was inspired to write; I let myself write. If \the iron was hot, I struck while in the moment, abandoning the mad scribble of notes for the mad scribble of thoughts.

Did I miss some parts of the presentations? Sure, but in the midst of other brilliant minds and the energy they impart, in the middle of shutting out the rest of the world, the heart and brain start to do this funny little dance and learn to play again.

Inspiration doesn’t always happen at the opportune times. You have to write when the words are ready and when the heart is open. And the presenters this year gave me more than a notebook full of query-letter tips or copy-editing tricks. They gave my heart a doorway, an acceptance into writing what often builds up behind all my carefully constructed walls. And in stumbling and unorganized prose/poetry form I filled over ten pages of free-form when it was all said and done.

In years past, I’ve forced myself to jump the hurdles of social interaction and witty conversation until late hours, when all I really wanted was to wander off to a quiet room and take a nap.

So this year, after a relaxing dinner and a fabulous keynote speaker, I said goodbyes to new and dear friends and retired to my room for quality pajama time and a little writing.

I reserved a room, not so I wouldn’t have to drive the five miles home, but because I knew I would need quiet alone time to decompress after a long day of people and ideas, and focus on my own personal craft and projects I love.

I know when my mind is best, and after 8 pm is not that time. That’s my repose time. I had to make that OK for myself in order to get the most out of my time.

Conferences, classes, and meet ups like these open pathways, but only when we’re not too busy or overwhelmed to see them. If we are embroiled in getting the most out of every single planned moment of the time, then we may miss the real lesson. Creativity is like a river and if you fully submerged, yourself, you’ll easily drown. You’ll miss the beauty of the ride, the view, and the sounds.

So, know yourself, Writer. Do the things that you know work for you. Let the river of creativity, carry you, but always leave yourself plenty of breathing room to be inspired.