One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

I feel that this week's blog needs to start with that thought, because it has been a defining one for me this week.  

When comparing my two great passions in life, horses and writing, I once foolishly thought that horses would win every single time.  My thinking went something like: I don't have to write my stories to know how they end.  Right...

Now in the past, I have been a firm advocate for writing your own way.  Don't write my way (why would you?  It's a recipe for insanity), don't write the exact way Stephen King or J.K. Rowling write.  Write the way that you feel most comfortable.  If that is laboring over the proper placement of the furniture in a room for weeks before moving on with the dialogue, do that.  If it is writing all the dialogue and then belatedly recalling that there should have been furniture, do that.  Do what makes you feel free.  There is simply no other way to write.  We writers are both at liberty with our passion and controlled by it.  

This week, it became "life and death" imperative that I be able to write.  I felt a little like the Shining in my brain, and Thursday, on my way to my cellular biology exam, I was hit with blazing insight on just where my current story needed to go.  Talk about terrible timing.  However, I completed class, hurried home, and wrote until nearly midnight.  That was therapeutic.  Unfortunately, it left me a little too depleted the next day, and as the day wound down at work, I was increasingly out of sorts.  I knew my cure, and that was to write, but as soon as I finished more requirements (i.e. stats homework), I was left with nothing.  NOTHING.  This rarely happens to me.  Usually when it does, I'm okay with walking away for a day or so and letting my characters catch a breather as well.  This time, though, I couldn't.  I NEEDED them to speak to me, to soothe me, to make me whole again.  

Finally, after stepping away for half an hour, I realized that what I needed to do was step even further back.  Sometimes I write very sequentially, Chapter 1 is directly followed by Chapter 2, etc.  Other times, the plot twists and bits of dialogue come from all over the place.  This would be one of those times.  After finally taking the time to gather my thoughts, I decided that a session of story-boarding was in order.  I did manage to glimpse a tiny snippet of conversation between my characters before they left me for the evening, so the night was not a complete waste for writing in general, but, more importantly, after writing down all the twists and points I am hoping to accomplish with this story, I felt a weight lifted from my shoulders.  I might not have been able to charge on ahead at full speed last night, but I was able to plan where to go from here.  It might have seemed like I was going backwards, but the path ahead is so much more clear because of it.

My advice then is simple: never assume one way is the right way to write.  Play around with your own ideas until they work for YOU, not for famous authors or your friend who likes to blog.  After all, we are not here to write for their amusement but for our own sanity.

I hope that in my rambling way, I can empathize with my fellow writers out there who similarly share the agonies of a full time life and the passion for writing.  It's not a fun road to lead, but we wouldn't have it any other way.  As always, feel free to share your own thoughts on the matter.  We writers are also solitary creatures, yet secretly desperate to know we are not alone. 

Writing for the Sake of the Writer

Last weekend, I made a point of just writing.  I carved out a part of my Sunday and dedicated it to simply letting a few of my characters breathe.  Unfortunately, as Sherlock would say:

And so for the next three days, I had to battle through my own characters desperate for life and the constant responsibility that most of us are faced with.  Once, long ago, I suffocated a character.  He still hasn't forgiven me, and when I find myself in such a desperate place, I can feel him back there, tantalizingly close, but never to be fully realized.  If ever a character haunted me, it would be him.

However, having learned my lesson, I know better this weekend.  I won't be trying to let a few characters out with an exam on Monday and another on Thursday.  But it isn't like the soul of a writer can stay so repressed.  Something has to give, and rather than have it be my sanity, I found a way to feel at one with a touch of myself again.  And so we come to the point of this week's title.

When I first branched out in self publishing, it was because I had won my first NaNoWriMo, and it seemed such a waste of the opportunity to continue to let my stories sit in my bookshelf as binders and 8.5"x11" editions.  So I took the plunge.  There was never any real great drive to self publish and somehow, miraculously, become wealthy through it.  All that mattered was that I had shifted from being simply a writer into being an author, and that was enough for me.

I won't lie.  I still dream about being a well paid author, but I have to just hope that day will come when I can give a little more time to the endeavor.  For now, and just for me, I will continue to write as the stories come and the time allows.  But for the sake of my sanity, I found an outlet that should last me until the exams are over.  I've been writing and completing full stories for nearly a decade.  One memorable year, I wrote four novels.  I have a pletheora and for now, with not thought to any profit in the future, I will turn a few stories into books.  The only purpose is for me, and me alone.  And that, fellow writers and readers, is what should be our driving force.  If we cannot love what we write, why write at all?

Growing Up is Underrated

When I was a kid, I was hardly one to wish I was older.  I never dreamed of taking on the world at an age older than I was.  Life as it was seemed just enough.  Of course, the simplicity of childhood is like a dream that we spend most of our lives remembering fondly once responsibility has decided to take hold of us.  For me, the first step along that dreaded path was when I was nine.  The next, when I turned fourteen.  While it might be common practice to share everything on the internet, there are still parts of my life that I feel are private.  As such, the events that led me down a somber, responsible path will remain known to me and a select few people.  However, having spent more than enough time depressing my readers, I'll move on to the whole point of my latest ramblings.

For those of us who have shouldered responsibility for most of our lives, there is a time when one might start to feel like that is all we have.  I know for me, the years between turning fourteen and halfway to eighteen felt like the world had fallen upon my shoulders.  I lost almost all traces of the child I was.  I still read books, I have never not read books, but the spark within me that had once led at the young age of six to writing stories, was dimmed to the point of absence.  The only pleasure in writing to be found was in the assignments that were given out by my English teachers, mainly Mr. Canode.  Every once in awhile a story would pop in and consume me, but they were mere wisps of what could be, and they were easily enough satisfied.

The winter of my seventeenth year, I had an epiphany.  I cannot affix on the moment or the catalyst, but I realized in short succession that I had been burying myself for far too long.  I had to break free, to be able to embrace just what it was I could do.  That was the beginning of what would become this passion that now consumes me on a rather regular basis.  

However, the years of repression were not without their effects.  I started many stories that had been building in my mind, but until I was twenty, never finished.  Then, through sheer perseverance, an idea finally came to fruition in its entirety.  It was a ghost of what I had originally imagined, but it was complete, and that was the most important part.  When something like NaNoWriMo stresses to let your inner editor lie quiet while you just get that rough draft done, there is a very good reason for this.  After that, I finally found what had been missing, and I could embrace the wild side of me to let out story after story.  

This might sound dull, perhaps a little trite, but the single most important factor I have found to continue to write has been a new found love of childish things.  I buy My Little Pony toys (preferably those that still look like ponies), Disney Princess pencils, and I never miss an animated film with a happy ending.  But that was exactly what had been missing for so long, my inner child.  By embracing her proudly, I can now write the stories that fill my head, and I can smile about it all again.  After all, it's hard to take life too seriously when you're playing with your ponies.

For all those who have felt a need to break free from the day to day grind of life, try watching something quaint, colorful, and, most importantly, with a happy ending.  You might just find what you've been missing, too.  And always remember:

Until next time...

L.E. Gibler

Just Like Tea

Every writer has an opinion on how to write, and many who never put pen to paper to create stories have a few things to say as well.  The most common theme shared again and again is that you must write all the time, even if you don't feel like it.  Well, I'm here today to share my own opinion, which is to let your ideas percolate.

Very few people in this world are ever blessed with the opportunity to let their passion for the written word dictate their life.  Most of us have a plethora of ideas swirling around, but we must find time around the mundane world, to steal a phrase from the Society for Creative Anachronism.  For those of us who write when we can, the ideas don't stop coming just because we work.  They come to us at work, on the drive home, or even just before we fall asleep.  If we wrote every time an idea came to us we'd possibly lose our jobs, drive off the road, never sleep, or all of the above.  Now, I hate any sort of didactic statement.  If writing a little bit every day works for you, write a little bit every day!  I just want to put out the idea that sometimes writing can be like making a cup of tea.

For those participating in NaNoWriMo, you might have noticed that there is a badge if you manage to write for five days in a row.  I'm a highly competitive person.  Just last night, when I found someone in my region was beating me on the word count - something I was no accustomed to - I set about to go from roughly 3000 words to 10,000.  I came up with a rush of 7000 words last night, but that sort of explosion would not have been possible if I hadn't let the ideas of the day before seep.  Again, the competitive spirit means that I did put a few words into my story Monday night, but even I knew I was cheating a bit.  They were necessary words, and a scrap of conversation that would lead to a chapter, but I wasn't writing to create, I was writing to simply write.  However, I knew well enough that the trick was to let those few words set for a day.  Sure enough, as I was falling asleep that night, it came to me - how I needed to move the story forward.  For once, I was able to have a light bulb moment and go back to sleep.  But if i had continued to force the story from where it was, I would never have known just where I needed to go.  

So my one small conclusion is for those of you out there who find that writing everyday sometimes just feels a little bit wrong. That's okay too!  If the story feels forced, it will be forced.  Instead, think about it for a night.  Feel around like looking for a sore tooth.  What is wrong and what is right in a story will come to you, but it cannot always be forced.  For what it is worth, I support you fully if you decide not to write today.  But don't let your ideas die or wander off.  Keep them close, and they will become the perfect cup of tea.

Until next time...

With a Purpose

Rambling With a Purpose

So, thanks to the support and continued reminding (sort of like nagging, only much nicer), of my friends (shout out particularly to Jackie and Wendy) I can finally say I am a published author!!! And also a huge thanks to those who have already purchased my book.  It is such an odd, wonderful feeling to finally say I am an author when people ask what I do for a living.  Or I say I am a riding instructor, but saying I write and ride is so confusing.  Saying I ride and am an author, doesn't that just sound so much less so?  (input your own level of sarcasm)

As to the rest of the world, may I just say that while I love my family, it is incredibly stressful to have them visit.  Why do we all have to be worried about the state of our silver for family?  For visiting celebrities or dignitaries, yes, that might make sense,  but my family should be well aware  by now that my priorities are out in a barn and what goes on in the house is a long distant second.

In other news, my second book is now in the hands of my unofficial publicist.  After she reads through, and I make corrections, it will be out there for the whole wide world to see.  Not to mention book number three is in the formatting stages.  I don't know how the rest of the self publishing world has operated, but I have found that CreateSpace is far more user friendly than Lulu.  So, going forward, look for me on Amazon!  (And, yes, that was a shameless plug)

In the meantime, here's to many more rambles with no rhyme or reason.