We Have Lift Off!

when the writing gives you a kick …

I often come across posts from people who complain of how hard writing is.
It’s click bait sprinkled with narcissism … mostly.

Because yes, writing can be hard.

There’s nothing tougher than writing a letter to a loved one in pain.

In a not so heart-wrenching situation, think of the harassed journalist who has to spit out column inches on the last hospital extension ribbon cutting, and “get to it, we need it two hours ago”, or the bleary-eyed ad copywriter who doesn’t give a hoot about the latest skin moisturizer from Cosmetics Company X, that snooty client from hell who’s never satisfied and asked for six rewrites already. You can all figure out examples from real life where coming up with a piece of text that makes sense is a rocky road to walk.

But what these online complainers are chatting about are artistic pursuits, and I doubt they’re literary Van Goghs who absolutely need to write to keep their sanity in check and slash open their veins when they run out of ink.
(This being said, I salute you, tortured poets, you’re admirable, and probably close to being extinct.)

Am I a tad impatient with the writing-is-soooo-haaard crowd? You bet. I want to tell them (I won’t, refer to click bait comment above) that if they suffer so much they should stop. Nobody’s forcing them, and life is too short to wallow in self-imposed misery.

Writing should be satisfying, whatever your definition of satisfaction might be. Some writers enjoy wrestling a sentence to the ground, punching a recalcitrant paragraph into submission, mulling for hours over the right word. Others are breezy improvisers, letting inspiration and the flow of storytelling take them to unexpected places. There are puzzle builders and emotional spelunkers. Social observers and dreamers of otherworldly fantasies.

Last week somebody asked me if I wrote every day. Actually, the person said, I quote: “You don’t write every day, do you?” which puts a slightly different spin on the question. As if the only reasonable answer was: “Of course not, are you kidding?” As if writing was this bizarre occupation, conducted in secret, and vaguely reprehensible. (I can hear a few of you cackle in the wings: of course, sweetheart, that’s why we do it!)

The truth is that I write almost every day, not necessarily a lot. Maybe I’ll post a couple of book reviews, work on a guest blog, edit a story—this morning I cut 1000 words from a 5K short to meet a word limit for a submission, not easy to do without losing the beat, and I’ll revisit my changes in a few days. I don’t keep a to-do list, but I find ticking off tasks rewarding. These days, most of the tasks happen to be writing-related.

None of that piece work provides as intense a satisfaction as diving into a new story or the first draft of a novel. As a kid, I loved rollercoasters, the expectation followed by the plunge. The equivalent sensation for a book, less stomach-dropping, is what I call ‘the lift-off’. It may seem counterintuitive, one is going down and the other is going up, but both tickle me in similar ways. Also, I don’t hop on rollercoasters anymore …

This is how it works.

I’ll start writing, knowing reasonably well what happens in the first two chapters, and with a very loose outline for what comes after. Maybe I’ll get a thousand words down. It’s just the beginning and there’s a lot of tentative poking around. The next day, I’ll reread what I’ve done and make changes—I’m an ‘edit as you go’ writer—before continuing with the yarn. This phase might last weeks. The rollercoaster car is chugging along. The book doesn’t yet have its claws in me, the plunge or lift is still in the future, and I’ll work on other short-time projects at the same time, maybe even a story if I hit a snag or need a break.

Meanwhile, the expectation that something is about to happen grows. The idea behind the book becomes more and more present. I’ll be thinking about the plot while doing laundry. If I’m reading a book, the chances are I’ll get distracted and put it aside.

Lift-off tends to happen near page 100 (about 1/3 of my usual final page count). That’s when the book gets hungry, soon to turn ravenous. The characters are snapping their fingers, demanding attention. From that point on, I’m committed and there’s no room for anything else. Interruptions are irritants. Everything that is not the book, or the short story in a lesser measure, has to take a back seat. Until I type #END#.

Beyond the pleasure of pulling a story out of thin air and creating something where there was nothing before, feeling the lift-off, and experiencing the joy of surrendering to it, is why I write. Some authors say that’s when the characters take control. They don’t. Characters are products of the writer’s mind chemistry. The process seems mysterious because the connections happen fast and dig deep without conscious will being involved, but there’s no spontaneous generation. All the raw materials are in the brain box, the magician’s hat. For me, the biggest thrill of writing is pulling out the rabbit. This isn’t hard, or painful. It’s exciting. Every time.

Photo by Elisa Stone on Unsplash

Big News

My story, “Drop Dead Gorgeous” (from the Janie’s Got a Gun anthology, edited by Michael Bracken), featuring private detective Harry McLean, has been nominated for a Shamus Award for Short Fiction by the Private Eye Writers of America. You can see all the nominees here.

You can also read about coming up with that story at The First Two Pages, and yes, the first two pages are included!

Guest at Stiletto Gang

I have a short essay over there: Bopping in Historical Waters. Have a read! It’s a fun one, with a different take on the recently published Bop City Swing.