Posts by Barbara O'Neal
At this time every year, we are bombarded with exhortations and advice on ways to change ourselves for the better, to become a NEW! IMPROVED! BETTER! version of ourselves. It’s the curse of a society that genuinely believes that anyone can achieve anything—if they try hard enough.
This column is not about that, because you are fine just the way you are. Right now, in all your messy human imperfection and failed projects, with your soft fleshy body and your unquiet mind. Or to quote Pink, “You are f****ing perfect.”
What I have for you this fresh clean New Year’s Day is a list of three gentle suggestions for you and your writing. Each takes the form of a practice, rather than a resolution, so it’s okay if everything isn’t all hospital corners on the bed and never a grain of sugar in your mouth.
Show Up
Nothing can ever get written if you don’t create pockets of time for it. Create a tender relationship with your writing. Create as much comfort and delight in your space as you are able, and make dates to hang out with it. Show up, see what the writing has to say, engage with it.
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23 years ago, on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, I sold my first book.
This is what I remember: it was overcast and gloomy, my favorite kind of weather, so my children were playing with Play-doh at the table and I was writing in the mini office I had set up in the dining room.
I had scraped and saved for a $400 Amstrad computer that was my pride and joy and required disks to run (if you wanted to spell check, you had to change the disk). Primitive as it was, it saved so much time over my previous technology, an IBM selectric computer.
We had the Amstrad, but we did not, at that moment, have a phone. Times were hard in Pueblo; my husband had been laid off his construction job and was shagging pizzas, supplementing with the odd side job. We let go of certain luxuries to give me the space to stay home with the boys until they started school. By which time, I desperately hoped I would have a book contract.
It was looking a bit grim that day. I’d been at it four solid years, trying all kinds of things—short stories and articles and novels. I’d collected more than 70 rejection letters, from badly mimeographed slips of paper saying no thanks to long, handwritten explanations. I’d been invited to resubmit a couple of short stories to an editor at a prestigious literary magazine, and praised by a commercial magazine, but the money would never save us.
So I was despairing. I would soon have to get a job.
Read MoreI have finally turned in a final draft of my next novel, The Garden of Happy Endings. It has been a bear. Not kidding. I know that I whine about all of them, but this one really was hard. It was a subject I have not tackled before, and the narrative required a lot from me, and at times I felt like it was never, ever going to come together. I had to do three major rewrites, and many more lesser rewrites in between. The material grew out of my walk on the Camino de Santiago last summer, material that surprised me and challenged me and tested me.
The book was due April 15, but my son got married April 7, so I asked for a little more time, and managed to turn in a completed, but still messy, draft to my agent and editor for some feedback a month late. They read it, made recommendations and I worked on it again for two more months. Returned that draft to E & A by mid-July. It came back one more time for a minor polishing and alignment, which I’ve just returned, to—thank heaven!—rave reviews. (Agent pronounced it fresh, bold, and original.)
That was last Friday. On Monday, darling agent sent an email that said, “So, any ideas for what’s next?” She was only half-teasing, doing her job, which is to keep me on task.
I opened the door to the basement, where The Girls (muses) live and saw the curtains pulled, the air conditioner running, and every last one of them sound asleep. Snoring loudly.
I sent Agent an email that said, “I’m going to the mountains. We will talk when I get back.” Because that’s my job—to protect those girls in the basement, let them rest and regroup. They’ve worked their butts off for the book, all through a summer they thought we’d be refilling the well with the garden and some ambling long hikes and all kinds of other little pleasures. Instead, like the soldiers they are, they stood strong, offering me all that I needed for the book. Over and over.
Read MoreIn my writing classes, I often suggest to writers that they turn off the internet until they have written their pages for the day. Better yet, turn it off completely on a regular basis and do other things.
This has become more and more challenging for all of us. More and more of our world is online. This is where we talk to our friends, touch bases with editors and agents, find out about market news and trends. We keep up with each other and all the other writers in our genres via Facebook and Twitter. With the advent of ebooks, the potential for spending even more time on line is exponential.
In his essay, “On Distraction,” Alain de Botton writes,
“One of the more embarrassing and self-indulgent challenges of our time is the task of relearning how to concentrate. The past decade has seen an unparalleled assault on our capacity to fix our minds steadily on anything. To sit still and think, without succumbing to an anxious reach for a machine, has become almost impossible.”
Ring any bells? Over and over, tests reveal that our concentration is becoming fragmented by our attachment to electronics. I know that I can be sitting in a comfortable place, watching a movie or reading a book, and will suddenly be overwhelmed with the desire to click open the email client on my phone. I am a natural magpie, as many of us are, easily distracted by the bright, the shiny, the new fact, the intriguing bit of history. (Kathyrn Rusch calls this syndrome popcorn kittens (and really, watch the video)). I try to resist, but often I do not.
One of the most challenging aspects of writing a novel is the fact that it takes awhile. A long while, usually. It requires a tremendous amount of focus. If your attention is being fragmented, dragged away into Facebook or yet another Twitter, or the latest Google newsfeed, or your email dinging (how often is it important, really?), how much focus do you have? Even if you’re just looking up a fact, you are fragmenting, losing focus, taking yourself voluntarily out of the book world.
Read MoreA week or two ago, I was watching a movie On Demand and switched back to network television. It was a crime show, and I happened to come into a scene that featured a man discovering the dead body of a woman who had been murdered. She had clearly died violently. The depiction was violent and deeply offensive to me.
What immediately came to me was, if that that same woman had been alive and naked, it would have been censored. Because, you know, the living flesh of a naked woman (or even worse, full frontal nudity of a man!) is far more likely to undermine the fabric of our society than gallons of blood leaked by a corpse staring at the heavens.
Here is my rant: violence is twisted humanity. Sex is normal. Why have we reversed these two ideals in our popular culture, and in literature? How could sex possibly be more dangerous than gruesome violence?
When I wrote my first mainstream novel, No Place Like Home, I confessed to my editor that I had been worried about the love scenes in the book. She laughed and said, “Everybody likes sex.”
But it seems quite difficult for writers to tackle love scenes. On Facebook, I saw a writer bemoaning her editor’s request to add a love scene, and it made me start thinking this even more.
Why is sex such a challenge for writers? Many reasons. Self-consciousness, a lack of confidence, a lack of study and discussion of good sex scenes, a fear of being judged.
Certainly not every book requires sex. Probably most do not, though I have not yet written that book myself. Many writers are not writing about people kissing, much less getting down to the serious business of sex. All that is fine.
But if a book turns in some way on the relationship between lovers, especially lovers who have only begun to know each other, or lovers who are falling away from each other, sex is an important part of the way they relate to each other. I have often felt that a writer closed the bedroom door because he didn’t know how to get a sex scene on the page without it sounding like grade c porn (which it often does, unfortunately). While it is legitimate to be flummoxed about it, fear is not a good reason to avoid writing sex. A fear that all sex is porn, and it is not. The discussion would take too long and isn’t the point of this blog, but there is a difference between sex scenes in novels and porn, which is titillation for the sake of titillation. (And I have nothing against that, at all. It’s just not the same.)
Sex, like every other action in a novel, can be a very powerful addition to the writer’s toolbox (no pun intended). It can reveal character, underline themes. One of the best sex scenes I can remember reading was by Jennifer Crusie in Faking It. It’s bad sex, because it takes forever and the protaganist is working very hard, but it’s very good writing because it underlines the theme of the book, and character and the real work of relationships.
So, how can you write better sex scenes? Here are some […]
Read MoreWhat does that fantasy look like to you? How does it look when you project the image of your professional writer self into the future five years, or ten?
Before I cracked the ranks, I’m not sure what I thought about what my actual life would look like. As a girl, I’d read a novel about a girl tracking down her favorite author, and she found her at a cottage by the sea in England. I thought it might be like that, me quietly pursuing my stories under cloudy skies. There would be a cat on the windowsill, a dog by the fire. I’d have a solid body of devoted readers and the regard of the reviewers and the press.
Scholarly. Solitary. Satisfying.
Since I was imagining this life as a young mother, with two hellion boys screaming through the tumbledown Victorian we bought for a song because it was such a disaster, I don’t know how I though I’d leap the pond to my soft little fantasy, but there it was. That was the life I thought a professional novelist lived.
What do you imagine? It’s worth thinking about. What is your fantasy? What might the reality be? What do you really think you’re going to get out of this dream of yours?
I’ve been writing professionally for more than two decades now, and that life is many things, but it doesn’t have much in common with the fantasy. That makes me valuable to you, the aspiring professional writer out there honing your craft, studying the markets, the sales, the possibilities. What does it take to be a professional writer? What can you expect if you follow this path?
Read MoreI don’t know about your world, but in mine, the only thing anyone is talking about is the paradigm shift happening with the explosion of ebooks. I’ve been caught in the worry and discussions as much as anyone. It’s hard to hear anything over the din, but yesterday I remembered one very important thing: what matters, over and over, is story.
Story. Story. Story.
Yesterday, I ran away to the movies with my sister. We saw Water For Elephants, made from the wildly popular book of the same name. It was a modest little book when it first arrived on the shelves in hardcover, then was published in trade paperback and became a word-of-mouth phenomenon.
Here is my relationship with the book: the cover did not appeal to me. I didn’t really get what it was supposed to be about. It sounded super-depressing. So I passed, over and over.
Except, it kept selling and kept selling, and so I kept seeing it. Finally, one afternoon I was talking my agent about good books we’d recently read, and she found I’d not read it, and she said, “Oh, Barbara,” in that tone of voice. So I dutifully picked it up.
And that’s where duty stopped. Water For Elephants might be dark and it might be historical and there might be animal cruelty (which is the point), but it is also a rip roaring good read. (Note: there are no spoilers in the following discussion). There is no posturing or stylistic little pretties or any of that. It sets up the devastating tale of a young veterinary student of some grace and intelligence who loses absolutely everything and sets off to walk to the big city. Instead, he ends up on a circus train. The circus is in trouble. They buy an elephant from another circus. There is a terrible adversary. The stakes are extreme. The risks enormous. You care, very very very deeply, about what will happen to the three main characters.
Read MoreAs you might have noticed, I’m a great believer in balance for writers—good food, modest amounts of exercise like walking and yoga and swimming to keep all the organs and joints oiled and moving, plenty of sleep and refueling the well with hobbies and travel and such things.
But sometimes life just doesn’t leave a lot of room for balance. April is a wild month around here. I’ve been juggling my calendar this morning, trying to fit everything into place. My son is getting married in three weeks, which means there will be many out-of-town guests, and I probably will be required to clean my house or (more likely) hire someone to do it, which means I lose a work day because the feeling of people here is very distracting. I’m giving a keynote for a library fundraiser, and teaching an intensive plus another workshop at one of my very favorite conferences, The Pikes Peak Writer’s Conference. We’re completely re-doing the back yard to make room for an urban farm, a project that requires demolition and heavy equipment and noise.
I also have had a deadline of April 15, which means a lot has been sliding already. There’s a leaking toilet that needs a plumber and a section of old fence is going to come down in the next big windstorm.
Most of this could have been juggled, but the wedding date was a surprise. My son’s beloved, an Air Force sergeant, was deployed for six months, and they came to the conclusion that they had to be married, soon. So the minute she hit US soil in late January, the wedding was in motion. The date? April 7.
One week before my book was due.
Now, I know some of you are the sorts who would be well ahead of your deadlines and could have just made the choice to turn your book in a couple of weeks early. That would, uh, not be me. And there was no way I wanted to split my attention between the humans and happy events going on that week, and the book, which requires extreme left brain attention at that point.
Read MoreNavigating the messy middle of the book
I am wearing sweat yoga pants and an ancient YMCA t-shirt. My hair is gross, scraped back into a ponytail and I am not allowed to wash it, because if I do, then I will run away from my house on some urgent pretext like washing my car. So far this morning, I have walked the dog. Started the laundry. Tried to justify to myself that going for a swim at the Y doesn’t really count as running away from the book, even though when I ran away to the massage therapist yesterday he commented that perhaps my head likes going to Nia and Zumba and swimming five times a week, but my still-healing knee is getting cranky about it. But a writer needs exercise! I protested. Her knee also needs rest, he said.
Now I have started the laundry. Eaten some peanut butter toast. It’s almost time for the internet to come on (at noon), at which point I will be able to run away into answering Really Important Business emails, and send files to an editor who is working with me on a side project, and post blogs, and all those other things that will feel like work but are not.
I’m up to my neck in a first draft that has a million dead ends and weird transitions and scenes that will never make the final cut. The language in places is so much worse than pedestrian that I would die of embarrassment if anyone, even my very best friend, read it. Characters I don’t know suddenly wander on stage and ask for a voice. Last night, I moaned over supper that the book is a wreck and I have no idea what to do with it. “I have,” I said sadly, “forgotten how to write.”
“Ah,” Christopher Robin said calmly, gladly slurping down the elaborate chicken dish that was the side effect of my angst. “It’s become a teenager, has it?
Read MoreKit Dunsmore asked: How much do you let the idea of audience shape your work? I lost my way on my book trying to get the first chapter written to kick off my story and hook an audience. I wound up writing stuff I’m not sure I’d want to read. So I’d love to hear different viewpoints on how to stay true to your story, your voice, your vision while also trying to produce something someone will want to publish.
The audience is important, of course, but more important is the story itself. A great story will hook an audience and hold its attention without any trouble, so the trick is to use the time honored tools of a storyteller to get your tale on the page. If you have studied pacing and turning points and good plotting tools, it’s easy to stay true to your work. If you get lost, go back to the simplest tools you have: what is my story about? What is the main problem? What is the most important thing that my reader needs to know to begin? And what is the next thing? And the next?
It’s really easy to get lost in details and backstory and advice from well-meaning critique partners and friends and our own desire to Write! The! Best! Book! Of! All! Time! A story begins on the day things are different. It follows a character or a group of characters through a problem, a crisis, a solution, and ending.
If you get lost, go back to basics. Listen to your story, not external advice, and be true to your own idea of what a good story looks like. Believe it or not, there is no one right answer. Your answer might be just as good or better than mine.
Katharine Owens asked: If you could go back, and deliver a message to yourself when you were writing your first book, what would it be?
Keep writing. Whole books, essays, poems, short stories. Keep writing. Fill the well and keep it full by reading, watching movies, devoting yourself to the hobbies you love. Keep writing. Observe everything and everyone, everywhere. Keep writing. Believe in yourself, even when no one else does. Keep writing.
The next book might be The One.
Readers, do you have anything you’d like to add for Kit and Katharine?
photo by Vincent Lock
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