At the end of last week, and over part of the weekend, I struggled to finish a romance novel from a writer I’ve enjoyed quite a bit in the past. I’m not sure whose stubborn refusal disallowed my engagement with the book—my own willpower, or the book itself. It felt clunky, it felt unfeeling. It felt rote. And I wondered if it was me, because I’ve read so much of this particular author (and, to be fair, this genre), or if it was the writer.

And then I wondered—is there any difference? By and large, writers should be writing for their target audience, the people who already know and like that genre, and possibly, that author. If the readers are avid readers, shouldn’t they be rewarded with new and fresh work instead of recycled storylines they could map out before even reading the book? I am usually a joyful reader, forgiving of a lot of flaws. But this time, I was cranky and belligerent almost from the word go, because the book held no intrigue or surprise for me—and I was disappointed to find that it offered up nothing to disprove those suspicions.

But part of this, too, is on me—though J & I haven’t written in a while, the characters for everything we’ve ever touched are still floating around up there with their own motivations and their own storylines and their own input on pretty much everything. So am I spoiled? Every character on the page is a step or two removed from the ones in my own head. I’ve connected, and connected well with them. Do they stand in the way of my enjoyment?

And after thought, I’m forced to say… no. Because they make me further appreciate what the writer can have in his or her mind, the connection s/he can have with the characters even beyond what it seen in the final publication. Evidence—that I read a recent book from this same author just a month or two ago and quite enjoyed it, though pretty passively—suggests it is this book that is lacking.

So the question becomes, how do we as writers avoid that? How do we steer clear of the formulaic within our own writing, how do we avoid our readers going “Yeah, I know how this ends, why should I finish?”

I guess through listening to criticism or reading your own work with a semi-critical eye. Not too critical—part of why J & I are so gridlocked at times is because self-criticism keeps us rooted in one moment or another, loath to move on until we think we have it right. But it’s smart to be realistic about your work, I think.

Overall, when you go back and read it, is it something you enjoy like a new dress or a new pair of shoes? Or is it like slipping on the ugly house shoes that, while they are imminently comfortable, should never, ever be seen out in public?

Food for thought.

-A

It's been a very long time since I've been here, and time is kind of the essence of the problem, and the essence of this post.

Where do writers find time to sate that creative need when it doesn't-- as it most often doesn't-- pay the bills?

Yesterday, J. said to me "We need to figure out how to blog more."

I marveled at that, because it seems so simple, and yet, I said to her "Well. We find time to blog. But we haven't found time to write, so what do we blog about?"

There is time, though, in bits and snippets.  J and I face a unique problem to cowriters in that finding time together (even virtually) is a real issue.  But I find time over lunch breaks to throw out quick character studies, to write off-stage scenes that I need to have a grasp on to inform the characters' other actions.  To scratch the itch, mostly.  A selfish motive, not really a practical one, though it has its uses.

So we find time where we can, carefully craft it in like sewing pockets onto a garment.  You may not change the shape of the garment that much, but now there's extra space and extra storage and a hidden compartment, so to speak.

And so that's how we find time. 

Pockets, here and there.  I never was very good at sewing, but this, I think I can manage. 

- A

A conversation actually occurring while we edit:

Manda : Help I have a Bieber song stuck in my head
Jenn : AAACK
Jenn : which one?
Manda : I NEED SOMEBODY TO LOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE
Manda : I don't even know the damned song
Jenn : Do you have any Holy water?
Manda : I just made the mistake of hearing one tiny part
Manda : and LMFAO
Manda : Yes, yes I do
Jenn : put it on a q-tip and swab out your ears
Manda : You know how much I'm ACTUALLY considering this?
Jenn : roflmao
Jenn : can't HURT
Manda: Like, I'm sitting here wondering where the bottle is.

So, we did not end up getting two posts in a row. However, this is not that far off.

Amanda sent me a text message today with a new direction, literally, to take our current WIP and I adore it! I love it when one of us gets an idea that makes me wonder -- 'Why hadn't we thought of that already?' That is one of the joys of writing. The unexpected twists and turns the story or characters take in your head.

Unfortunately, she has a parish council meeting tonight so it will have to wait until tomorrow. I'll sit here and fidget and maybe let my character get used to the idea.

Jennifer

Things I'd like to work into something someday...

The embarrassing feeling of trying to talk to someone you're attracted to when you've just been to the dentist and half your face is trying to fall off.

The guy I work with who is the stereotype of a comic book nerd, except extremely self-aware and dryly hilarious.

A cat-loving biker badass Elvis fan.

Basically, all the things I know and love about my life... but never think to put on paper.

- Manda

So, I decided we needed to dust off the ol' blog and actually try and use it as we intended. Sadly, this is not the first time we have tried to do this but I figure if we are going to become 'writers' we should at least be able to keep up with a blog.

We are still writing, though not as often as we'd like.

Stay tuned, maybe we'll get two posts in succession.

J. and I got together in Knoxville, TN to try a one-pass editing of the first draft of our latest work-in-project, which we've cleverly been calling "Super" for months. Catchy, right?

So here's the trip summary from one tired, but very happy cowriter. Pictures coming soon.


Day 1:
I begin the five-and-a-half hour drive from Indiana with optimism, thinking it can't possibly be that bad. My college was more than four hours away, and I continued making visits up there after I graduated, so it won't be too bad, right? At the three-ish hour mark, my rear end started to rebel, and I began to mentally design cars in which you could stand up. J. and I make multiple phone calls to one another extolling the idiocies of our fellow road warriors.

J. makes it to the hotel just minutes before I do, which gives her the opportunity to watch me make a wrong turn into the gas station beside the hotel while my Garmin calmly states "Recalculating" over and over again as though I am an idiot. We check into the hotel, then begin to load ourselves down with as many bags as possible. Four steps from my car, I drop a bottle of wine on the asphalt, resulting in a winegeyser. When I look down to see what has happened, another bottle slides from the bag, presumably wishing to "pour one out" for his fallen brother.

Red wine, blackberry wine (sob) and glass litter the parking lot.

The rest of the evening fared a little better, with a side trip to the Dollar Store to by red pens for the editing process and OxyClean. RIP Billy Mays.

We grab a bite to eat at a nearby restaurant, sketch out plans for our next work-in-progress, and then call it a night.

Day 2:
We sleep in, and after breakfast begin the process of going through the first draft page by page. We don't make it very far when we cry uncle and take a break for lunch that turns into lunch, shopping, and a viewing of The Proposal. It was the distraction we needed. We came back to the hotel and made it through the bulk of the draft, pausing only to order pizza and wrestle with the remaining bottle of wine. Did I mention I didn't bring a corkscrew? J. digs half the cork out with my pocketknife, then I shove the rest of the cork into the bottle, liberally dousing my cleavage with white wine. By now, J. and I have accidentally parlayed "Yul Brenner" into some sort of euphemism for the male member, and cannot stop bringing it up at odd moments and laughing. I blame her.

Day 3:
We're into serious business now. We grab breakfast, then delve back into the manuscript, realizing our characters do so much grinning that it seems as if our entire novel is doused in nitrous oxide. I consider suggesting Jokers in Love as an alternate title, but do not. Leftover pizza for lunch, and then the process of editing everything we've marked down. Somewhere in here, the hotel's free wifi connection starts to spew pea soup and rotate 360 degrees, so we decide a trip to Outback is in order.

A word to the wise: do not eat and drink as much as we did. Editing was put on nap delay as we wondered aloud what we were thinking. When we awoke, the wifi connection (which we are using to send edits back and forth instead of physically passing one computer back and forth) was still temperamental, and language barriers prevented us from finding any real solutions to the problem.

Frustrated, we go to bed and stay up talking in the dark.

Day 4:
By now, the hotel room is looking like a war zone. I refuse to think about the number of calories consumed or left strewn in bags and boxes about the room. We decide we should actually get some fresh air and sunshine, and go to the Knoxville Museum of Art, but more importantly, the chocolate factory that was right next door to the museum. The biggest pleasant surprise was that the furniture display in the museum was OUT OF THIS WORLD. Beautiful stuff, marred only by the (understandable) fact that you can't touch it. Museum is followed by chocolate purchase is followed by a trip to Market Square in downtown Knoxville, where we ate at an outdoor table at a lovely Asian fusion restaurant called Koi. Their crab won tons = the food version of my one true love. We grab some ice cream, then head back to the hotel.

Here's where I decide to take some pictures of the war zone. We are now set up on the same bed, trying to get the most out of what meager signal we can find in the room for the computers, and there are papers strewn everywhere.

We stayed up until after midnight, battling stubborn characters, fantastic rewrites, crappy wifi, Skittles, Hot Tamales, in-jokes formed over the space of a few days, and the knowledge that the next morning would be our last day in the same zip code for another year. (I'm not saying any more about that, or I will get weepy.)

Day 5:
Packing, breakfast, rapid-fire jokes that make very little sense without the context of the week. Then, in the quiet of the few minutes we have before leaving, we sketch out a few more quick ideas, change around our timeline, and then part ways, only to still be working with the changes we implemented on our manuscript several days later.

Everyone should be so lucky to have such a vacation.

I started thinking about vanity plates the other day, and how part of me really wants to shell out the money to have vanity plates that say ka mai. For those of you who are Stephen King fans, you'll know that as "fools of fate," more or less. It's what I see myself as, in a way, a woman who can laugh at most anything, and it's kept me sane more than once.

I need all the sanity I can get, especially since writing seems to have chosen me as one of its victims. I need to be able to laugh at my muse now and again, or she'll be the death of me.

Regardless, I got to thinking about fate's fools and for some reason, one thing led to another, and I began to consider the things I have learned from sci-fi books and shows and fantasy books and shows. I won't attribute them to anything in particular, because I don't want to spoil anyone, but I feel these are valuable life lessons.

1. Werewolves and funny guys (sometimes a combination of both) always get the raw end of the deal.

2. 50% of vampires with souls are boring (and use nancyboy hair gel).

3. Always beware of extremely good-looking and interested women. They're probably evil.

4. Aliens are usually just misunderstood. Or something.

5. Men with weapons are sexy. Women with weapons are extra sexy.

6. Fighting is best done in gauzy skirts and teensy tops. Preferably with the coolest platforms or high heels ever.

7. If you are not the Chosen One, you just don't understand. Nor will you ever. Please do not strain yourself unduly while trying to understand.

I'm sure there are more, but those are clearly the most important.


- A.