Asked and answered

Croatoan asked: How do you get into the mindset to write?

Depends how blocked I'm feeling.  Sometimes in the evening I can sit down and jam out pages and pages of words for hours.  Other times, I need music.  A handful of specific songs or a short album set on repeat.  Sometimes I have to go and find new music before I can settle down to write.

At my most desperate, though, I have to stand up from my computer and go to my bookshelf.  Pull my most loved books off the shelf (only stand-alones or the first in a series, though) and read the first line.  Just the first sentence, then move on to the next book.  Anthologies or short story collections are good for that.  Lots of firsts in a relatively short amount of space.

I think looking at the first sentence or first paragraph of stories you really love is crucial to figuring out how an author did what you want to do, anyway.  It's a good starting point.  Once I've already read a story or book I can go back to the beginning and not get (as) caught up in the emotional journey.  I can take a (small) step back and look at what the author does in terms of world- or character-building, how fast they do it, whether they start with description or dialogue, etc.

Last night as I was battling the blank page, I turned to "The Coldest Girl in Coldtown" by Holly Black. (I do own The Poison Eaters, but it's at my parents' house in San Diego at the moment.)

Starting anew. Blegh.

One of the stories I submitted as part of my Clarion application (summer sci-fi/fantasy writing workshop) had been more or less a work-in-progress for a year and a half.  It started out as a 10k-word reworking of Rumplestiltskin and ended up closer to a 6k-word twisted version of a Grimm story.  I'm proud of it, and I'm glad to be done with it--not because I'm tired of working on it, but I just so badly want it to be the emotional roller coaster I kept seeing in my head.

So.  I sent that story in with my application.  And now I've got an idea for another story, this one more of a modern-day, urban fantasy story.  I've got a separate folder in my "Original Fiction" file for all the notes and ideas I've got, and I wrote out the bare bones in a kind of semi-outline, and just now I opened up another new document to begin the actual writing. 

But dear god, I'd forgotten what it's like to fight against the blank page.  There's nothing on the page.  It's overwhelming and I've got no idea where to start. 

President's Day Weekend

I went home this past weekend.  I've no Friday classes, so I had a four day weekend.  It was wonderful.  My bed at home is so soft, and I got to hang out with the dog all weekend.  Oh, and my parents, my brother, and my high school friends. :P

On Sunday I met a few friends at the movie theater in Mira Mesa to see The Woman in Black.  Those same friends were (mostly) the ones I went to Europe with the first time, when we were fresh outta high school.  In London, on the last leg of our trip, we went to see that same production on stage.

And it scared the crap out of us.  I've got four very vivid memories of that night.  The first is clutching (codename) Duckie's hands in fright, trying not to screech as fear swelled in me the way it hadn't done since I was a kid.  We sat in the upper area of the theater, right at the edge of an aisle, and the curtain covering a doorway kept twitching.  There was definitely someone behind it.  We could see the outline of their shadow.  I thought for sure someone was going to leap out and attack us (and then I really would scream bloody murder and die of fright in the middle of a theater).

Turned out it was a theater employee preparing for intermission so she could sell snacks.  Good grief.

The second vivid memory is the final bit of the play: a dark, empty rocking chair swinging madly back and forth, clacking insanity against the stage floor with each beat.  My eyes were huge and I was too horrified to make a sound.  I remember thinking, "They killed a child.  Not on stage, but they killed a fictional child."  There was something profane about the notion, which was, of course, exactly the intention. 

The third is, as a group, we were walking back to our hotel (in the dark) and we passed through a nice, well-lit area filled with pubs and various nightlife places.  And I remember stopping to point at a sign advertising happy hour and going, "Look!  Happy hour!  Let's go, come on, we're going in, I need a drink."  And then we got in there and even with the drinks menu I had no idea what to get.  It was probably my fourth alcoholic bevvy ever.  That was embarrassing.

And the fourth crisp memory of that night is when I was in the shower later on.  I stood under the hot stream, the tastefully decorated walls obscured by fog, and remembered for a flash that awful rocking chair at the end of the play.  The girls I shared a room with that weekend were already asleep.

All alone.  Thinking about that absolutely frightening and clinically insane ghost.  In the middle of the night.

So.  Yes, that was the summer of 2008.  And then this past summer, June 2011, I was in the rec room of a hostel in Budapest when I saw the trailer for the movie adaptation of The Woman in Black.  And it was frightening and I knew I had to see it, just because I'd seen it on stage in London.

And then, as the trailer ended, a book on the other side of the room (otherwise unoccupied, I might add) randomly and very loudly fell off its shelf.  I got up, went over to pick it up, and dropped it again.  It was The Woman in White.  Same story, basically, except she was wearing a different dress.

Probably.  I've really no idea, really; I just made that up.  But I love that story even though it scared me to death at the time.  The hostel was empty except for me--even the owner had ducked out and left me "in charge." 

Back to the present day, though: the movie itself was good.  Quite good, actually, but I made the mistake of going into it already keyed up and frightened and thus ended up falling for every trick in the book.  A crow came bursting out of the disused fireplace and I jerked in my seat and flailed.  "Oh, Jesus goddamn oh god--"

I screamed four or five times.  After the second, I scrunched my knees up to my chest with my feet on the chair (so I'd feel a little more protected) and pressed both my hands firmly across my mouth. (Reasoning being that the next time I screamed, no one would hear.  Hah.) 

Apparently, though, even when you're trying to not scream at all, it is very possible to scream through your hands.  Very audible.  Momo said she thought I was more entertaining than the movie.

After the movie we went for happy hour at Applebees.  Margaritas and long islands.  Yum.  And then we went back to my house to watch a romantic comedy.  I insisted, but I don't think they minded.  Horrifying movie.  Bravo for Daniel Radcliffe and all that, but goddamn, that was scary.

Don't go see it by yourself.

Slow progress, no picture today

I was going to go to the gym today.  Got dressed for it and everything, and then I sat down.  On the edge of the bed.  While I was at home.  And all my momentum went whump.  Dead.

Tomorrow's another day.  (Thank god.  Can you imagine if we actually had to finish our To Do lists in a single twenty-four hours?  The world would crash like an overloaded computer.)

I (finally!) finished my application for the six week writing workshop at UCSD this summer, though, called Clarion.  I'm terrified of getting in--but even more anxious about not getting in.  Two of my favorite authors are lecturers this year, and I can't even imagine what it would be like to be known to them.  Christ, what if I got in and then by the end they knew my name?!

Ahem.  I'm going to stop fretting until I hear back from the panel looking at my application (partially consisting of those two authors.  AAAHHHH!)

Kind of a crummy day.

 

Kind of a crummy day today.  It's supposed to rain tomorrow.

Here, have another picture of Paros, in Greece.

Last Saturday

 

On Saturday, before my mother and her friends arrived, I woke up thinking I was there.  On the island of Paros, in Greece.  Definitely the best morning I've had in a long, long time.

Photo is of the view from my ground-level "balcony" at the motel I stayed at.