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In Which Ms. Mears Has an Encounter With a Gorse Bush
In a manner of speaking.
Today on the way home from work, my fiance got on a now semi-weekly rant at me about needing to get my book out there. You know, the one that I’ve been sitting on long enough to have the first chapter embedded in my arse?
It was akin to Pooh trundling along the Hundred Acre Wood only to somehow land bum-side down in a gorse bush. In which I am Pooh, and his words are the gorse bush. They stung. Much like the embedded chapter.
To tell the truth, I have been feeling very itchy lately. Prickly about the state of my novel. A wee bit at a loss to understand how nearly three years have gone by since I finished the first draft and I’m no closer to having it on a shelf than I was upon its conclusion. I’ve made plenty of excuses. I’m moving, getting married, working weird hours, tired, hungry, ooh, shiny!!! Perhaps what I need is a gorse bush under my bum in order for me to just bloody get a move on already.
At the end of the day, after as many fits and starts as I’ve had in the last year (just read this blog to know the lot of it), the responsibility falls to me. I got a great deal of inspiration from reading Michael Larsen’s advice on the world of literary agents, and more than a bit of intimidation from the same. My end goal is not to wallpaper our study with rejection letters, nor is it to fling my manuscript to the wind and see where it lands. I want to feel like I’m putting my best foot forward with the world of publishing.
When I send out my first query letters, I want nothing more than to feel like they are honed, heat-seeking missiles destined for the hottest agents around. I want those agents to receive something that explodes into something big for them. Not explodes literally, of course, unless they reject it. (Kidding.) I want to package myself as a career writer. This is what I want to do with my life. I have a plan for publicizing my work. I have the ambition and the drive necessary to make this my life’s work. I have a voice worth committing to paper and many stories worth the telling that I believe are salable and relevant. I don’t think I can succeed, I know I can. I am committed to this path.
The uncertainty comes from wanting to always put my best foot forward. I don’t want to flail around willy-nilly and then wonder why it didn’t work. I want to be decisive and comprehensive, sure-footed and confident. That’s what will make me a successful author. I’m already a successful writer — I’ve found a story and committed it to paper. Whether or not this becomes my career depends wholly on me and where I go from here.
Back to the gorse bush. I need to stand up and start moving. I need to leave those prickles in my bum as a reminder that if I fail at this, it’s no one’s fault but mine. I may never be a multi-millionaire, but I can guarantee I’ll never make my living at this if I don’t get my momentum back.
And I’m glad someone is there to hold me accountable for it. For that, I have to thank my fiance. Though he’s never read my novels, he believes in me. When he pushed me bum-first into that gorse bush today, at first all I felt were the prickles, but now looking back, he’s absolutely right. Accountability. He’s pushing me.
If anyone stops by to read this, feel free to push my bum into the gorse bush as well. I think I need it.
Like this:
When You Think You’re Done, You’re Just Getting Started
Oh, Rewrites. You are like that cat that kept coming back the very next day. Just when I think you’re gone and I’m done with you, I hear you meowing. Sure, you look cute and cuddly. You might even purr as you’re drooling on my shoulder and digging your little retractable razors into my flesh. But you see, you won’t go away.
It’s only after a very long time spent with you that I realize that you’re actually one of my most valuable friends. While my first draft may seem like a shining achievement — and don’t get me wrong; it is — it’s like a kid building her first tower of blocks. An accomplishment to be sure, but not quite the Empire State Building. To get to that level, it takes a lot more practice. And math classes. That too.
I’m getting to the end of my first draft of my second novel, and that means that I’m starting to hear little mewling sounds at my front door. The sounds of the Rewrite Cat come to tell me that it’s time to go back to Primeval and fix it. I used to approach rewriting with a huge sense of trepidation. Even a little anxiety. I thought that if I had to rewrite and revise, it meant that I wasn’t a good writer. Silly, silly, amateur me. No matter how good a first draft is, it can always get better, which is the point of revision.
In contemplation of this little kitty peering through my windows now, snaking her tail along the borders between window panes, it’s clear that she just wants the best for my story. She wants to make sure that everything is told the way it will resonate with readers best. I have said this before, but I’ll say it again: a vomit draft is when we tell our story to ourselves. In a vomit draft, we can spew out all the back story and little random details because it’s important that we know that when we move forward. When we polish it up, though, we choose the most economical route between points A and B. We want our readers to grab the rope, jump off the ledge, and swing right to the other side without getting hit in the face with tree branches. If they’re going to take a risk on our book, we need them to want to grab the rope.
I know my first draft of Primeval has its issues. There are a lot of things I want to tighten up, streamline. Some things I need to flesh out a bit more. So as soon as I finish my first draft of Elemental, I will let this scratching little kitty in, pet her a bit, and give her a bowl of cream that she can get in her whiskers. She’s going to be my constant companion until this story gleams like a stone straight out of the tumbler.
On Vomit Drafts
For those of you unfamiliar with the term, allow me to clear it up:
vomit draft: (n) 1. writing draft in which the author spews words on the page in a chaotic outpouring of ideas, characters, plot, passion, and quite possibly last week’s dinner; 2. the art form of funneling the maelstrom of inspiration in one’s brain into a porcelain throne of paper; 3. in which a writer commits a story to paper for the first time, therein relating it to herself. synonyms: first draft, rough draft. antonyms: polished piece, final draft, completed manuscript.
I had used this term for quite some time before I met another kindred who also happened to refer to his writing this way. In my humble opinion, the vomit draft is the most important step in the writing process. It builds a foundation from which to work — indeed, you cannot complete a work without it.
The reason I call it a vomit draft is because that is precisely what it feels like. I spew sentences on paper often in a heaving fashion. I might get the dry heaves for a while when nothing will come out. And then once again, there is a rampaging outpour that leaves you dizzy, wiping your lips and wanting to lay your head down on something cool.
Today I wrote about 3,000 words or so. Looking back over it, I’m not sure how much of it will end up in the final cut of the novel, but I don’t feel as though I’ve wasted any of my time there. What ended up on paper was what I needed to see in terms of some character tension and development, and some factoids that will come in handy when I get further into the story. In a lot of ways, the vomit draft is when I pour out every little tiny thing that comes through my mind, and that means that if I go back to it later, it’s all laid out there. It might not be that neat or organized, but it’s there for my reference if nothing else.
I often feel like the first draft of any piece is really the author telling the story to him or herself. It’s in the revision process that we translate what came out the first time into something that others can read and truly understand, usually in a way much more succinct and impactful than it came across in the first draft. This is, I believe, what separates great writing from mediocre or poor writing. The ability to take a vomit draft and polish it up so it looks suitable to be ingested by others.
Gross, I know. But also true.
I try to make my vomit drafts as good as possible — which is to say that I do pay attention to mechanics and those little writing tics that always end up on the cutting block (excessive adverbs, repetitions, awkward sentence structure, etc.) — mainly because it saves time in the long haul. However, it’s still very much a first draft.
I’m quite fond of my vomit drafts. I always save them. No matter where a story ends up, I always enjoy seeing where it began.
Gasp! She emerges from hibernation!
*yawn*
Why, hello there, gentle viewers. I don’t think you exist, though it would be lovely if you did. Emmie here, writing in from Silver Spring, Maryland, home of the Quarryhouse Tavern, A.F.I Cinema, and presumably, a silver spring.
A great deal has happened since I last wrote my hopeful little ditty about getting re-vamped for the writing process. Remember the part where I said my job would be giving me vacations? Well, it did. I was on the way to work 2.5 weeks ago, and as I minded my own business in my lane, someone rather inconsiderately decided to smash her car directly into my driver’s side door, which, as you would correctly presume, is precisely where I was sitting.
The result has been a bit of a battered Emmie. I have torn ligaments, pinched nerves, a reversal of the lordotic curve I wasn’t aware could be reversed, tingling and numbness in my left arm, and vertebrae who have decided to run amok now that they are unhindered by those pesky little ligaments that normally hold them firmly in place.
I’ve been home for almost 3 weeks from work now. And due to the nature of my injury, the only position in which my spine does not protest is flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. In case you’re wondering, it’s very difficult to get anything done in that position. It’s also quite boring to remain thus for a prolonged period of time. The irony of this situation is a: I’ve been dying for a break from work and have discovered that teaching special ed is not the job for me, and b: I really, really want to write.
After nearly a year and a half of allowing Primeval to lay dormant on my hard drive, I read the whole thing this week. And let me just say, I’m awfully pleased with it. The first third needs some serious work and a few monkey wrenches. But after that? I couldn’t put it down. And that’s saying a lot. Yes, I know it’s mine and I wrote it, but I haven’t read it for a year and a half. It was like reading someone else’s book. Suffice it to say that draft two is going to kick some serious buttocks. My goal is to have finished draft one of Elemental by August and be sending around a more polished draft two of Primeval by Labor Day. Remember that whole “I’ll finish Elemental by the end of November 2008, har-de-har-har” deal? Snort.
I have six weeks left of school. I don’t expect to get much done between now and the 4th of July, seeing as how my lovely boyfriend and I are jet-setting off to my home town of…well…my home area of the Bitterroot Valley in Montana the day after school ends and thence to Toledo for his brother-in-law’s birthday. (I just said “thence.”) But I will get paid through August, and I fully intend to take my summer to write my little buns off.
In case you’ve never read any of my earlier posts and I sound like a raving lunatic (sorry about that), here is a brief synopsis of my (copyrighted!) book:
Sarah Jensen didn’t mean to die. She also didn’t mean to come back. Most people don’t, but Sarah wasn’t like most people. Thrown into a world of vampires, shapeshifters, witches, and seers, Sarah is an Awakened — the first human in eons to transform into a vessel of prophecy. Pages turn. Ancient powers slumber in the darkness of the earth, beginning to stir as a new age of magic dawns.
And Sarah is only the first to wake.
Well, how’s about that? I just woke up from hibernation, too. Too bad I can’t see the future.
springtime
does that mean i’m hatching?
it might. i think i’m hatching.
whatever. regardless of the reason, i’m excited. today i’ve written some fiction. amazing, no? it’s been so long. i’ve written a couple pages of a newish story, and it’s going rather well. i’m quite happy. i’ll let you know if i can keep it up. 
