Writing–Adjusting Expectations

~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

600x750mm sign intended to match the specifica...

When I start the first draft of a project, I establish a certain daily minimum goal for it. Short stories I’m writing longhand, I go for at least one page in my notebook. For novels during NaNoWriMo, my unshakable goal is always 2,000 words.  Sometimes, depending on the story and the deadline, it’s just a matter of getting down on particular scene, no matter how long or short.

With the current novella I’m working, I set the word count low due to working three jobs and this being a non-priority story. I didn’t want to stress myself out with a too-high count and depress myself on the days I couldn’t make it. I decided on at least 500 word as the minimum I had to make on the days I worked two or more jobs. It was low enough to be stress-free on those sometimes stressful days, but enough words that it would still count as progress. On the other days, I set 1,000 words as my minimum, which I find reasonable enough for a novella I’m writing while working on other projects.

However, I’ve noticed that on the 500 word days I feel like I’m slacking. I hit my goal, usually going at least a few words over goal, either in the morning before I teach after I’m done with revisions on the Ivy novella, or after I make and eat dinner in the evening. Either way, it gets done, but it doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough. I should be doing MORE.

I know better, in  way. If I give into this feeling that I’m slacking and try to do more, then it’s all I do. The word count will never be enough because I’ll still have time to do more. It’ll take over the time I have to do other things, like read or relax or sleep. In other words, I’ll give this novella top priority when it doesn’t need it. There’s no timetable for this novella, no deadline. Writing at least 500 words a day, no matter how many jobs I’m working or what other projects I’m doing is fine.

I’m just going to have to make myself accept that.

Writing–The “Powerless” Saga

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Contracts

Last week marked the end of an on-going issue with one of my stories.

I sold “Powerless” to a small magazine that shall remain nameless. When the story was accepted, it was explained that they wanted the story for the March 2013 issue and would I be okay with the wait. I was because even though my pocket would have to wait to receive payment, my ego was more than satisfied.

However, March came and instead of publication and payment, I received an email stating that the original publication had been bought by another publisher and things were a little crazy. New contracts and publishing schedules would be forthcoming.

In May, the new contract request came and I fulfilled it.

And then I waited.

A couple of posts on their Facebook page kept us authors informed, sort of, but other than that…we were all left waiting all summer.

(I’m one of those writers that tires not to ever inquire about a submission or publication status. It makes me feel like an amateur and a nag. I know I’m well-within my rights, but well…that’s another post.)

Last week, I received a final email. According to the former employee writing the email, the new publisher had no timetable for publication and possibly no funds to pay the writers for their work. Kind of a problem since we’d all basically re-upped our contracts for another year.

The email informed us of everything they knew and left it up to us as to whether we wanted to stick it out or not. If we wanted out of our contracts, they advised us how to do it, since they didn’t have the authority to release our rights. The email closed by wishing us all well.

I thought about it for a few hours. Well, first I let my agitation die down and then I thought about it.

I could leave my story with the new publisher with the hope they’d get their shit together and publish my story before the contract expired and actually paid me.

Or I could take my ball and go home.

I decided on the latter.

I don’t want to deal with shady people if I don’t have to. And I consider this bit of roundabout I’ve been through this year to be a bit shady.

Besides, this story will fit nicely into my own anthology.

Silver lining.

I Don’t Cover My Gray

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A jar of Manic Panic hair dye

I’ve had gray hair since I was 28. I know this because after one of my nieces spotted one the other two descended like buzzards on road kill and for fifteen minutes the three of them combed through my hair looking for more like monkeys grooming for bugs. The only found a few, but they were still there.

I suppose at 28 I should have been upset that I was already sprouting the signs of old age, but really it didn’t bug me. Until they were pointed out, I didn’t notice them. After they were pointed out, I still didn’t notice them, unless I looked for them.

I’ve accumulated more over the years, but they’re still singular, spread out here and there throughout my hair. They don’t seem to be forming any definable pattern, like a cool streak or a lightning bolt or a swirl. They’re just scattered there, like highlights.

I think that’s one of the reasons I like them (and I do like my gray hair). They are like highlights, for now. Just a little added pizzazz to my plain brown locks. Besides, I’m sure I’ve earned more than a few of them.

I know that a lot of my friends color their gray hair and good for them. They associate gray hair with looking old and they don’t want to look old (they also might have more gray hair than I do, I don’t know since they, ya know, color their hair). I can dig that. Who wants to look like a grandma when they’re still only a mom? But I already look older, so a little gray hair isn’t going to hurt me none. I’m also lazy. After spending a good part of my late teens and early 20’s coloring my hair a lot, I’m reluctant to take up the habit again. I know just how much upkeep that sort of thing requires and I just don’t feel like it right now, especially for such small flaw.

There might come a day when I change my mind. When the gray goes from highlights to full on color and I’m getting offered a senior citizen discount 15 years before I’m eligible (and I might just take them if I’m offered, you don’t know), I might decide to look a little more my age and break out the L’Oreal. Especially if the senior citizen discounts aren’t that great.

But for now I’m cool with letting my years shine.

Rerun Junkie–Confession: I’m a Sucker for Reunions

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Mary Tyler Moore Hot in ClevelandI don’t watch Hot in Cleveland by habit. I’ve only seen a couple of episodes, mostly because there was some special draw, like the live episode (which was quite funny and well done for a live show). One episode that I made sure I watched, though, was the one featuring the Mary Tyler Moore reunion.

I’m a sucker for things like that.

Of course, plain old reunion shows are great (you know, like the Gilligan’s Island and Love Boat TV movies), but there’s something really nifty about getting actors from an old show together and having them play new characters. There’s the wink-wink, nudge-nudge they always seem to work into the episode, of course, but mostly there’s this fun of watching people with a history, with a chemistry, with a rhythm working together, but playing something different.

Like the Mary Tyler Moore reunion. They played a bowling team getting together after years apart, fame having undone their friendship. So there’s Mary and Rhoda and Georgette and Sue Ann and Phyllis sitting around a table, except they weren’t those characters. It was the same chemistry but presented in a different way.

Cagney Lacey Burn NoticeSharon Gless and Tyne Daly did it on Burn Notice. Cagney and Lacey together again only as Madeline and Tina, strangers not partners. So even thought Madeline is befriending Tina for a short-term purpose, that chemistry that made Cagney and Lacey such a great duo is still there.

I find that kind of thing fun to watch. It’s taking people who are comfortable with each other and putting them in a different element.

I look for those kinds of reunions. I don’t catch them all, of course, but I’m always thrilled when they happen. I guess it’s just the warm fuzzies it gives me. Here are the actors that created some iconic characters back together in a different, but yet familiar way.

It sucks me in every time.

You want me to watch current TV more often? This is definitely the way to do it. I’d clear my schedule for the right reunion.

I’m that kind of sucker.

What Bill Watterson Said

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Railroad Tracks

The wonderful thing about Twitter is that it exposes me to things that I might not normally make contact with. Sometimes that can be  a curse, but much of the time it’s a blessing.

Someone linked to a Slate article about this blog, particularly the Bill Watterson entry. Gavin Aung Than is a freelance cartoonist and for this blog, he takes inspirational quotes and turns them into cartoons. For the Bill Watterson quote, which was taken from a speech he did at Kenyon College in 1990, Mr. Than drew the cartoon in the style of Mr. Watterson (and did a pretty fabulous job, if you ask me, which no one did, but I’m saying it anyway).

Combining the essence of Calvin and Hobbes with a solid, meaningful quote is a great way to speak to me and this little bit did. It’s basically saying what I’ve been struggling with for the past six years in pursuing my life as a writer. I’m viewed as a failure because I’m not out to get that brass ring everyone’s heard tell about. I’m not doing it the way I’m supposed to.

I use my living situation, which most would cite as an example of failure, to my advantage so I can work my “not real” jobs to pay my bills while affording me the time I want to write. I did the same thing when I had a “real job” at Wal-Mart, only working part-time, refusing promotions and such so I could keep my writing time. When I took my last “real job”, the full-time deal in a cube, I really wasn’t feeling it, partially because my writing time was significantly cut down.

People thought I was terrible for quitting that last job. It was a “good” job. And it was a good job. But it wasn’t MY good job.

It’s my life and I want to do it my way and unfortunately, my way isn’t THE way, and I’d like people living THE way not to freak out about it so much. We all gotta run our own railroads.

Just like the comic. He quit the job that wasn’t fulfilling him to make model T-Rex’s and be a stay-at-home dad. That’s not MY life. Painting models and raising kids isn’t the train track I wanna be running on, but I totally get that sentiment.

And please, don’t bring up the whole “paying the bills” end of this scenario. “Not everyone can quick their jobs and ART!” (Seriously, every third comment on the Slate article I didn’t link to for just that reason was like this. Every second comment was bitching about how it was an insult to people who ARE ambitious and WANT that kind of life and, oh for fuck’s sake, go sit down somewhere because you’re insistence on missing the point is irritating). First of all, I PAY my bills and I’ve paid them since I was fifteen. And no matter what situation I’m in, bills getting paid comes first. Bills getting paid coming first is the important part of this scenario.

But I try to do it in such a way that was more fulfilling to me.

Kinda like I’m doing right now.

Writing–From Doubt to New Idea

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Line art representation of a Quill

After the Short Story Disappointment of August, I found myself re-evaluating my worth, dedication, and ability as a writer. Periods of writer’s doubt are common for me. I think a lot of writers go through it once in a while. But this one had me really questioning myself as a writer.

In the end, I realized a few things about myself.

One, I’m always going to be a writer. Even if I can never make a living off of it, I’m always going to do it. It’s just what I do. Because when I sat down and asked myself, “Okay, self, what is it that you really want to do with your life?” the answer that came immediately was “Write”. Yes, I like to do other things. Yes, I make money other ways and I’m always exploring new ways to make money that I think would be fun and engaging. I’m really selfish in the fact that I want to do what I want to do as often as possible and I do what I can to make that happen. But the number one thing I want to do is write, so that’s what I’m going to do.

The second thing I realized is that I don’t think I’m good enough to make a living as a writer. Oh sure, plenty of crap writers get published and make bajillions of dollars (I don’t think I need to be naming names here). However, they also at least have an idea that is marketable, that the public drools for, that can be sold to the masses. I don’t have that. My brain doesn’t work that way. I don’t have the inherent ability to be popular and by extension, the stuff I write isn’t popular. Because of this I realize that I will probably never be able to sell a book to a traditional publisher. I just don’t have what they want because what they want is to make money (and I don’t blame them because that’s what we all want, baby). There is no need to waste an agent’s time because I don’t have the goods for the market. No fair asking them to sell bruised peaches to folks looking for shiny apples. They’ll never earn a living that way and neither will I.

The final thing I realized is that, you know, self-publishing might just be it for me. I AM good enough for that. And we’re rapidly moving away from the stigma of self-publishing being for losers. I do like self-publishing for the most part. I hate the formatting, but I like the control I have over what I publish, what the cover looks like, where I publish it, and so forth. I’m not a control-freak (some people might disagree), but I do like the autonomy of doing it myself. Yeah, it doesn’t translate into great sales, but it does provide that rush of accomplishment I get when something of mine does get published, but in this case, it’s just coming on my terms instead of someone else’s.

This latest batch of writer’s doubt has put a new perspective on who I am as a writer. It’s often too easy for me to put myself down because I’m not like other writers. Now I’m operating from the position that it’s okay if I’m not because I’m doing my own thing anyway. I shouldn’t be doing their thing. My own is just fine.

So pardon me while I groove.

Writing–September Projects

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Ivy

After the disaster that was August, I’m ready to switch gears and leave my disappointments in the dust, like I would totally do every day if I could afford the Chevelle on the car lot near my house.

Anyway.

My two main goals this month are to get back to revisions on the Ivy novella (and hopefully give the damn thing a name) and start writing the latest horror novella idea.

I feel like the month away from the Ivy novella has given me a nice respite and a new perspective on it. I think I have a better idea of what I need to do with it to get it the way I want it. I’m thinking that, if all goes well, I should still be able to get it up as an e-book before the end of the year, possibly before NaNo. However, I’m saying that tentatively. I saw what smugness did to me last month.

I think writing this new novella idea will be just the break I need from the trouble I’ve been having with the short stories. The idea has mellowed long enough that I think I’m ready to put it down on paper, so to speak, and I think the act of writing something new and something longer might help my creative issues when it comes to revising my short stories and getting them to work out the way I want them to.

I’m also back to kid-minding in the morning (and now the afternoon as well) a few days a week. I think my morning project will be this non-fiction thing that I’ve been scribbling about since January. I still don’t know what it is exactly, but I’ve filled a whole notebook about it. I’ve got a new notebook and I’m going to keep scribbling. Eventually, I’m going to get to the heart of this beast and know its name. Might as well do it in the mornings while I’m waiting for the kid to get ready for school during the moments I don’t have a kitten crawling up my leg.

I feel this will be sufficient to keep me busy without completely crushing my soul since none of it has to be finished before the end of the month.

Ego rebound month.

What Does My Handwriting Say About Me?

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HandwritingI get a lot of comments on my handwriting.

Not compliments.

Comments.

Because people are more fascinated than impressed with my handwriting.

As you can see from the picture, I definitely have my own style. It’s half-print, half-cursive. I use old-fashioned A’s and my lower case N’s look like a smaller version of the capital form. It’s pointy and a little sloppy. Like I said in the note, I made an effort to be neat. If I don’t, then it looks a whole lot worse.

Most of the time it looks worse.

If I’m writing for me, then neatness be damned. I can read it and that’s all that matters.

Except sometimes even I can’t read it.

When I was in college, I was a serious note-taker. I was good at picking out what I needed to know and writing it down, but this meant that I wrote a lot. And sometimes, in an effort to keep up, neatness ended up sacrificed on the alter of speed and in the end there were some things that even I couldn’t read. I admit that some of my psychology notes looked like I was possessed by a demon and started writing in tongues during the lecture. Forget asking anyone else to make a guess, not when they have so much trouble reading it in the first place.

Handy, in a way. Almost like writing in code. Except for the times when I can’t even break it.

The big thing that gets commented on the most is that my handwriting is so small. To be fair, the notebook paper I used for the picture is wide ruled, but it’s even noticeable when I use college ruled (my preference). Even my still-learning-to-write niece has commented on the smallness of it.

For some reason, my tiny handwriting drives people crazy. I don’t know why but that’s just more comfortable to me. Writing bigger feels foreign and awkward to me. Oh, when I was younger I tried to write bigger, using that soft, curvy style that most of the girls I was in school with used. But it never felt right and I couldn’t get it to stick. Inevitably, I’d go back to writing small and pointy letters. Bubble letters and I’s dotted with hearts just doesn’t come naturally to me. Small and sharp is the way I go.

I can’t help it.

It’s just my style.

Writing–Full Stop

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Stop Sign

This hiccup with my planned anthology, along with one of my stories getting cancelled, has brought me to a full stop.

It’s a simple case of writer’s doubt I know, but I’ve taken a good hit to the ego and I need some recovery time.

It’s not like the time I didn’t write for two weeks, though. It’s not that I’m not writing at all. I’m still writing blog posts and writing in my journal and sketching out some story ideas and the like, but all work on my short stories has completely stopped, even the ones that had nothing to do with the anthology. I just don’t want to look at them. I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t want to start a new one. Bleh bleh bleh.

So I shot myself in the foot this month. What I want to get accomplished isn’t going to be accomplished because I ran smack dab into this brick wall and I’m doing a fair bit of whining and moping instead of problem-solving to get by it.

The thing is, though, I’m letting myself do it. I have a right to wallow a bit. The wallowing isn’t stopping me from working on OTHER things. In fact, I’m directing a bit of that wallowing towards other projects because it let’s me feel like I’m not a complete failure and I’m not being totally useless.

But I don’t see any reason why I should deny myself the opportunity to experience this disappointment. How else will I learn? How else will I get stronger? How else will I figure out how to cope and how to recover and how to overcome?

So maybe full stop isn’t the best way to describe this since only one thing has really stopped (temporarily).

Everything else is still plugging away.

Sew, I Made Another Skirt

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Denim Pencil SkirtAfter doing my first jean skirt, I decided that I had another pair of jeans that were ripe for transformation and decided to do another one, but shorter. I was going for a pencil skirt look, which I sort of achieved.

I did my measuring and cut off the legs where I thought I should. Then I went about the cutting and sewing just like I did with the first, long denim skirt: I cut the inseam of the legs open along the seam and the front of the jeans up along the crotch towards the zipper so I could fold it over and stitch it. I did the same thing in the back, cutting up the butt seam, but fashioning a slit instead.

The front looks pretty good, I think. I don’t like the way the back slit turned out very much and if I’m honest, the skirt should be tighter around the legs to be more pencil-ish. It also turned out shorter than I’d intended. Good thing I allowed an inch or so for a hem, otherwise it would have been much shorter than I wanted.

I learned a few things working on this skirt.

One, I’m terrible at cutting a straight line and I don’t know that I’ll ever get better at it.

Two, shorter skirts require a lot more trimming than I thought. Due to my crap cutting skills and the way the fabric needed to be arranged to be worked into a skirt, I had a lot more excess material to cut away than with my first skirt.

Three, my stitching is getting better, which I consider a huge plus.

Four, I will sew with my left hand without realizing it and then wonder why it’s taking me so long to get the sewing done. No kidding. I was half-way through one section of the skirt before I realized why it was taking me so long to get it done. The sad thing is, I do stuff like that all the time. Clearly, I think I’m ambidextrous, but my left hand just hasn’t developed the necessary skill level yet.

In the end, I’m pretty pleased with this attempt.

This will be the last jeans-to-skirt attempt for a while, though.

At least until I buy some more jeans.