NaNo, Tool for the Perfectionist Writer

Note: to those of you who are not writers or who don't know about such things, November is National Novel Writing Month (or NaNoWriMo, or NaNo). It is an event in which manymany people sign up to write 50,000 words before the end of the month. That is what this post is about. You can find more info at http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Dear NaNoers,

Last year I wrote you this letter about maintaining momentum, so I'm going to re-post it here in case it helps: http://veronicarothbooks.blogspot.com/2011/11/some-nano-advice-dont-look-back.html

This year I'm also helping out with a cool endeavor of YA Highway, which is a daily NaNo newsletter that we'll be sending out for the rest of the month. It will include writing advice and cute animal pictures and links to helpful stuff. If you're interested, check it out here: http://www.yahighway.com/2012/10/introducing-carpool-lane-inspiration.html

And now, onward to my thoughts!

I wanted so badly to participate in NaNo this year, but as has been the case for the past few years, my schedule just didn't allow it-- I'm going to be working on Book 3 for the next several months, and I'd like to really focus on polishing it and getting it right, so it doesn't seem wise to undertake something so involved at the same time.

The reason I'm so eager to participate is that I think NaNo is an activity particularly well-suited to writers like me, who live in paralyzing fear of drafting. (Or in other words: a particular kind of crazy perfectionist.)

For my entire writing life, I have tried to be any other writer but the one I am. I have tried to mull things over and to be very careful and deliberate as I work and to proceed slowly through drafts. I have tried detailed outlines and planning and story mapping. All that these attempts did for me is give me more time to doubt myself, more space to second-guess things, and the result was drafts that were just as messed up as all the drafts I had written quickly, that required just as much revision.

Some people need time and space and a slower pace. Other people need to churn out a fast, sloppy draft so they know what their story is before they try to make something of it. Some people relish their first draft. Other people pretty much spend all their drafting time with the fear of imperfection chasing them to the end, and proceed through revision with a much clearer head.

NaNo, I think, is an amazing opportunity for writers like me, who need to tear off the band-aid of first drafting so they can get to the sweet stuff-- the revising. NaNo is an exercise in daily forgiving yourself for the wild imperfections of your first draft. It can teach you to allow things in your life to be "good enough...for now," instead of feeling the frantic desire to tweak and prod and push before you even know what you need to tweak and prod and push. NaNo can give you a community to cheer you on when you're down, flail around wildly with you as you celebrate, push you when you lose your momentum, and give you directions when you feel lost.

It is a safe place to flub it all miserably the first time around and then-- shock of all shocks!-- celebrate at the end, which I think is a truly valuable lesson for life. Life is full of imperfect things--imperfect works, imperfect stories, and imperfect moments. You won't be able to fix them all, especially not rightthissecond. And I think us perfectionists need to learn to stay in that uncomfortable place where you know something needs work but you aren't going to fix it yet. There is a space between starting and finishing, and it feels a lot like when you notice that a picture frame is crooked but you can't straighten it yet, and that is where much of LIFE takes place. NaNo is like a tiny, condensed version of that experience of imperfection, and it will teach you to be patient with the flaws of your work (and yourself!), and I love that.

So NaNoers...use this month as a tool. Use it to help you get words on the page, to make friends, to make mistakes, to learn things, to make plans to revise, and to celebrate the hopelessly imperfect but wholly amazing accomplishment of writing a whole crapload of words.

The usual warnings: don't convince yourself that you don't need to revise at the end of the month. Don't submit your NaNo novel to agents in December, or even January, or February. Don't shy away from completely gutting your NaNo project and beginning fresh now that you understand the story better. There's no such thing as a wasted draft-- each one shows you your story in a new way and helps you with the next one.

But the encouragements: WRITE! Be imperfect! Be determined! Go forth and totally kick your draft's butt. I will be here, cheering you on as I beat the crap out of book 3 with my words.

-V

The Fine Line (Between Modesty and Self-Deprecation)

Recently I read this post at Nathan Bransford's blog about lacking confidence in your writing. Based on something called the Dunning-Kruger effect, it's possible that thinking you're incompetent may actually be a sign that you ARE competent. An interesting thought.

Here's the question I have, though: can you believe you are competent without being a smarmy little jerk? To what extent is it okay to say "I like my book. I think it's good"?

I propose this: in our attempts to be humble, we writers often act falsely self-deprecating. And it's a little annoying. (I mean, I definitely do this, and I get annoyed with myself.)

I mean, just look at the process. We write our books, we polish them, and then we send out queries. Here's the thing about querying, though: the very act of sending out a query letter says "my book is worth reading." And that is okay.

We spend all this time querying, telling the agent world that our books are worth looking at, yet when we talk about our work, or when other people talk about our work, all we can say is "I'm scum. I suck! I will never get an agent/get published/get elected president of the world." (Okay, that last one may not be that far off base.) And we can't even take compliments anymore because we're so determined to be humble.

I've been thinking lately about what humility really is. I heard once that humility is seeing yourself as you really are. I don't think that's a perfect definition, but it is worth thinking about. If I see myself as I really am, I know that I am not a bad writer. BUT I also know that I am not perfect, and I have a lot to learn. So do I need to insult myself? Um...no. Do I need to prance around the internet talking about how kickass I am? No. Not that either.

My problem is: if you're querying, you believe that your work is good (or you should, anyway. Why send out something that even YOU don't think is good? That's a waste of everyone's time!). So you don't have to pretend that it it's bad for the sake of the people around you. Honestly, they don't want to hear that any more than they want to hear the opposite. I cringe at the comment "no agent would ever want me" as much as I cringe at "my book's going to be a NYT bestseller! Want to shine my shoes and bask in my presence?"

I really just want to say this: don't step on yourself. The world, especially the publishing world, will probably do enough of that for you. If you believe your book is worth reading, then stand behind that. It isn't egotistical to say that your work has merit, as long as you acknowledge that it also has flaws. See it as clearly as you can. That includes the good AND the bad.

Plus, stepping on yourself is probably not good for your joints. How do you even bend that way?

Beta Reader Anxiety Issues (And How to Get Over It)

Every time I send a manuscript out for someone to read and scrutinize, I float away on cloud nine with the following irrational thought in my head:

My manuscript is perfect. All my feedback will be positive. My beta readers will toss rose petals in my path wherever I walk. La di da di da.

Let us not even approach the subject of how off-base that is. But really? I always have a short period of bliss in which I am perfectly happy with my manuscript. That short trip down la-la lane usually comes to a screeching halt about the moment that I get comments back.

A brief side note: I really do like all my beta readers. I think it's awesome they take time from their own writing in order to read mine. Also, I'm happy to revise. And I am fairly good at taking criticism. But I'm not going to pretend it's not hard. Because it is! And I think it is for everyone. This post will describe only my interior battle, the one that takes place only in the recesses of my crazy mind.

It's really dark in here.

Anyway.

The comments open my eyes to the flaws in my manuscript. And unfortunately, they usually come with the gut-wrenching fear that I suck and have always sucked and no one has told me yet and why, why didn't they just tell me so I could take up potato farming BEFORE I got my degree in creative writing? But this time is going to be different. Coming down off cloud nine does not have to mean leaping into a crap pit.

Here is my step-by-step formula for those more difficult beta comment reading sessions. (I haven't actually had these for D-- I think I better prepared myself this time. But I do remember what they were like for TM.)

1. Read everything through

It's like ripping off a band-aid. Just read it all right away so you know what you're up against.

2. Feel crappy

Just go ahead and give yourself permission to feel petty, mad, sad, embarrassed, whatever. Eat some cookies, watch some television, and mope a little.

3. Re-open the document

I have found that the real struggle is just getting back in front of the computer and opening the word document again. Once you do that, the rest is fairly easy.

4. Make a list

This is for the big things, the things you can't tackle with some copy-paste and a spell checker. Make a list of the grievances your beta reader had and then brainstorm ways to fix them...and make a list of those things. I've found that if you just have the list of grievances, you can get overwhelmed and start thinking the draft sucks. But if you have ways to address each of those grievances, even if the list is long, it's practical and purposeful. Tasks you can deal with. Punch-you-in-the-gut statements like "your beginning is 20,000 words too long" (Hello, TM. How are you?), not so much.

5. Insert line edits

It will make you feel like you're doing something. And you are!

6. Get to work

7. Marvel at the improvement in your manuscript. Aka: The Payoff.

This is what makes it all worth it. Climbing that ladder back onto cloud nine again. Except this time, cloud nine is a little more stable than before.

This is what I intend to do when the situation arises again. If it does. So good luck with your revisions, y'all.

The Wonders of Word Vomit

(Courtesy of **CRT**)

Today I am trying my best to remember what I've learned from Anne Lamott. Want to hear?

Okay, well if you don't, feel free to not read this.

She says: "Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft.

I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won't have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren't even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they're doing it."

Her advice is: let your first draft be shitty. Like word vomit. Every thought and idea that occurs to you, spill it out on the page. Stuff doesn't make sense? Screw making sense. Make no sense. Don't shore up plot holes. Expand them until they suck everything else into a vortex. Feel like changing voices halfway through? Do it. Make it big and stupid and clumsy and obnoxious. Do it.

That's not exactly what she says, by the way.

I have So. Much. Trouble. With this. If you know the whole enneagram personality numbering system, and I tell you that I'm number 1, you know what I mean. For those of you not In The Know, the number 1 personality type (not a ranking system, just numbers assigned to each one) is known as "The Perfectionist." As in: everything is either good or bad. THERE IS NO GRAY. Therefore eradicate the bad! Right now!

Which is why TM had seven false starts before it transformed into a complete story.

Anyway: one of the descriptors you might (might) use for someone like me (maybe) is...stiff. I find it difficult to let go. And that's stupid, because it's not like I didn't completely rewrite TM after the first draft was done anyway, so what was the purpose in starting it over again seven times if it was just going to change again? I suppose it was a learning experience. But I don't need to have that experience every single time I write something.

So today's goal: embrace the word vomit. Turn off the internal editor. Shake it out.

I'll let you know how it goes. Any advice, anyone?