The joy of a blank page

I've read that some people fear the blank page. They see it as threatening, a challenge they won't be able to meet. But a blank page is the most glorious thing in creation.

Just think: you can write anything! That is such an incredible fact. The whole universe is right there in front of you, like an all-you-can-eat buffet, and you get to choose what you write about. And once you're done you'll realize that an incredible thing has happened. Your story exists in the world; it's real.

Painters and sculptors are necessarily limited by the availability of materials. They are only free to use what they can get their hands on: the colors, the paints they can afford, the canvas, the clay. And they're limited by size because what they create is finite. You can only build so much art from so much paint or clay.

But writing is unbounded. There are no rules to thwart you and there is nothing in your way -- except yourself, if you perversely squat in the middle of your mental roadway and gum up the works. I've said this on this blog before and I'm going to say it again: if you've never written a story, a work of fiction, you have no idea what you're missing.

It's within your power. We all can write, though with differing results based on talent and education. But language is only one level of writing -- the other is the story. And anyone can tell any story. I urge you to tell yours. Afterward, if the writing needs some help, you can seek out an editor. It's amazing what they can do. But don't worry about any of that now. Just tell your tale as interestingly as you can.

Give it a try. What have you got to lose? You worry that it might not be good? Oh, boo hoo. Who cares? At least you did it (and it's a ton of fun, which you'll realize as soon as you try it). Tell your story. It will be the thing you own most in this lifetime. And remember: no one can take writing away from you. Even prisoners have access to paper and pencil, and when they write, their jail cell disappears. They're free.

Give it a shot. After all, you don't have to show it to anyone unless you want to. It can be your secret. Start telling your tale today. As I said (and this will only be clear to you once you've completed your story): it will be the thing you own most in this lifetime.

Slipping into your own creation

I assume anyone who visits this blog is a book lover. So you know the joy of recalling a character or scene from a favorite book. That fictional world is like an old friend. Asimov's stories were some of the most powerful for me. They continue to live in my mind, as alluring and intriguing as the day I first read them. His worlds, his ideas and especially his robots are a part of me.

When you write a book, your knowledge of the fictional world you create is far greater than any reader could hope to obtain. You know the fictional world outside the tight confines of your scenes because you made this world. And if you did it right, for the rest of your life it will be a pleasure to revisit that world in your mind. It's like nothing else you've ever experienced: your world.

I love the worlds I've created and I suspect any writer who can't say this has not written much of a book. I'm always drifting off into my worlds, and I can't express how much this means to me. It adds texture to my life.

The joy of having internal resources

I've mentioned that "the holidays" are my least favorite time of year. Everything is boring and no one does anything useful. I mean, I just looked at all the blogs and they still have yesterday's stuff up. Hey, I did my blog post today. Why didn't they? I hate the sleepiness of "the holidays."

So there's no news today and no one wrote anything interesting on a blog. Hmmm. And there's nothing on TV but snow talk and plane delays and the dogawful, continuing story of Shopping, the American pastime that substitutes for having a personality. Oy.

But my thoughts today are gleeful because I don't have to rely on anyone else for stimulation. Who cares what the world does? I don't need it because I'm a writer. There is always a voice inside me, calling out for attention. It wants to write and it never lacks for ideas. It's my friend, my mentor, my purpose, my life.

For me, writing fills every day with joy. It's more interesting than anything else I've ever encountered. I get up each day thrilled to return to the chase. Yesterday, for instance, I had a very productive session editing Xmas Carol. I actually axed scenes -- whole scenes! -- to tighten up the story. And today I'll return to this task, a mug of hot espresso at my side.

As the snow falls outside my window (over a foot is on the way, or so they say), I will once again visit the world of Xmas Carol. My day will be stimulating and creative, and when it's over I'll have the satisfaction of knowing I pushed the project along. I don't know how anyone lives without doing something they love.

So enjoy your holidays, people. Sleep, eat and don't worry. Some of us luckier folks will remain on the job and keep the world spinning till you get back.

Writing the afternoon away

I spent the day yesterday working on The Worlds, my first book. Luckily the day's work was to write new scenes. I swear the only time I feel I can breathe is when I'm writing fiction. The rest of life is just noise. I want to write my stories.

That's how a lot of (mostly) women at my old job used to refer to their soap-opera watching, as "my stories." At work I would hear the women talk about how they recorded their stories to watch when they got home. They couldn't live without them. Although soaps seem boring to me, I can understand the rush a person gets from following "their stories."

My books are my stories. It's fun after you've written a few books and can look back on those worlds and all the characters you've created. It's fun to revisit them by reading the story, or even thinking about them in odd moments, as if they're old friends. But right now I'm doing a rewrite, which means I'm really back there again. To me, it feels like an honor. I thought theese worlds (there are many in that book) were closed and done with, yet now I'm a player in that reality once again. I'm there.

It's exciting to me. I missed these places, these characters, and all the stories that take place in that world. It's a joy to create new scenes within this familiar framework. It's kind of like a high school reunion, I guess, only you're right back in the actual old days and you can alter the way things turn out. I'll bet a lot of people would like to do that with their high school "stories".

And that's it, that's the great thing about writing novels: you guide the story, you shape it and dress it. The colors you see when you read the book are the ones you put there. And as for the characters you've brought to life, they are the most personal possessions a person can have. You made this person or child or alien; it's yours in such an intimate way. It's family. I love that.

Writing update

For the past few days I've been writing new scenes for my first book, The Worlds. It's going well.

Writing fiction is always a magical process. I don't know when I'll write, how I'll write or what I'll write. I have plans but they go out the window the moment I begin.

Without warning, the urge to write hits me and I rush to the computer and I'm writing. Almost on its own, the writing continues in a mad rush until the scene is finished. And if I'm on a roll I don't stop. I just write another scene and then another one until there's no more writing left in me, and I collapse like a rag doll.

Writers make detailed plans all the time; I do it too. But then the writing happens and the plans go out the window. I say this all the time: I am not in control when I write. It's something else, something beyond consciousness that does the work. (Now, don't go thinking spirits or god nonsense; it's just Phil). However it happens, it feels damn good to write.

As a result of adding the new scenes, one of my main characters in the first book is now involved in an unusual romance. And in the process, the first book (which I confess was sinfully short in its first incarnation) is packing on pounds -- good pounds, I might add. This isn't just book obesity.

Anyway, good things are happening. I'm so thankful that I'm a writer.

Writing is a partnership with your brain

It's not me who writes; it really isn't. I set the stage but what walks out on it is not me, at least not my conscious self. It's a sort of temporary, augmented self -- but even that description fails.

Here's the thing. When I write, all I do is open a door and something comes charging out, and suddenly my fingers are flying across the keyboard and I'm writing. 

There's that pesky identity problem again: I said, "I'm writing," as if I was referring to myself. Thinking of it this way may be convenient but it's not accurate. It doesn't tell half the tale. Something within me comes out to write fiction. That's the short version. I never suspected the existence of this being before writing fiction. In none of my extensive, nonfiction writing did anything remotely like this ever occur. I just wrote in the "normal" fashion and it was my conscious mind that did the writing. End of story.

But with fiction it was there the very first time. I've come to call my writing partner Phil (using the name of a character in one of my books; it's an inside joke). Others call Phil the Muse, I guess, though I think they mean only inspiration rather than a creature that takes over your body as if you're a zombie. Me, I don't talk Muses. The whole capital-letter, vague-entity thing puts me off, so I went with Phil.

I call out to Phil sometimes. Before writing, I'll ask, "Phil! Are you with me?" Because sometimes he isn't, though this is rare. For the most part, he shows up when I need him. And when the writing day is done, I often thank him by name. See, I believe what I'm saying here. Phil exists.

And Phil writes. I mean, this guy is fast. I watch my fingers as they move at lightning speed, typing whatever Phil wants. I see the words go up on the screen and I read them -- but I do this as an observer. I even comment to myself as the scene reels out on the screen.

I'll say, "What the heck is that?" or "I thought we weren't going there!" or "Would you look at that!" It just happens and all the while, "I" never stop typing. But it's not me doing it; I would know. It's Phil. It's just the way it works.

But it all has to mean something, right? So here's my take. I think we fiction writers work with different aspects of our mental machinery, various modules that come together to make up what we call our mind. As writers, we supply certain skills: literary judgment, a deep understanding of the meaning of words, an artful sense of structure, an innate ability to strike a certain tone, and the mental apparatus required to tell a story.

To this we add ingredients dictated by our conscious mind: the story idea, the characters and goals of the story, planned outlines of places, events and timelines, and a particular sense of style that will dominate and define this particular fictional world. We're ready to write.

But when we start, something strange happens. Through some mental magic, an artful coming-together of farflung mental components and abilities, we are able to create a virtual writer for a short period of time. Set the stage appropriately and this being comes into existence. It moves with a morefluid  gait than we could ever achieve, and has a sense of comfort and style that goes far beyond what we, as conscious writers, could ever claim to possess. For a time, this personality exists and he writes. I believe this. Go, Phil!

All we do as writers is watch and adopt a hands-off attitude. We let the power run wild, let its passion take hold of the story and move it forward. We watch as the virtual writer dances through the scenes, always moving more swiftly and adroitly than a mere mortal. We let this power unwind fully. We watch as it runs its course and finally lunges across the finish line. And there in its wake is a finished scene.

This is what writing fiction feels like to me. I've read posts by other fiction writers who described something similar. Writers come up with their own terms for this process, their own notions about how it takes place. But something wild happens every time we write fiction. If you don't believe me, just ask any fiction writer who is passionate about her work.  

I put it right up there in the post title: writing is a partnership with your brain. It's almost like emergent behavior -- what comes out is so much greater than the ingredients. I feel honored after writing, as if I was visited by another whose skills are far greater than my own. I always come back to that: it is an "other" -- the Muse, Phil, whatever. It's how fiction gets written.

Any other takes on this? (This is why the Flying Spaghetti Monster created comment buttons, you know. Just sayin'.)

Kinds of writing

I write. It's what I do and it's not limited to novels. I write all day in one form or another. It comforts me.

I write in my journal at my computer each day, making five or six entries a day which amounts to about 30 typed pages per week. What do I write about? Everything. For one, I live-blog my day for a nonexistent audience. I can always find out what I was doing on a given date by searching my journal. It's also where I hash out plots and scenes and ideas. I discuss them with myself and find this helpful. Often I copy a paragraph from my journal into Scrivener and then work from it the next day.

I email with interesting friends and enjoy coming up with funny stories. Email should cheer people up.

I write my ideas in notebooks. As I've said elsewhere, I keep five notebooks in use at all times. This is how I capture my ideas and begin turning them into stories.

I have a scene book where I lay out coming scenes from my novels when I'm actively writing. This is a great help when it comes time to write.

And I write my novels. That's the big item in my writing world, a six- or seven-month haul, and I love every minute of it.

Also, because I'm a fountain-pen nut I write with each of my 14 fountain pens every day. It keeps them flowing. This writing is almost gibberish -- whatever occurs to me at the moment. I enjoy forming the letters. To me, it's a sensual experience to feel the pen slide across the paper. It calms me down, like petting a dog or holding a baby. I'm convinced it lowers my blood pressure.

And of course, I write here. It's what I do: write. What do you write about and do you do it in many places?

What worlds?

"The Worlds" is the name of the first sci-fi novel I wrote just a couple of years ago, at the age of 60.  The name is appropriate in another way too.  We writers create worlds, and I want to talk about those worlds -- how we make them, and what it's like to do this.

I've written two more novels since then.  The second one was the follow-up to the first novel.  I plan to write a trilogy, now that book 2 is finished.  That second book is called, "The Pod, the God, and the Planet."

After that, I wrote a Xmas horror novel.  After writing two novels that take place in my "Worlds" universe, I wanted to see if I could write in a different genre.  So I wrote "Xmas Carol", a fun romp through the Xmas landscape, with shivers along the way.

I haven't submitted any of the three books to a publisher, mostly because I can't decide if I want to pursue traditional publishing, or self-publish.  More about that later.  But my books did not sit unread.  I'm lucky enough to have a group of four or five faithful readers who are always willing to plow their way through my books.  I'm very grateful to them because I've gotten a lot of good feedback.  The best thing, of course is that my readers keep telling me they really liked what they read. (And I've learned how to ask my readers useful questions, like, "What part did you like the least?  Why?  What did you like best?  Did something bore you?  Tell me about it."  "Which characters seemed the most real to you?  The least?"  Etc.) 

They did a great job and unless they're all lying to me (and I know where they live, so they'd better watch out), they really did like them.  I repeat this because it's so shocking to me.  They liked my stuff.  

Hearing that someone liked your book, that they worried about this or that character, even cried when something happened to a favorite character -- is amazing.  Getting reader feedback is a tremendous help.  They can point out obvious problems that you, the writer, were blind to.  I've altered the trajectory of two books because of reader comments.  They were invaluable.

But here's the thing.  Nothing I have ever experienced compares to the excitement I've felt while writing these three books.  It was almost a magical experience.  When I'm writing and the going is good, I feel like I'm on a roller coaster, that I'm hurling through a landscape, that everything is going 100 mph.  I just type without thinking and watch, amazed, as the scenery (the words on the screen) go by.  It's like being an observer, as if someone else does the writing.  It's the most amazing thing I've ever felt.

And that's why I wanted to start this blog, because of that electric excitement I feel when I'm writing.  I want to talk about it, to revel in this wild process that's taken hold of my life.  It's all about writing now; it's the only thing that matters -- creating new worlds.  And as a bonus, I get the opportunity to point out a few truths about life along the way. You can't beat this.

I start this blog, hoping to connect with other creative people, especially those who are actively writing (or creating in another field).  We are the luckiest people in the world.  I believe this, and will write much more (undoubtedly too much) about it very soon.