Thoughts of a professional writer

I took the first two weeks of November off from my Day Job to be a professional writer. I've never done anything like this before.

Yeah, I've had great swathes of time on my hands before, and dabbled a bit at my writing career, in between doing all sorts of other stuff, but I never approached it then as I am now.

For the past two weeks, I told everyone and especially myself that I was a professional writer.

And then I approached it as a professional would.

Every morning I'd get up, have breakfast, see Their Ladyships off to school, then I would sit down, fire up the laptop and get to work. I made goals, I set targets, I had a deadline imposed on me by someone else and I made myself accountable to them.

And you know what? I got some serious work done. With the exception of the Sabbath and one day I told a friend I'd help her with something, I've been pulling in about 4K words a day. That's serious mojo. I also had time left over to devote to editing other projects and sending out a few things to publishers.

And all done before Their Ladyships got home from school.

First few days was easy. Last few days was hard, as I found myself wanting to rebel against the structure I'd imposed. But yesterday, I gathered my courage, sat down, and did my wordage. Today, same thing.

Next week I go back to work, "full-time school" hours. I go back to squeezing in writing when I can, between the Day Job, the Extracurriculars and the Family. I'm going to miss being a professional writer. I don't know if I'm going to like the fly-by-night moonlighting style of being a writer, even though most of my published mates work that way.

Treating writing as a professional day job was eye-opening.

I've not done the like before, but after a week and a half of serious BIC, I'm thinking that yeah, maybe I can do this sort of thing on a more permanent basis.

I've just got to figure out how to get me some more of that.

Getting to know you...

Dear Computer,

I hope we become good friends. You are only new but I thought you should know, I get traumatised by new technology.

Love from me.

Zara Penney

The Benefit of Imaginary Friends

The other day I was thinking about Mr Peach and Mrs Outway. Mr Peach is my butler and Mrs Outway is my housekeeper. I've got a whole swathe of household staff, from Peach & Outway through kitchen maids, laundry maids, footmen, and scullions. (His Grace's valet is Jack and my lady's maid is Jessica.)

And not a single one of them is real.

Staid, boring mundane types might consider that a sign of a few screws loose, but what it really is is the opposite--it's a sign of mental stability.

The presence of "imaginary friends" or fictitious people is a human's way of creating the idea of another human being outside of oneself thay will fulfill a social need in a person. Many children invent an "imaginary friend" of some kind to serve a very real psychological need. Sometimes it can be as simple as a play companion, but in certain circumstances, the child may create a defender or protector to give them the sense that they may not be as powerless as they feel. This is often the case for children who have been abused or neglected somehow.

For me, I've invented a whole household of staff because I hate housework. Loathe the stuff, really. Can't stand it.

But it has to get done. Since my heart cringes at the thought, I have delegated the tasks to the household. Mr Peach makes sure the staff do what they have to do. Kim (from Southeast Asia) is in charge of the kitchen. Jack & Jessica make sure clothes and other bedchamber stuff is neat and tidy and Mrs Outway makes sure things run smoothly overall. The footmen are there for odd little tasks and the gardeners (of which there are two) keep the yards squared away. The laundry maids can be a handful, especially with their use of magic when it comes to washing clothes, but Mr Peach is more than sufficient to deal with them.

And so when I'm busy washing dishes or hanging out clothes, I deceive myself by withdrawing into my imagination and assume that it's not really me doing the work, but someone else.

And thus the housework gets done.

Memory Shirts

I have a box of T-shirts from my younger days. This is my box of Memory Shirts.

For years it lay hidden in the back of my shed until it was time to move house. I kept the box instead of donating it, as I did with so many other items of clothing.

I didn't open it again until a few days ago.

As it is autumn in the Southern Hemisphere now, the nights aren't as warm. I offered my daughters some T-shirts in which to sleep and went digging in the box for Memory Shirts.

The first I pulled out was a gray Les Miserables shirt I acquired in New York in 1990. I was on tour there that summer with the Granite Youth Symphony, and one of the many activities was to go see a real live Broadway Show--Les Mis.

It was wonderful! I bought this T-shirt in commemoration. (I also acquired a T-shirt that says Carnegie Hall. I'll let you guess that memory.)

I think often and fondly upon my GYS days. Even dreamed about it last night. I still keep in contact with many of the friends I made there. Good memories.

For the other daughter, the next T-shirt I pulled out simply said "Star Trek".

This T-shirt I acquired in a box of auction goodies at a Star Trek convention. The auction had gone on too long, and they'd run out of time. So what they did was say, "We've got a whole box of stuff left over. What will I have for this box."

I conspired with a friend of mine, Karen J, to go in together to buy this box. We managed to outbid this one guy to the tune of US$290.

Oh, what a jackpot! There was a leather varsity-style jacket that Karen claimed, a Star Trek umbrella, figurines, books and, of course, the ubiquitous T-shirts that peppered the fandom.

I loved being a part of the Star Trek Fandom and not because of Star Trek being awesome (because it is). I loved it because the fen were a wonderfully-accepting bunch of people who were not afraid to be who they truly were.

Karen died about ten years ago from cancer, but every time I see this T-shirt, I still think of her.

Most people might have just given old T-shirts to their kids for nightwear without a further thought.

Me, I gave my daughters something to sleep in and a darn good story to go with it.

I know I write better than I navigate.

That's because my navigatory skills are non-existent.

So you see? It wasn't a boast,

although

I got the nicest compliment in the Penguin comp telling my I have an Austen voice...

I do so love writing those Regencies. NEver knew I had it in me until I started.

If you want to find out about omens

Look in my blog.
Why don't you check all the blogs, they're in the link.

But I am in a competition at Penguin. I received a lovely compliment. My little Regency of 1600 words had the nicest compliment. You don't have to vote. But I did receive a few compliments from people who I don't know. I didn't bother to ask people to vote for me because they are monitoring the competition quite heavily. Anyone who doesn't more or less go to read anything but one - vote and then run are being treated as suspect...

And besides, I want to know what is being felt by people reading the stories... not what my mother thinks.

But somebody said I have an Austen voice. That little compliment was worth all the tea in China. And to the person who wrote it, your little comment was like a piece of gold. Jane Austen is my hero and I'm not the only one.

The brief for the short story was very tight. It had to be for the Christmas Season. It had to be between 1300 to 1600 words. And it also had a couple of options for the basic plot. Into that I had to squeeze my little short story, give birth to characters and create the situation. The Regency desperately wanted to bust the barrier of 1600 words.

And what I discovered from a lot more than a few entries, people just don't know what a short story is. Seems they might have lost the art of it. One of the most ideal examples of what constitutes a short story is the O Henry Return of the Magi about the hair and the comb.

From comments left by people voting, on entries, the lack of knowledge of the concept of the short story is quite obvious. And some of the entries even have Chapter One or Part One or something. That isn't a short story. It's Chapter One of a novella or a novel.

Writing as an Adventure - or - Be In It To Win It

Somebody once said to me- "Oh I always meant to write when I retire."

Given the age of retirement is 65 here (recently I think, moved to 67 or something like that) that's a long time to wait to start writing. And while there are many people who don't get published until they might be that age, their motivation to write will have been with them all their lives and they should have spent many long nights writing before or after working all day in the office.

In other words a writer is born that way.

So I nod politely when people say this type of thing because they think because I can do it, anyone can. Either I look stupid, or... ah... I look stupid, full stop.

Writing is an adventure. It is painful. It is fun. It hurts. It can be triumphant. There are good times. There are bad. There are.

Advice to beginners, middlers and patient always have written hopefuls is just don't think - do. Don't plan. Just do. Don't sit down and try to plot the whole story like you were planning an overseas trip. Don't use precision and don't procrastinate. Just sit and do.

Some tips would be to carry a notebook with you at all times. You never remember good ideas. Good ideas are spontaneous little devils and like to play catch me while you can. Cheat them. Just tell them "later" and sneak it into your notebook while they're not looking.

Lucky you if you are technologically savvy. One of my writing group I am totally envious of. She puts them into her cell phone.

Another tip. Have a plot board. One of those cork jobs you can move around, throw in frustration or whatever. But pin things on it relating to a broad aim. I just tear up sheets of A4 and I can rearrange the chapters, ideas, etc. at will. This includes basic facts such as names, relationships etc.

Personally I don't do that, but some people like to answer quizzes about their characters, their aims, well... whatever it takes to motivate you, help you, grab it with both hands - every mickle makes a muckle.

Don't let people discourage you. My mother once said "oh that's just a silly romance" - "absolute rubbish". I also write and illustrate children's books and she was proud of them, but didn't realise that just because she wasn't a romantic soul, doesn't mean I needn't be one. You will probably think what sort of awful parent I have but my father once said to me "what makes you think you are so special as to anticipate you can convince somebody to like this rubbish?" again referring to my romance. Well. Given that he hadn't even read it makes it nonsense. But I don't let them discourage me because my sister once described the sort of books my father like to read then would pass them onto my mother and sister to read. She was most scathing herself. Consequently I learned to keep my own counsel as far as my parents were concerned.

Another tip. Love your characters. People don't like to read a whole book full of some nasty little nark nobody could love. You have to give them somebody to barrack for. I hope you don't hate your baseball, or footy team. Don't know about you, but Greg Norman and the old Tige got a vote of unpopularity from me because of their ego trips, leaving normal moral values hanging on the fence, forgotten.

Biggest, most important tip? Keep writing. Persevere. Thomas the Tank Engine. "I can do it. I know I can do it."

Edit, edit and edit. Make sure that what you publish will never be shamefully hidden away when you are famous. That's a bit like Marilyn Monroe's little nudie calendar done in a moment she needed some cash and haunting her once she hit the big time.

Not every day will shine for you. Good days and bad days happen. But in a way, they are good for you. Good days make you want to dance. Bad days make you (a) try harder and (b)realise what a good day you had yesterday and (c) anti ego.

Okay, enough. I'm off to write. Where are you going?