Integrity in Writing... And Internet Dating: Part 2

The first question was: should I blog about men I meet when they are trying to share themselves privately with me and I’m looking at them for what I can make public?

What about if they know that I'm a writer? Isn't that like a get out of jail free pass?

Sadly, no.

From thinking about my rights as a writer, this led me to my obligations.

When I sat down to write the initial post about internet dating I realised I was immensely uncomfortable at first even just admitting that I had signed up for internet dating. Oh yes, it’s all okay these days, everyone is doing it, it’s a great way to meet friends. But I know, and you suspect, that the real reason is because I’m desperate. I have despaired of actually meeting someone in my everyday life. I have realised that the world I have created for myself is too small, and I need some way to break out.
 

And if you realise that, then you must realise other things. Obviously there must be men in my world. I don’t live in a convent (though it has sometimes appealed). I go to work, to the gym, to writer’s conferences (though to be fair to myself, those are generally populated by women) to church, and the list goes on. What about all those men?
 

In signing up for internet dating, I’m also saying silently to the world ‘yes, all the men that actually met me reject me.’ And that is harsh. Also possibly a bit self-pitying as some of the men I’ve probably rejected first, but work with me here. 
 

But why was it so hard to say? I’m a writer, I lay my life bare for my art, every novel has a little bit of me in it, every character has emotions I have felt. So why is this different?
 

Because I can’t hide behind the fiction. I might be able to hide behind some amusing quips and self-deprecation, but as a writer, do we have obligations to speak the emotions no one else is game to say? Not just the sex, the swearing, the being confronting to challenge people’s views. That, that is easy. I’m talking about the laying yourself on the table and saying ‘looking at my private parts, compare, see that you are not that strange, it’s just that no one has shown you this before.’ But instead of talking about the physical body, I am talking about the private parts of my soul and ego. The little wounds and gaping holes, the bit that thinks everyone else has it worked out and it's just me alone in here.
 

Of course I could do this with an arrogant swagger, and pretend that I didn’t care, that being so on display was fine because I loved my private parts just the way they are. But is that really helpful? Helpful to someone who feels they are strange and weird,  to say to them 'you can look but if you feel uncomfortable about it, there must be something else wrong with you'?
 

Being a writer is harder than I thought. Not just the writing, obviously, but the obligation to be honest, to admit pain hurts and laughter is not always enough.
 

So I’ve joined internet dating, and I’m a whimp. I’ve met some men who have been funny and sweet. I’ve tried to be entertaining, because when I am with them, I’m a woman and have no obligation. But when I come back to my computer, when I am with all of you, I’m a writer, and here I admit… I’m scared.

Integrity in Writing and Online Dating: Part 1

On Saturday night I joined up to an internet dating site. I’ve decided there is no use denying it, might as well embrace it and pretend it is all a bit of a good joke and that I don’t care about any possible rejection or laying myself so bare to unknown people. So, on I went. 

In my light hearted mood, I confessed my adventure to some of my work colleagues, thinking it might liven up the discussion and maybe even make me feel more normal about my decision.

One of my friends at work then suggested that naturally I should blog about the experience. I’m a writer, I write about experiences in life, and this is a life experience.

Simples.

Not so simples I came to find. 

My thinking on this has actually led to a two part blog post. I was trying to write it all in one, but it got confused, and I was going around in circles, and I couldn’t work out what I wanted to say. I finally worked out that I had gotten myself into a never ending loop between my personal desire to deflect unwanted attention and deep scrutiny and my conscience’s subtle probing that protecting myself by putting the attention on others was maybe not the ‘right thing to do’.

So, I’m sorry Jasmine, this is not exactly a post about my amazing adventures in Internet Dating World. It is first a discussion on our rights as writers, and then in a separate post, our obligations.

I am a writer. Want to be, emerging, whatever… I have the heart and soul of a writer. I look at the world differently, I listen to how things could be described in sentences, I notice characteristics, tics that give away deeper personal natures. I am an observer. 

But does that mean I have the right to write about anything that happens to me or that I perceive? Are there times when we are meant to be just people, are being conversed with or enter into some sacred rite with someone, invited as another participant, and are expected to lay down our pen and paper and just experience?  Or is everything free game?

Let us take, for example, John (not his real name). We sent a few messages, and then spoke on the phone and finally met in person for coffee and cake. During this time he released little bits of information, little snippets of his past but also of his self-perception, his previous hurts, and also little glimpses of his hopes and desires.  They were pushed forward across the table, one by one, to see how I would react to them, to see how much I could accept, and where he should stop and hide the rest.

These morsels gave me hints to histories, to emotions and wounds that I have not experienced. As a writer I wanted to gobble them up, take them from him, scoop them into my arms like a pirate finding treasure, and look over each one, analyse it, hold it up to the light to see how it glittered, and see which ones might be useful to me.

But as a woman, I was terrified. I wanted him to stop, to push them all back at him and say 'keep them'. If you show me yours, you might want me to show you mine.  And I’m not going to.  A this stage, I’m not going to test the waters with how he will react. I’m going to be perfect, witty and brilliant, and then once he’s completely smitten, will decide whether to share or not, whether or not to put my own heart on the line.

But what about him? Is he expecting the woman but seeing the glee of the writer, and thinking the woman approves? 

But he is saying it, he's putting it out there, surely I must be allowed to take it, use it. I'm a writer, the world is my oyster.

I might not tell you John’s exact stories, or even his real name. But even if I just take his reaction, the emotions provoked, and translated them, is that still using him? 

I think what I'm trying to say here is whether there's a time when as a writer you should move from saying 'can I capture this person's emotions?' to 'this person has shared this with me, do I have the right to capture it?' 

As writers, if we take from the world, but refuse to give back, are we being unfaithful? 

Even if we create great art? 

When are people people, and not objects to be observed?

In the next blog I will look at me the person versus me the writer, but for now, what I want to ask is:

Should I blog about the men I meet?

The Gift of Being a Writer

To be completely honest, I’m loving the slower, less pressured pace of writing for NaNoWriMo. I’m not working to get ahead yet. Instead, I’m writing the minimum and then spending my time reading on writing and in my genre, and it feels really peaceful.

Along with reading Jane Eyre for inspiration, I’m also working through ‘Bird By Bird – Some Instructions on Writing and Life’ by Anne Lamott. First of all I recommend it because she is a hilarious writer. You read each sentence and think ‘yup, that was the best possible way that sentence could have been written’.

So, moving on from Ray Bradbury, I’m going to share some wisdom from Anne Lamott today.

One thing she just mentions in her introduction that gave me food for thought, and inspiration, was on the benefits of being a writer (rather than just writing).

(P. xii)

‘One of the gifts of being a writer is that it gives you an excuse to do things, to go places and explore. Another is that writing motivates you to look closely at life, at life as it lurches by and tramps around.’

It is one of those things you might have realized early on, one of the things that drew you to writing. It is something I knew, and even have commented on here, but still need to be reminded every once and again.

I remember when I was about 15 I was staying with my godmother (whom I loved dearly) but got dragged along to the Annual General Meeting of the Farmers Association (or some such). It was held in the small town’s pub and included dinner and lots of speeches. The only way I agreed to go (not holding out much hope for my godmother’s suggestion that perhaps there would be cute boys there) was if I could take my pad and paper with me.

I sat through the meeting describing the people around me. They really were very easy as it was almost as if they were caricatures rather than normal human beings, and my descriptions could only add more depth and character. I also noted down the conversations around me, though I felt rather bad about this because it was eavesdropping, and eavesdropping because I thought they were amusing. However, it made what would otherwise have been an extremely boring, lonely night, something of a game.

I was actually pretty pleased with myself when at one point in the evening a man asked me if I was a reporter. Why a reporter would bother to come to this meeting was beyond me, but I took it as a compliment that I looked like a real writer.

If I had gone there without my pen and paper, I would have just been a loner, out of place in a crowd. But give me my tools and I have purpose. My silence and isolation is to only better my great work.

So what I suppose I’m trying to say is that the curse of being a writer is that you spend lots of time alone. The gift of being a writer is that you never have to be lonely.

General Update.

So, have given up on the whole giving up caffeine. First of all, it's amazingly boring. There is so little that you can drink except for herbal teas. Second, I used to have a cup of coffee in my second hour of writing, and now that I've stopped, I've dropped down from 2,000 words to 1,000 words per hour. It's a pretty big difference. It might not be the caffeine (as I'm still drinking Jasmine tea which has quite a bit), but anything that might possibly help or even give me a placebo effect I'm utilizing. (What is this placebo? Where can we find it? Maybe it's over in this truck marked 'Killer Bees'! Ah, the Simpsons).

Writing-wise... not going at all well. Working at half speed for less hours somehow does not result in more words. Go figure. Up to a grand total of 12,000 words for this story and am a week (ie. halfway) in. The problem is I don't know why it is going slow (when I'm sitting down and writing. I understand why it's not as long as it should be in that I've been busy with family stuff.) I know the characters well enough, I have more plotted out in my head than I usually do, I'm giving it free reign to be as ridiculously corny as it can be, and yet it is just coming out at half speed. Where is my flow? Muse, why have you deserted me?

On a completely different note woke up this morning from a vivid dream with a really great idea for a children's book. Noted it all down, but restrained myself from starting on it straight away. Once I've finished this fortnight I'll decide whether to jump to it or the one that's planned (which also happens to be a children's story, an Australian fairytale, sort of a cross between Dot and Kangaroo and Alice in Wonderland.)

While my writing isn't going all that well, I have managed to send off query letters to two literary agents and to one publisher directly. Am going to wait and see if I get any useful feedback along with the rejection letters before sending out a few more. But boy, trying to get a Young Adult, Christian series published when you are an overseas writer (to America, obviously they are the overseas agents to me) is really difficult. I found one publisher that specalised in young adult Christian works, but they wanted absolutely no profanity. I have a handful of swear words dotted through out, because my main character and her friends are all non-Christian to begin with. There is not a secular Aussie teenager alive that does not use the lesser swear words, and to take them out would be inauthentic. I played with the idea, and knew this might be a problem for an American Christian market, but still don't think I can do it.

A lot of publishers and literary agents appear to refer to Christian Manuscript Submissions, which is a website that allows you (for a fee, of course) to upload your proposal and sample chapters and then agents and the big publishing houses refer to it from there. Don't suppose anyone has heard of it and have reviews/feedback about it?

I thought I would wait until I've been rejected a few times, and then look into it.

Oh, but life is not all bad. I'm still working on the whole lifestyle of a writer and so on Friday (while unsuccessfully trying to avoid my house cleaner, as I had absolutely no idea what time she usually came) I went out for breakfast and read Dorothea while eating at Laurent (beautiful French patisserie near my house.)

  

Green tea with a ham and cheese croissant and an almond croissant to finish. Perfect. (Well, didn't actually help the writing, but you can't have everything!)

Final words: am halfway through Dorothea's Wake Up and Live, and other than the great 1930's psychology and self-help nature, it has given me some interesting ideas to think about. She sets a challenge of just trying out her theory (no, am not going to spoil it by giving it away... just yet). So, I'll finish the book to make sure that it doesn't go super weird and report back on how the challenge goes for me, but I highly recommend you read it if you are feeling in a bit of a life rut.

And just a reminder: you have two days left to enter the Pre-Giveaway Giveaway! It's open to absolutely everyone, anywhere in the world. At the moment I'm loving the comments, so might have to put all names in a hat because I can't differentiate based on merit.

The Pressure of Writing Full Time.

I had suspected, but not fully realised, the awful pressure that comes from deciding to write full time. True I'm on holiday and exhausted from work with numerous little errands to catch up on and the desire to actually get out and enjoy myself. However, having said I would spend this week writing, I have got less writing done than any other week so far (including, I think, when I was sick). And the worst thing is, it's not just the distractions.

Tuesday I slept in, so decided I would spend my day doing all the little things I needed to (for example, the thrilling task of going to VicRoads and trying to get my license unsurrended and my car registered) and then I would spend the evening writing. As I spend most evenings writing, and go reasonably well at it until I run out of time before needing to go to bed, I thought it should work very well.

I ended up also going for a look around Chadstone (largest shopping centre in the southern hemisphere, for those of you not from Melbourne), and seeing Total Recall (everyone warned me, but I didn't listen, to my folly. It was as bad as you have heard, and if you haven't heard: it's bad. Though I still think Kate Beckinsdale did a great job). I then went to the gym, and found myself stupidly upset over silly things (largely that I didn't look like Kate Beckinsdale, and I wasn't getting to go away for my holiday). Got home and just couldn't bring myself to face writing. I did my prayers and Bible readings, still couldn't face it. Ended up going to bed at 6.30pm, curled in a little ball afraid of my laptop. So then bargained with myself I could go to sleep then, but wake up around 11pm and spend some time writing then. 

Woke up at 11pm and went back to sleep.

So then told my unconscious self I would get up at 5am and try writing there. Woke up at 5am after a nightmare that probably wouldn't sound all that scary, but left me with that feeling someone was constantly looking over my shoulder in the not good way. Had some breakfast to try and steel myself, and sat down and wrote for an hour. Then went back to bed and woke up at 10am (yeah, don't add up how many hours I slept... and still felt tired. Yes, have considered all the medical possibilities and had blood tests etc., but nothing). Did another hour of writing, but that was it for the day. I did actually stop because I needed to know more about stained glass window making, so then spent a few hours reading up on that as well as who was the English Ambassador to Portugal in 1810, (it wasn't called Ambassador at the time, and it switched over that year, and I don't know exactly when they switched, which is a bit annoying) what did the Cathedral look like (thanks Ben!) and random other facts like that.

Today doesn't count, because I've come up to my parents' house to help direct the removalists and unpack for my aunt and my grandmother who are both moving from Sydney to Woodend (my grandmother to live with my parents, and my aunt to live nearby). On the drive up to my parents'  with my little sister, we did discuss my current story where it was up to and what could be the big bad plot my guy uncovers (this had been worrying me, big bad plots that haven't been done already are hard to come up with). So I did manage to spend some time today writing out where I wanted the story to go, and adding in some of the research I had done the other day. 

So, what I need to find out is how to create a lifestyle of writing, where the pressure of the open day doesn't destroy my soul. Sadly, as much as I complain about it, and it does leave me almost no other spare time, my current method of just writing in rushed blocks between work actually seems to be quite effective. So how to harness that, but allow for more free time? 

I will investigate and get back to you. 

Yours,

Buffy. 

Day 3: The Family Strike.

Tips for being a successful and comfortable writer as learned today:

1. To be a writer you are going to spend large amount of time sitting (or semi-reclined if you write in bed like me, which I've been informed is very bad for me, but appears to be quite good for my writing) you will very likely get headaches. If you have stretched out all your neck muscles and this hasn't helped much: Stretch your butt. Honestly, stretch out your glutes, your hip flexors and your lower back. The yoga position half-pigeon is quite good for this. It's worth it, and can be quite fun (though not recommended at work or if you are wearing a skirt.)

2. Try killing your family. Unfortunately I love my family very much. But I announce that I'm starting a writing challenge, and the first thing they turn around and say is 'come up to Mum and Dad's on Tuesday.' When I replied 'I can't come, I'm writing', their natural answer is 'Oh, that's okay, we'll come to you.' Seriously? What part of 'I have to write almost every spare hour I have' don't you get? They didn't even wait for me to realise that I would never make it and be looking for excuses not to write. Now if I didn't love them and could kill them off then a) I would probably have a great story to tell and b) would get locked away with all my meals provided and no one would disturb me... much.

As you might have guessed from my little rant, I didn't make my word count today.

I did really well in the morning before work, got 2,700 done (had toast before I started, which I think helped the flow). Then got home from work and got another 2,500 done as well as editing some of the work I had already written to iron out some inconsistencies before I lost the rest of the evening to playing Settlers of Catan. I have to admit I do love Settlers, but still.

I have convinced myself it is not too bad, as I'm not actually doing the challenge based on word count, but rather on completed novels, so since I already had some of this novel written, I've probably got a bit of leeway. However, it is only the third day which is a bit depressing. I thought people would at least give me a week to work out it was too much hard work before trying to tempt me away.

And I've booked in to do something Thursday night as well!  (I had actually booked it in for last week, but they had to change).

There are three aspects to life: social, writing, work. You can have any two, but unless you can compress two into one, then you can't have all three.

I'm aiming to make writing my work, and still have a social life. I have some very nice people at work, but do not think I could cope with the thought of it being my only social life. Way too many migration agents for that.

Sometimes I think I would be happy if writing were my social life, but my friends don't seem to agree. But I would write really nice lives for them. Promise.

Oh well. Life can't be all easy.

Tomorrow is my day off from work, so will try for another 10,000.

Day 2: Balancing Writing and Work.

Yesterday I did 10,000 words, which was a first and super amazing. But today I had to manage 7,500 words along with going to work.

 

After yesterday's success, I had an awful sleep.

For those of you who know me, you will attest to the fact that I have seriously weird, in depth dreams. I sometimes dream I'm me, sometimes I'm someone else, and sometimes I'm watching from an external perspective. I have had dreams that cover weeks or months, and others which are just a flash of an image.

Last night I had a totally new type of dream. It was as if my mind just could not create any more images. I've had dreams where I have been blind before, which is annoying (and you wake up with sore eyes from trying to see all night), but this was not that. All I could see for the whole night was flashes of light. I tried today to explain it to Jenna at work, but had absolutely no idea what it was.

Sitting down to my laptop again tonight in the dark, staring at the bright screen, I suddenly realised. I was dreaming of staring at a blank computer screen. (Even now, though I've turned the screen right down, and have been trying to type with my eyes closed as much as I can, I have a head ache from an entire day looking at the damn thing.) I feel that this is somehow not a good sign.

So, after that weird night I woke up groggy and not at all wanting to write. But I got up, made myself a cup of tea, and got back into bed ready to write. I decided not to have creamy, hot, sweet porridge, as the potential for that to send me back to sleep once it settled in my stomach was just way too high. Sadly, this also seemed to affect my ability to get into the flow. I struggled away for just under two hours, trying to connect the one sentence with the next one. In the end, for all my efforts, I had 1,954 words. It meant that I still had another 5,546 to write that night when I got home. Though I did give myself a shake and remind myself that Stephen King only writes 2,000 words a day, and just look at how many books he's published!

At work, it was my first day back after my holiday, so found a wonderful 60 emails and a pile of work waiting for me to fix up. Add to that my growing discomfort with my computer screen, and by five pm I was very happy to go home.

On the way home I just kept thinking: I had over 5,500 words to write, the beginnings of a headache and no imagination left in me. I needed every bit of flow I could get.

So I just followed the routine. I went to the gym and did half an hour of cardio fitness (am starting to believe that listening to upbeat music while at the gym, instead of watching TV, helps with the runners high at the end, and consequently the flow). I did a short stretch because I couldn't find a spot to stretch in the usual room, so had to do it surrounded by all the muscle guys lifting weights and grunting. I then came back, made a ham and cheese toastie (never underestimate the power of a ham and cheese toastie) and jumped into a hot shower. It was then straight into bed with my laptop, cup of tea, block of chocolate and sadly also a bag of chips (I was congratulating myself that I had appeared to cut down my chocolate in take from half a block a day to a third of a block, until I realised that I've suddenly increased my in take of chips from nothing to half a bag. Really don't think I'm winning in this.)

But anyway, the thing you all want to know: did it work?

And the answer is yes! Was in bed and writing by a bit before 7.45 and by 10pm I had written an additional 5,694, bringing my day's total up to: 7648!

And not only that, they were the easiest 5000 words I've written in the past few days. 

So, all I can say: all hail the flow!

So, quick update, my sequel currently stands are 49,338 words. (and as I typed that, I suddenly thought how I could use something I just wrote to explain something I was getting stuck on. Go brain, you are really picking up.) I have to admit, coming home today, I thought I might have to rethink the whole thing because it just wasn't working. But I shall not give up so easily now!

Well, good night from a tired, but happy, Buffy.

The First Writing Session.

So, it's Sunday, and that means the first day of the actual writing part of the challenge. Might have stayed up a bit late last night (also known as this morning by some) chatting with my best friend (Tam, you'll see her commenting around the place) about writing and life in general. But still went to bed focused on getting up and writing.

Set my alarm for 8am, which is not that early, I know, but after week of getting up at 10+ am, it was a bit of a struggle actually pulling myself to consciousness. Hit snooze a few times, but by 8.10 was up, had a cup of jasmine tea, and was opening up my computer. Strangely, even though I am working in bed, have not felt the desire to fall back asleep yet.

Have to admit it took a few minutes to orientate myself to the story again, as I've got some of it written already and just wasn't sure where to start again, what was happening, etc. Am assuming this will improve vastly with writing everyday. Had a few starts at a new scene, but finally just continued on from where I left off.

Definitely wasn't working at my fastest, as not quite sure where I was going for a lot of it. However, Tam, who crashed the night, came in an hour and a half later with more tea and breakfast (which really should be the way life as a writer works, so if anyone wants to move in as my personal servant, I have a reasonably comfortable couch). By that time I had written 3,400 words. Not quite the 2,500/hour I hope to get up to but for the first hour and a half after a break, I was pretty happy. And it was reasonably new material, moving my story onwards, not just vague description. It also all followed on from itself, not being just a half scene here and a half scene there. So pretty encouraging. 

Have re-worked the word counts a bit because I'm still going to be going to work four days a week, and so am planning on writing 6 days a week instead of just 5 until I can move to writing full time. So 10,000 words on full writing days (4 a fortnight), and then only 7,500 words on working days (8 a fortnight), still making a total of 100,000 words. And then I'll take into account how the story is actually going, it might turn out to be a much longer story than that, or some of my ones for younger adults might be shorter. But that's the rough guide.

So, right now it's 11am on Sunday, and I'm 3,400 words down and have 6,600 to go. Bring it on.