What’s Your Morning Routine?

My mother used to say, “I have no secrets.” In other words, if she thought it, she shared it.

So I want to share with you the secret of my morning routine.

As soon as I get up–well, pretty much as soon as I get up–I go out to the kitchen, flip on the Keurig, and then I go to the sink and pour myself 16 oz. of water.

While my coffee is making, I do some kind of exercise, maybe bending to touch my toes ten times.

I take my coffee to whatever spot I’m writing in these days and I pick up my journal. Now that we are almost empty-nesters, I write in a favorite chair inside the house; my dog appreciates it; besides, the cabin is really cold this time of year.

I write 2-3 pages in my big Everyman’s Journal, which I like to think of as my Everywoman’s Journal.

I have a couple of small assignments right now that I’m wrapping into my journal. I’ve written a very short entry every day since my mother has been on Hospice (today is day #52). It’s either a description of a visit with her, or a memory, or a reflection of some sort.

The other assignment began January 1. I came across a One-Bad-Poem notebook from 2007-2008, and it occurred to me that I could spend a few minutes each day revisiting a poem written 10 years ago. Here’s a sample:

Like Chalkboard Erasers

When I clump the old poems together
letters and phrases and whole lines shake loose
and drift over me in a chalky cloud.

Having this particular morning routine works for me, and it usually launches me into a day of getting writing done. Even if I have a day of driving ahead of me, appointments, or whatever, I move into my day knowing that I’ve accomplished something that matters to me, something that makes me feel alive. Writing.

So here’s my secret, that is not a secret at all if you’ve followed my blog for very long.

I don’t have to drink 16 oz. of water. I don’t have to write 3 pages in my journal. I don’t have to be brilliant in my mom diary. I don’t have to revise the poem, and it (still) doesn’t have to be good.

All I have to do is offer myself the opportunity. I pour the water. I pick up my pen. I think about my mom. I recopy the poem. Sometimes it’s a bit lame. But I’m not here to be wildly successful. It’s more like an experiment. I see what happens.

What It Looked Like

I stayed up late New Year’s Eve — making a last-ditch, under-the-wire effort to meet my submission goals for 2017. “Getting my ducks in a row.” Or attempting to.

I believe my husband said goodnight and went to bed at 8:30. Daughter #3 (the only duckling still at home) disappeared into the night around the same time.  I am of two minds about this: 1) that this was a little pathetic of me; and 2) that hanging out with my poems and stories and various journal web-sites and submittable pages was a perfectly healthy way to spend the holiday.

Anywho, that’s what I did. And here’s a quick recap of the year’s send-out.

I submitted poems to 55 venues in 2017.

This was only 5 short of my goal of 60, and if I were better at counting, I would have had 60, so…I’m okay with that. Of the 212 (approximate) poems I submitted, 17 were accepted and one was a contest winner. The 12 submissions between 12/24 and 12/31 of course have not yet enjoyed a response, and 4 others from earlier in the year are still hanging fire.

In 2017, I submitted 12 short stories —

This met my goal – which was no small potatoes when you look back at my (abysmal) history of short story send outs. Moreover, one story was a runner-up in Calyx’s Margarita Donnelly contest and is published on-line (hurrah!). A BIG first for Bethany! I can’t report on the ratio of send-out to acceptances yet, as five just went out, but I’ll keep you posted.

On the south coast of Ireland, Sept. 30, 2017

What I learned from submission efforts is a topic that I need to revisit, and will revisit in future posts. I LEARNED SO MUCH, even (especially) from the missteps.

A recap of 2017 could include so many other important details — the blog overhaul (which is still on-going), the novel which is still not 100% finished with me but somehow made it to 4 contests (1: no; 3: awaiting response), plus into the hands of my film-school graduate friend. The new (“new”?) novel that is happily underway…

Oh, and family life (that!), trips (Ireland!), not to mention writing conferences (2!) poetry readings, new poems drafted, and books read…and so forth.

So what do I write about next?

Thanks to a challenge at Donna Vorreyer’s blog I have made a commitment to write a blogpost at least once each week in 2018, which will give me lots of wiggle room to get you caught up on well, moi, and the writing life.

If you have any goals (even baby step goals) in 2018, please share in the comments. If you think I can help, email me at bethany.alchemy@gmail.com — you can also leave your email on the sign-up form (whether or not you’d like to open the PDF of my 7-days-of writing encouragement) to receive my sporadic newsletter updates.

No matter what else 2018 holds for you, I hope you write.

 

 

 

How do you KNOW when a writing project is FINISHED? 13 Expert Writers Respond

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I have been working on a book–and because I ground to a halt WITHOUT FINISHING my last major project–it’s no surprise that I haven’t been able to find the confidence to step back and declare this book “done.”

Additionally, I should admit that summer is always my toughest season for writing. I tend to forget this, and I forget that I need to be gentle with myself in the summer when my family is all at home and various people expect me to hang out with them in the sunshine. Even so, because of my blog class, I decided to email a few bloggers, and quite a few of my friends–people who have finished at least one book–to find out how they would answer this question:

HOW DO YOU KNOW WHEN YOUR LONGER WRITING PROJECT IS FINISHED?

One thing I learned is that it happens to be summer in other writers’ universes as well; despite that, I heard back from a dozen or so of these exemplary, hard-working folks, and the advice is so stellar that I decided to pull together my sorry summery self and share it with you. Here goes.

1. DO YOUR HOMEWORK!

Carol Tice at Make a Living Writing has written two traditional print books, plus a dozen self-published nonfiction e-books. Her advice is to “write from research, create an outline, follow your process, and don’t look back.” Her research (my “homework” in the sub-heading) encompasses not only the content, but also research into how you’ll position, design, and deliver the content.

She continues: “Every book I’ve worked on that I wrote from scratch (i.e. not repurposed from a course, podcast, or blogposts) begins with online research to see the best headline and concept positioning compared with what’s already out there. From there, we create a chapter outline. I write to my outline and ideally get some feedback on it from my audience, to see if there are major points I’ve neglected to include. Add them in, and then the draft is done.

“From there, most of my books go through three phases of editing–I have one staffer who does a first pass, then I edit, and then a professional editor. Final read by me (only minor changes permitted at this point!) and it’s done and ready for my designer. Good planning at the start makes sure you can roll through to the end and [not] get derailed or start second-guessing the direction.

“Final tips: think multiple projects, and give yourself deadlines! I wasted two years writing my first e-book and making it super long. I should have put it out as a shorter series of ebooks instead. Most e-books are short, so if you’re going that route, remember to save side trails and related ideas for future e-books. The easiest way to sell a book is…with the next book.”

To read more on this subject from Carol, check out her blog (linked above), her community for freelance writers, or this post.

2. SOW THE SEEDS, SEE WHAT SPROUTS, THEN…

At her website, Writing It Real, Sheila Bender includes all manner of great advice–classes too–directed toward writing poetry, essays, creative-nonfiction, and memoir. She’s also the author of several wonderful books about writing and the writing life. She sent me a whole page of finishing ideas, addressing the process in five different genres. My favorite was this:

“My instructional book, Writing and Sharing Personal Essays, uses an agricultural metaphor: prepare the soil, sow the seeds, see what sprouts, harvest the crop, bring it to market.”

It strikes me that this is a poet’s take on what Carol Tice says (above). Sowing the seeds is the planning and thinking stage. Seeing what sprouts is the stage during which we get it all scribbled out. Harvest–that has to be editing (but also finding good editing help, and accepting it gracefully). Once it’s harvested, we have to bring it to market and that requires that we trust the process we’ve been through and submit the dang thing.

I recently bought a copy of Sheila’s book, Sorrow’s Words: Writing Exercises to Heal Grief, and highly recommend it. Click on this link to go to her books page on her website.

3. LET IT GO

Kathleen Kirk at EIL (Escape Into Life), an on-line literary and arts journal, had this to say: “Sometimes I think it (anything) is finished when it finally gets published, but sometimes not even that is true, as I have fiddled with individual poems later, developing a book manuscript, sometimes with an editor’s help. I live with some poems for many years, continuing to trust them or to tweak them. Other things I look at and say, ‘Did I write that?'”

Kathleen serves as Poetry Editor and Editor at Large for Escape Into Life, and she has several books of poetry, including Interior Sculpture (Dancing Girl Press, 2014) and ABCs of Women’s Work (Red Bird, 2015), with The Towns forthcoming from Unicorn Press in 2018. Her personal blog is Wait! I Have a Blog?!

4. STOP WRITING

Are you starting to see a pattern here? Sue Anne Dunlevie, the author of Stress Management Decoded: The Practical Path to Inner Peace for Busy Women, also emphasized working with an editor, having faith in the process, and STOPPING. Could it be so simple?

“For my Amazon Kindle book, I had an editor. She was great and helped me realize where I needed to add info and when I needed to stop writing! I have since done some short eBooks for my blog readers and I make sure that 1) I’m giving a lot of value and 2) giving them actionable content that they can use right away.”

Notice that final key, too, in Sue’s advice: ACTIONABLE CONTENT. To read more about and from Sue Anne, take at look at successfulblogging.com.

5. BE IN CONVERSATION WITH YOUR WRITING

Joannie Stangeland has several books of poetry (including In Both Hands from Ravenna Press), all of which grace my shelves. When I asked her how she knows when a book is done, she described the process as a conversation:

“For me, revising or editing a poem or even an entire manuscript is a conversation. While I’m looking and learning what the poem says, I’m also questioning it and listening to it. At some point in the exploration or polishing, we’ve said all that we have to say—and that pause in the conversation tells me it’s ready to send out. The dialog might start up again in the future, but for now, it’s finished.”

To find more about Joannie’s books, visit her blog, joanniestangeland.com.

6. TRUST YOUR GUT

Janice Hardy, whose site, Fiction University, is a recent discovery for me, took a visceral approach in her response. You get tired, you follow hunches, the manuscript nags, boredom attacks, and so forth. Or, in her exact words:

“For me, a manuscript is done when I’m tired of reading it, and all I’m doing is making insignificant edits here and there. Those edits are mostly changing a word or moving a comma. Fiddling with the text only because I’ve read it so many times it no longer feels fresh, not because it actually needs it.

“It’s not done if I’m changing the plot, story, or characters at all, or if there’s a bit nagging at me that isn’t right. When my gut is telling me something, I try to listen even if I don’t want to spend any more time on the manuscript.

“Be wary about thinking a manuscript is done just because you’re bored with it. Sometimes that means it is done, but it can also mean you need a break from it. Set it aside for a week or two and read it again before deciding.”

I have a stack of Janice’s books, and Understanding Show, Don’t Tell: (And Really Getting It) (2016) completely changed the way I edit.

7. CARE MORE ABOUT THE ACT OF WRITING THAN THE ART OF FINISHING

Another good friend and poet, Esther Helfgott, also offered a visceral response to my question. Initially, she emailed back only the enigmatic, “When my stomach stops hurting.” I wasn’t sure what to make of that, or what to do with it, but the very next day, a poem arrived in my in-box. I think I can summarize what she’s saying with, “Trust the process, and more will be revealed.” Esther is, by the way, a woman who gets PLENTY finished. She has a blog, and several books, including Dear Alzheimer’swhich is a tribute to her late husband, Abe, and Listening to Mozart: Poems of Alzheimer’s. (You can click on the link to Esther’s blog to read more about her books.) She introduced the poem with these words:

“You’ve gotten me started on this poem, which is not finished, of course; but you’re welcome to use perhaps the idea of it and, if not, that’s ok too.  This exercise has made me see that I care more about the act of writing itself than the art of finishing!

“I had a great conversation with someone the other day about the biography I’m writing. She was really interested in my work so I went on and on about my research and how wonderful it was to discover this piece of history and how much I was getting done–writing articles connected with the main work–and I was so excited that someone was so interested but the last thing she said to me when leaving was, ‘When will it be published?’ It really broke my heart.”

The poem is beautiful, and depicts the poet’s mother sewing. Esther includes a comparison to loving the way the parts of the craft of sewing “sang together” and how writing can be like that, too. I think I will build an entire blogpost around it, with Esther’s permission.

8. DONE IS BETTER THAN PERFECT

If you’ve been a follower of my blog for very long, then you know that last year I hired an organizing expert–my fabulous clutter-control coach, Monika Kristofferson. Monika not only assisted me in getting rid of a truckload of stuff, but she also inspired the heck out of me as a creator. She gives you her book at your first consultation, by the way, or you can buy it, here. She has also written a book about organizing for the holidays.

“I found that there were several feeling ‘finished’ milestones. Each chapter of my book covers a specific productivity topic and the first step of being finished was in writing the content for each chapter. The chapters don’t flow one into the other like a novel but are complete on their own and I felt good about the information in each chapter. The next step that felt finished came when I completed the edits from my editor, from adding content to moving chapters around. After reading and reading and editing, editing and then editing some more, I really did feel ‘finished’ with the book in three ways. I felt the content would help other people, I was weary of reading my own book and I knew it was possible to go back to Amazon to fix any errors that may have slipped through the cracks. At that point I felt that done was better than perfect and it was time to share it with the world.”

I am compelled to point out that this paragraph presents writing through the lens of a professional organizer, with the chapters appearing like rooms or maybe like large pieces of furniture that one can move around. At the same time, this description conveys something essential about Monika’s attitude. While we were decluttering, she never made me throw anything out. Put it in a box and label it, maybe, but I could keep it. “You can come back to it later,” she’d say. She seems to regard writing the same way, not holding it in a death-grip (as I have been guilty of), but lightly.

You can find Monika at http://efficientorganizationnw.com/

9. HAVE YOU TOLD THE STORY YOU WANTED TO TELL?

I found this light touch, again, in Paul Marshall’s description of his process. My very good friend and fellow-labster, he needn’t have been the only guy here, as I emailed several. But he was the only one who got back to me (which I trust does not mean that his summer was dull). About a year back, Paul wrote and self-published his book–Building a Boat: Lessons from a 30 Year Project–and from the outside it looked as though he did it in record time. Of course one could point out that it took 30 years for him to write this book.

“When a story is finished depends totally on the story one wants to tell.  In my book I was constantly being pulled off track by memories or images that wanted me to tarry a while with them. The same was true of the ending. Why hadn’t I spent time elaborating on various aspects of the story, making historical connections that might deepen the context or flesh out some idea? In the end the story I wanted to tell was complete. Obviously, not sufficiently to receive a Pulitzer but as good as I could do. I had to stop worrying about readers and their questions or confusions.

“Just this was left, had I told the story that I wanted to tell? I had and so I was finished.”

This short book is a memoir, by the by, not a boat-building manual, and I’ve bought a few to give as gifts for the men in my life. On the other hand, while it’s about the manly art of boat building, the story will apply to anyone who has put off a dream (including a writing dream)–then resurrected and resolved it.

10. DON’T DO WHAT EMILY DID?

But you might try being as attitude-y about your process as an Emily Dickinson. This is something I’ve been learning from my mentor, Vivian Pollack, for at least 25 years, as she served as my dissertation adviser when I was working on my Ph.D. in American Literature. In addition to being a university professor and a former president of The Emily Dickinson International Society, she is the author of several books.  I consider her Dickinson: The Anxiety of Gender (1984), to be a classic in Dickinson scholarship; her latest book is Our Emily DickinsonsAmerican Women Poets and the Intimacies of Difference (2016). Typical of the way Dr. Pollak’s mind works, her paragraph on “how to know when it’s finished, circled around to E.D.:

“How to finish or to know when something is finished? Sometimes it feels finished and at other times there is someone asking for it to be finished or time is just running out. E.g. our semester starts in about 4 weeks and I have a project I want to finish before then. Really I want to finish it before going to Amherst next Wednesday and we shall see what we shall see. But did I misunderstand your question: are you asking how I personally know when one of my efforts is finished or are you asking me as a reader whether I feel satisfied with the completeness of some works? Or–gulp–are you asking me what someone like Emily Dickinson had to say about being finished? ‘It is finished can never be said of us.’ Yes, that’s Emily–perhaps the queen of unfinishing.”

11. HEED THE DEADLINE

Waverly Fitzgerald is a hugely productive writer, also writing in the two-author team of Waverly Curtis (Dial C for Chihuahua, Chihuahua Confidential, The Big Chihuahua, A Chihuahua in Every Stocking,The Chihuahua Always Sniffs Twice,  and The Silence of the Chihuahuas). To learn more about the novels, go here. You can find out more about Waverly at http://www.waverlyfitzgerald.com/

Waverly responded to my query with, “This is one of my favorite questions, but mostly because I don’t know the answer.

“I would say that a piece is finished when I can no longer find any faults or flaws in it. Unfortunately, that is rare.  And sometimes when I can’t find any faults in something, someone else ( a beta reader or an agent) can.

“Oh, the other way I know something is finished is when the deadline arrives and I send it out.”

This was my first correspondence with Waverly (I recently bought her book Slow Time: Recovering the Natural Rhythms of Life), and I was delighted by the way she signed off her email: “Write on.”

12. PRACTICE FINISHING

Priscilla Long–author and teacher extraordinaire, and with the distinction of having written the science blog, Science Frictions, for The American Scholar for several years–threw a little fit when I asked my question. “Read my book!” she said. “There’s an ENTIRE CHAPTER called ‘Completing Works.'” I had of course read her book, Minding the Museand that specific chapter more than once. But here I’m going to fall back on the old advice from my first teaching practicum: the best way to learn a thing is to teach it to someone else.

With Priscilla’s permission (and a very very high recommendation for Minding the Muse in its entirety), here is the part I want to share with you today:

“The process of finishing a work typically overlaps with its first reading or viewing, its first public exposure to your peers or to your first (probably small) audience. At this point you may receive some useful feedback. Even with no feedback, the act of presenting in itself helps you to see work from the outside, to get distance from it. This in turn helps you see where to make necessary tweaks. Completing works and putting them out in the world is part of the creative process….And once you’ve released it to the world, you’ve cleared room for new works.”

Priscilla, in another context, chastised me for trying to force my book to be finished. “It’s finished when it’s finished,” she said. “The novel Cold Mountain took Charles Frazier 18 years to write. Do we wish he had written it faster?”

Finally, however, Priscilla sees finishing as simply another craft skill–and she pushes her writing students to finish smaller pieces in order to practice and develop this skill. At a conference this summer, I overheard a comment from one of her students: “If you want to learn how to get writing done, take a class from Priscilla Long.” Visit her website, www.priscillalong.net, to find classes and workshops.

13. DON’T BEAT YOURSELF UP

Lauren Sapala’s The INFJ Writer: Cracking the Creative Genius of the World’s Rarest Type came into my life at possibly my lowest point as a writer, and it saved the day. (If you don’t know, INFJ is one category in the Myers-Briggs personality trait spectrum; the book will apply to you no matter what sort of intuitive [N] you are). Lauren is also a writing coach, and her blogposts, at laurensapala.com, are well worth a visit. After our email exchange, she dedicated a post to the three types of writers who have have trouble finishing. Here’s what she told me:

“The problem most writers have with finishing work is that they rely on pure rational will and aggressive determination to get the job done. When they feel themselves flagging in their efforts they whip themselves even harder, driving the writing on until it’s done. This causes tension in the body and a forced stiltedness in the work.

“Creative work is not a mechanical cog that can be turned out ever faster on an assembly line. Creative work is a living, breathing, organic collection of energy. It’s like fruit on a tree. Every piece of fruit ripens in its own time, and its ripeness corresponds to the current season in perfect harmony. Instead of ripping green apples off the tree and pounding them into applesauce anyway, writers would do much better to practice the art of patience and leave the fruit alone until it is ready to be picked.”

So there you have it–a baker’s dozen of expert writers weighing in on how they know when the writing is done. This post has taken me several days (or weeks!) to jiggle into shape, and it gave me an opportunity to put some of the advice into practice. My comments had to ripen, too–maybe “simmer” is the metaphor I want. And I found that working with, retyping, excerpting, and arranging the advice all helped it to sink in.

Now please excuse me while I sneak off to finish my novel. (And if you  have some advice, I’d love to see your thoughts in the comments!)

Too Busy to Write?

Life has had me caught up in it of late, a whirlwind of activity — you know about the graduations, the party — and this week, worries about my mom and visits with my wonderful sisters and their families. More is on the way, as it’s birthday month at our house. “I haven’t written in a month,” a friend said at Writing Lab last Wednesday. Another: “I’ve got that beat — I haven’t written in years!” I suspect this is an exaggeration, but I get it: too busy to write; too many other things to do.

No matter how busy I am, I write every day. Even back in the day — when on top of everything I deal with now I was teaching full-time — writing every day kept me grounded. I did not always write anything of substance, but every day I opened my notebook and I wrote. I wrote letters to God. I wrote about my headache or my heartache. I wrote down a tantrum some charming little person had whipped up, or the adorable thing some other little person had said. I wrote about what a terrible mother I was. I wrote teen-tiny encouragements to myself. (You are not a terrible mother; wanting to be a better mother is a great goal; look at you, despite everything, writing!) 

Writing every day is what brought me out of that wilderness, and, as I know from long experience, it will lead me through this wilderness, too.

I am a great re-reader of books, and one book that I reread almost every year is Louise DeSalvo‘s Writing as a Way of Healing. 

Recently I misplaced this book. I saw it in a used bookstore, didn’t buy it (I was sure I’d find my copy soon), had to go back (to two different bookstores) and search for it. Found it, bought it. Later that day my old copy turned up. Interesting, how that works.

I suspect that it’s time to revisit the book. I open it and I find these questions, which lead me…back to my journal.

  • What else can I say?
  • What else am I feeling?
  • What else might have been happening?
  • Why did this happen?
  • Why else did this happen?
  • Is this really how it happened?
  • Is this really what I was feeling?
  • Is this really how they were?
  • Can I say even more here?
  • Would someone who didn’t know me or what I experienced understand this?
  • Is this as clear as I can make it?
  • What [other] connections can I make here?

In my journal from last year — which I’ve been thumbing through because I just know I wrote down a story there — I found this scrap of poetry. Something else that shouted out loud to me.

I had the idea that the world’s so full of pain
it must sometimes make a kind of singing.

Robert Hass, “Faint Music”