Tag: Writing

When I grow up…

sandybarker

I want to be an author. A published one. Who writes for a living. Books, in case you were wondering.

I am taking a class with two published authors, who also worked in publishing. They have authored 40 books between them – and they are my age. They know stuff, and in one lesson I learned more than I have taught myself by reading at least a dozen books about how to get published. I have three more classes, and by the end of the month, I will have the tools and know-how to pen the perfect book proposal.

Self publishing and e-books are the way into the industry for many authors. But, I am going to do this old-school. With an agent, or an editor, and I am going to author a hold-it-in-your-hands-and-turn-the-pages book. And then I am going author 3 more – to start, that is. The stories are already in my head.

My heroine is Sarah.

She is currently 27 and it is 1996. She is Australian and lives in London. Her relationship with her boyfriend of 5 years has ended – they broke up in Paris – and she is spinning in the aftermath. If she were Dorothy, this would be the part of her life where a tornado picks her up and dumps her in a queer, but magical world. Dorothy has Oz; Sarah has Europe.

I started the book as an autobiography – years ago – and am now novelizing it. Re-writing it as fiction has been surprisingly satisfying, because as interesting as my past is (and it is pretty interesting), fiction is funner. There is still truth in the words, because I write from a place of knowing, but Sarah can be smarter, funnier and more self-aware than I was when I was alone and broke in Europe after the collapse of a five-year relationship. Sarah is Sandy 2.0.

Non-sequitur: Today I went into a bookstore. This is rare, because I have owned a Kindle for one year, four months and one week. Browsing for new books has become an online activity, like catching up with friends, shopping for shoes and writing to my mother. But today was special. For a start, it is sunny here in Seattle, and when it is sunny, you leave the house. Period. You just do.

Also, I had homework to do. My task by next class is to research books like mine and identify my competing titles. This is so I can paint a clear picture for agents and editors of what my book will be like. They will not only want to know which books mine is like, but what will make mine distinctive from these books. And, what will my book look like on the shelf as it is nestled among these competing titles? I have some work to do, and this type of work is best done in a bookstore.

And the last reason I went to a bookstore today is that sadly, my Kindle carked it (it doesn’t work anymore) last night. You would think that with something that has been a part of my life for the past year, four months and one week, I would have a period of mourning longer than 13 hours. But no. It was surprisingly easy to get back into my bookstore groove.

Bookstore visits are best accompanied by a good coffee, so I stopped for one of those first, and with more anticipation that I could have, well anticipated, I stepped inside the small bookstore at the top of Queen Anne hill. It is aptly named Queen Anne Books in case you want to stop by. It really is a lovely store. I immediately gravitated towards a Valentine’s Day display, where I read through a couple of picture books, and then picked up, “Are you a Jackie or a Marilyn? Timeless lessons on love, power and style.”

The cover was kick-ass. And don’t listen to that nonsense about not judging a book by its cover. That is B.S. perpetuated by authors of books with crappy covers. Of course you should take the cover into consideration when choosing a book. If you don’t like the cover, how on earth are you going to convince yourself to spend hours reading what’s on the inside? It would be like trying to convince yourself to eat a bowl of great-tasting sludge. And if covers weren’t important, all book covers would look the same. I digress.

I flicked through the chapters, and I liked the lay-out. The text is interspersed with clever comics and quizzes. If I am going to read non-fiction, I like it to have an angle. Quirky, funny, smart, or otherwise engaging non-fiction for me. Pages and pages of paragraphs put me off. I have the attention span of a gnat; I need to be stimulated.

I moved on to the final selection criteria: The first page test. I read it and the tone and pace spoke to me, so I took the book to the counter. I told the store owner I was still browsing. I had yet to do my homework. “Do you have a section of what I would call ‘chick-lit?” She visibly flinched. I guess she doesn’t really consider that a genre, although all my girlfriends would know exactly what I meant.

She pointed me towards the Romance section. I stared down at every book Diana Gabaldon has ever written. “Uh, I guess I mean something more contemporary, like Nick Hornby for women.” This seemed to bamboozle her further. She started scouring the shelves for books and pointed to Audrey Niffeneger’s The Time Traveler’s Wife. This is one of my favorite books, but nothing like what I am writing.

“Uh, something lighter than that. I just read Bond Girl, which was more like what I am looking for.” She pulled three more books from the shelf and left me to look them over. They weren’t right for my competing titles list, but the good news is that in my attempts to identify what sort of book I was looking for I remembered Jennifer Weiner and Jane Green as two authors who write books like the one I am writing. I was pleased that I had made some progress on my homework.

And although I didn’t find any other books to buy, I am happy with my first post-Kindle purchase. Perhaps I will stick with ‘real’ books for a while.

Writing with abandon

sandybarker

by larryfire

I have been writing a book for nearly a decade.

When I type out those words it seems impossible that it has been that long, but it is true. Nine years ago I started penning a travel biography about my time in the UK and Europe from ’96 to ’97.  I began this project old-school; I literally wrote the first draft.  By hand. Onto paper. With a pen.

I still have the first draft packed into a box in a friend’s attic in Sydney.  In the book’s first incarnation, chapters either read like journal entries or as essays. It took about 2 months to get everything down on paper.

I then began systematically typing it into a borrowed laptop. Technology was relatively primitive back then so I backed-up my files onto floppies. As I re-drafted over the years, the thumb drive changed my life, and I put the floppies away with the first draft. Then came an external hard-drive, and now my book (a wholly different-looking beast than how it had began) lives in The Cloud.

But I digress…

Once it was input into electronic form, I worked away at my book in spits and spurts. I wrote about the process in a previous post (Write Now!), so I won’t bore you with it again.  The last line of that post says, “Yes, I need to get back to my book.”  And yet, here I sit some 6 months later, and I have managed to squeeze out a paltry 4 chapters.

To change the subject, I saw an old friend last weekend. Well, she is not old, but we have known each other for the better part of 20 years. She, too, loves an American and lives in the U.S. A work trip afforded me the chance to see her and meet her husband (lovely bloke). The fates smiled on me doubly, as I was able to take more away from the reunion than the simple pleasure of catching up.

Larissa (her real name) is a creative type too. We met studying for our respective Bachelor of Arts degrees, both with a major in Theater Arts. She has come full circle after some professional detours and is currently rehearsing a Sam Shepherd play, and is a voice over artist and teacher. I, too, have had some professional detours from the stage, which is why I know I love to write.

I moaned to Larissa that I have no motivation to write my book at the moment. Or any moment, really. I work at a computer eight hours a day, and while I mostly love my job, it does not inspire me to sit at a computer when I am not there. There are many things I would rather do when I am at not at work: reading (Oh, how I love other people’s books!), running, movies, conversation, cleaning, laundry, and a thousand other things that seem more appealing that the thing that I supposedly love to do most.

I also mention to Larissa that I am inspired by something else at the moment.

I want to write the story of how I met Ben, of how we fell in love while living a world apart, and how I ended up packing up my life and moving to another country to live with a man I had yet to spend more than 5 consecutive weeks with. I want to write about that.

But there’s The Book…

How do I abandon one book to start another? Will I ever finish it if I keep finding distractions – literary or otherwise?

Yes. No. Maybe.

Which brings me back to my conversation with Larissa.  “You are not abandoning your book. You are putting it away so that you can follow inspiration. You can always come back to it later.”

She said this while we were walking through Whole Foods looking for the ingredients for my Quinoa/Wild Rice Salad. Suddenly, right there next to the bulk bins, it made sense. I needed to give myself permission to abandon my book, so that I can follow what inspires me now.

On the flight home I scribbled furiously into a scribbler pad. I filled 20 or so pages and there is (much) more to come. A lot of the content has already been written and will come from travel journals, emails,and accounts that I wrote for us after our trips together.

In the car on the way home from the airport, I recounted my epiphany (thanks, Larissa) to Ben. He recalled that a favorite author of his said, and I am paraphrasing, “Some of my best work happens when I am procrastinating from the work that I am supposed to be doing.”

I have asked Ben’s permission to be candid. He has given it. I think. For weeks now the first lines have been bouncing around inside my head. “It seems a little ‘hokey’ to say that I dreamed about Ben before I met him. But I did.” Since deciding to abandon my book, those words are on paper now.

Oh, and recipe for the salad to follow. It is incredible – no, really!

Write now!

sandybarker

I want to get back to writing my book.  Let me qualify that: I need to get back to writing my book.

My book starts as a series of journal entries (both personal and travel) and letters in 1996 and ‘97, long before I know I will write a book.

In 2001, I start writing chapters, by hand.  The chapters flesh out story snippets and descriptions of people and places.  The chapters expound on inner turmoil, extreme loneliness and a budding thirst for a less-ordinary life.

By the end of 2001, I am typing these chapters into a computer, adding more details, more perspective and more poetry to my word count.

I print out what I consider the second draft and edit onto the pages.  Like the cliché that I am, I carry dog-eared pages with me everywhere, reading and re-reading the story of me.  My book, a travel biography, begins to take shape and I move chapters, fool around with format and finally settle on a 3-part tome.

Part One. Narrative. Documenting the end of life as I know it.  My alone-ness.  My fear of drowning.  My knowledge that doing something, anything, is better than doing nothing.  Not knowing what ‘something’ to do.

Part Two. Narrative.  A journey in a wide circle.  Defeat.  Triumph.  Forging relationships.  Learning that I don’t know everything.  Learning that I know a lot.  Drinking in facts and places and more people.

Part Three.  Episodic.  The circles continue, concentric, overlapping, my life a Venn diagram.  Hating myself.  Loving myself.  Losing myself to excess and pretended celebrity.  Stillness.  Silence.  Sleep and a momentum that ultimately forces a new trajectory.

Years pass.

I occasionally dust off a printed copy.  What draft is this?  Eight?  Eleven?  I lose track.

“I am in love with this,” says a friend.  “But it should be a novel.  It should be in the third-person.”  I disagree, and re-write chapter one for the fifty-millionth time.  Each time I re-write it I love it more.

“It’s wonderful, Sweetie,” says my mother.  “She has to say that,” I think.  But she actually does love it.

I feed it in cruel increments to willing and select friends.  I want critics, not sycophants to read it.  Only that will make it better.  I write in sporadic and manic phases.  I accomplish much, then nothing for months, years.

In 2009, I sit in modest, yet well-decorated apartment in a foreign city, and I read chapter one.  “This should be a novel, in the third-person,” I think and I smile.  It has taken me years to get to this point.  I tell my friend, herself a writer, a successful one.  She is pleased.

I dig out the letters and journals from a decade before, all brought from my homeland for this very purpose, and I read.  I remember a girl I once knew, one who loved passionately and had her hopes crippled.  I think of her fondly as I might think of a distant relative I was once close to.  She saddens and angers me, yet I know I will always be protective of her.  She is, after all, me.

I return to the keyboard, and I start at the beginning, a very good place to start.

Chapter one.

I write the story of a young woman called Sarah.  She has a whole life, most of which I have yet to discover and some of which echoes my own life.  I love her, as fiercely as I love the girl in the journals and hand-written lengthy letters collected by loving parents and returned years afterwards.

I feed it to a new friend in meaty chunks.  She wants more.

It flows out of me, like a mother’s milk.  Chapter one.  Two.  Three.  Six.  And then, nothing.

Months later I return to the pages I wrote and do not recognize the words.  “Who wrote this?” I wonder and then remind myself that I did.  These words are mine.  And they are good.

Yes, I need to get back to my book.

Compelled

sandybarker

I never do this – post twice in one day – but the first of today’s posts I started last night, and I have just read something that compels me to write again.

Charlotte Otter is a South African woman living in Germany, and she write Charlotte’s Web, which is on my blogroll (check it out – she is lovely and clever). Charlotte, too, is a writer, and in a recent entry she posted a few paragraphs from her novel. Her heroine, Sanet, is a South African woman living in London. She feels displaced, as is understandable when not living in your home country, but there is more to her feeling than that.

Charlotte writes this about her heroine:

What is becoming clear to me is that if you are alienated from yourself, you are alienated from everything, and that will become the core of Sanet’s crisis: she will be offered the opportunity to be true to herself. The question is, will she take it up?

That is the statement that resonated so deeply with me.

Two years ago I was so completely unhappy in my own life. I had moments I enjoyed, I laughed enough that many people would not have really known this about me, but I felt like I was living someone else’s life. When you live that inauthentically, you cannot access any kind of inner peace. As a result, I discovered that I didn’t really like this person that I was. I isolated myself frequently, and not out of the need for ‘alone time’ that I have now, but to prevent others from having to put up with me. I became increasingly disagreeable, sullen, and felt a deep sense of loneliness – even when amongst friends.

I got to a point where I knew things had to change.

Then I went on a trip. A long trip. Across the world to two other continents. Greece-London-Peru and back home. The trip provided so many catalysts for change that my head was spinning by the time I got back home.

It literally changed my life.

I met people who loved life. I met Sheila and Deb and Geraldine.

Sheila is sixty-something, and gorgeous. I met her and her equally lovely twin Sharon, in Peru. Sheila has an insatiable thirst for knowledge, a love of adventure and am unwillingness to succumb to nay-saying. Sheila broke open my heart. She saw through the cracks and just stuck her hands in and pulled apart that hard casing. Then she encouraged me to pursue the impossible.

Deb, who I met with her husband Marty onboard the yacht in Greece, is smart, and career-minded. She knows what she wants and because of this, she has the life that she wants to live. She does all this with a broad smile and a hearty sense of fun. She and Marty have a sexy, joyful marriage. When I met them, I knew that it was entirely possible to have what I truly wanted.

Geraldine, our guide in Peru, is the most pure-hearted and kind person I have ever met. Her gentleness and kindness humbled me. When I was sicker than I have ever been before, she looked after me rather than visiting her own family, whom she hadn’t seen in months. Her selflessness made me want to stop being such a selfish, moody cow.

And then there was the cute American guy who stood on the dock of Tinos and said, “I want my life to be bigger.” I thought, ‘Me too’, and I wondered at that early moment in my big trip if I would have the courage to do anything about it.

I had no idea then that we would embark on parallel – and more frequently, converging – journeys that would bring those wants to fruition. And at that early moment in my big, life-changing trip, I had certainly had no idea that I could actually meet someone, a man, whose wants and dreams and goals would compliment mine, and challenge me to live that ‘bigger life’. I was, however, starting to see glimpses of my authentic self.

I met many others on my trips and visits and they all added something unique to my shift in perspective. Jaime and Paul, from Halifax, never want to miss an opportunity. Lara from Vancouver lives with such beautiful hope in her heart. Patrick from New Zealand and Liliane the Brazilian, crossed oceans and cultures to create a life together. And on that trip, I got to see my Little Sis in her natural habitat, London. (It is ‘home’ for her, even more so now that she is loved up.)

I had left home in want of something. Then I had gone around the world (literally), succumbed to illness twice, laughed until I couldn’t breathe, and cried as I said goodbye to new friends and my oldest friend, Vic. I saw lots, I did stuff, and I collected souvenirs from my travels, but the most important thing I brought home from that trip was my authentic self.

I made big changes after that, and some of those changes were painful because they involved breakups with people close to me. Mostly the changes were about shedding heavy burdens, such as obligation, fastidiousness, isolation, and a couple of unwanted kilos. I reconnected with those I had neglected, I moved house, I booked more trips and I took on more responsibility at work, all in the space of months. I took care with the new friendships I had forged, and apologised to those people who had endured my ‘funk’. I learned (again) to appreciate all that I had, especially the incredible people I call family and friends.

The tattoo of a butterfly adorning my lower stomach took on more meaning, as I emerged from my chrysalis and felt truly happy.

I still try to honour my authentic self. Big decisions, and even some small ones, are about the inner peace that comes along with serving that goal. Sure, I have had moments of doubt and sadness, and even fear. But never again will I let myself shelve what I truly want. I want to live a big life, and that’s what I am doing.

Writing Meme

sandybarker

Charlotte Otter writes a blog called ‘Charlotte’s Web’ (link on this page), and on occasion she posts a meme. I appropriated this meme from Charlotte, who appropriately appropriated it from someone else. If you’re a writer too, then pass it on.

It is about my passion for writing.

I am loving writing this blog, and offering my perspective on the places I have been, and how travel can change me, and any person willing to let it.

In addition to writing about travel, I write plays, short stories, poetry, articles and have even penned my first novel, which will be published (I invoke the power of positive thinking and action).

This meme not only highlights my shiny triumphs, it gets into the dusty, mouldy corners of my writing history. I answered each question in turn, without reading ahead.
What’s the last thing you wrote?
A blog post. It was about fresh perspectives that come when you see a loved one in their home town.

Was it any good?
I liked the points I made.

What’s the first thing you wrote that you still have?
I wrote a cutting satirical expose about public toilets when I was 15. It is still pretty funny, but limited in insight. I have been to many worse public toilets in the world since. Maybe I should revisit it.

Write poetry?
I used to. A long time ago. I did write Ben a poem last year, but that was the first (and last) one in a while.

Angsty poetry?
Yes, I often wrote about my poor, tragically-broken heart. My most angst-ridden was called ‘Screaming at the moon’. I still have it. Dire stuff. I was 20. Enough said.

Favourite genre of writing?
Autobiographical commentary – on life, on travel especially.

Most fun character you’ve ever created?
Kiara. She is a storyteller, and the heroine in a fairytale I am penning for adults.

Most annoying character you’ve ever created?
Any replicant of myself in fiction I have written. The angst I once expressed through poetry also came out through much of the fiction I created in my 20s.

Best plot you’ve ever created?
Something still in the works – the fairytale – and it’s good! But I will keep the details under wrap for now.

Coolest plot twist you’ve ever created?
It is in the fairytale. The heroine is not who she seems to be, and is subsequently faced with a harrowing moral question.

How often do you get writer’s block?
All the time. The best cure is just to sit down and start writing. 9 times out of 10, action creates inspiration. On the 10th time, I just give up and go for a run, or eat chocolate. The running sometimes brings inspiration. The chocolate just makes me happy.

Do you type or write by hand?
Both. I sometimes jot down lots of notes in one of the 10 notebooks I have lying around, and then form them into something on the computer at a later point. Other times, I am best friends with my computer. The computer is essential for the polished final product, but inspiration can strike anywhere. I have written lengthy passages on weird things like food packages, and plane tickets.

Do you save everything you write?
Yes. From my intellectual ramblings disguised as university ‘Literature’ assignments, to every film idea I have ever had. I keep all my travel journals too, and a huge thank you to my mother who kept all my letters from Europe (long ones before email was the thing), as these letters formed the basis of the novel I have written about that time.

Do you ever go back to an idea after you’ve abandoned it?
Yes. I started writing the fairytale about 18 months ago, and have left it and come back to it twice. I will go back to it again soon. I can feel it. It is not that we had a ‘falling out’; I just need breathing room from the big projects sometimes – to gain perspective and generate fresh ideas.

What’s your favourite thing you’ve written?
I wrote a detailed retrospective travel diary of my time in Greece in 2006. It is a record of falling in love with life all over again, after a long period of unhappiness.

What’s everyone else’s favourite piece that you’ve written?
The three people who have read my novel have enjoyed it. My best friend from high school still raves about the ‘public toilet’ piece (no, really). My mum (my biggest fan) loves the fairytale in progress. And Ben loves anything I write about our travels together.

Do you ever show people your work?
Yes, to people I trust to tell me the truth. I get positive and constructive criticism about my work, and take it all on board. I do not want to hear mindless responses about how good it is. Fortunately, these trusted people are good to me and are honest.

Did you ever write a novel?
Yes. It is about a year in my life when I worked for a tour company in Europe. This was one of the best and hardest years of my life, and I tell it all (well, almost).

Ever written romance or angsty teen drama?
No. Well, yes. Contemporary romance. In film form. Partially. It wasn’t good.

What’s your favourite setting for your characters?
Anywhere I have been. I hope to capture the distinct feeling of those places in my writing, both the fiction and the non-fiction.

How many writing projects are you working on right now?
This web page, my fairytale, and perhaps I will revisit the novel again soon. It needs to be dusted off and freshened up.

Do you want to write for a living?
Yes. I do write as part of my job – I am a Drama teacher. I can never find plays for my students with enough good roles, so I write my own. The last one was a Greek myth, which I also created, and observed the conventions of ancient Greek theatre.

Ultimately, I would love to write exclusively for a living. Perhaps I would continue to teach in some forum. Perhaps not.

Have you ever won an award for your writing?
Yes. I was chosen as a winner in a short story competition run by New Woman magazine. I won a trip, and I took a girlfriend to the north of Queensland and the Great Barrier Reef for a week. We lived it up, especially as it was on someone else’s dime.

Ever written anything in script or play format?
Yes. See above.

What are your five favourite words?
ebbed, cathartic, sumptuous, delicacy, dream (for today)

Do you ever write based on yourself?
Yes and no. The autobiographical stuff, obviously. For fiction I have shifted away from that – to a degree anyway. I do believe in the adage, “Write what you know.” This is why the autobiographical work and blogging has been so fulfilling.

What character have you created that is most like yourself?
I need to climb inside the mind of all my fictitious characters, but I most enjoy the characters who are least like me. They get to do and say all the things that I wouldn’t dare; I enjoy the vicarious thrills of their antics. No one character in current or recent projects is exactly like me.

Where do you get ideas for your characters?
This may annoy other writers, but some of my best story ideas and characters are those I have dreamed. Otherwise I am often inspired by places. I can envision who would live there, and what their life may be. Then I breathe into those shadowy images and create something more tangible. A favourite character evolved from a visit to Hradcany Castle in Prague.

Do you ever write based on your dreams?
Yes, as I said above. I dreamed the basic story for the fairytale I am writing. It has developed greatly since then, but I woke in the middle of the night and could not stop writing. I did not go back to sleep for over an hour.

Do you favour happy endings, sad endings or cliff-hangers?
Truthful endings.

Have you ever written based on an artwork you’ve seen?
Yes, in a writing workshop, and the facilitator was just brilliant. It was a terrific process he took us through. I did not go back to that piece, but I have used that technique in teaching students to write fiction. Art work can be a powerful catalyst as it often evokes such intense emotion.

Are you concerned with spelling and grammar as you write?
Scrupulously so. I cannot read anything without seeing any errors that might exist.

Ever write anything in chatspeak (how r u?)
Only on IM or sms.

Entirely in L337?
Um, yes?

Was that question appalling and unwriterly?
Am not cyber-savvy, and am guessing that is something to do with computing, so I do not know.

Does music help you write?
Yes. Often I play classical music while writing. Like art, it is evocative. I go in and out of awareness of its presence. On occasion I will replay a piece several times as I write; it becomes the soundtrack for what is on the page.

Quote something you’ve written. Whatever pops into your head.
Her voice was tentative at first, but soon the richness of its timbre filled the room as the young women sat around her, mesmerized by her face, her lined, and very beautiful face. She began her tale:

This is from the opening of the fairytale.

That is all. I will return to another destination soon. Vegas beckons.