Why I Am NOT Participating in NaNoWriMo This Year

Posted by Joanne Huspek

Don’t get me wrong; I LOVE NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month, which starts November 1 and ends November 30. If you’re a procrastinating writer like me, you need every cattle prod or device out there to kick you into the writing mode.

This is not to say I don’t enjoy writing. OF COURSE, I enjoy writing. But having other responsibilities, what ends up being short shrifted is my writing time. This year, there’s been other factors as well. Family members in dire health. Business in flux. An incredibly Bummer Summer which resulted in lots of rain, an extraordinary flash flood, and resulting damage, which of course, takes me away from pleasurable activities and instead has me planning out construction worker schedules.

Here is why I love me the NaNo… It’s an extremely useful tool. Just like jumping on a treadmill exercises your body, jumping head first into the waters of NaNoWriMo exercises your brain. It introduces you to keeping a schedule. It gives you a not unreasonable goal of 50K words in 30 days. There’s a camaraderie of fellow writers, across the internet and across town, that cannot be beat.

I’ve participated in NaNo many times. In fact, because of it, I managed to complete three manuscripts that turned out (with much editing and fine tuning) to be decent novels. (Still in the editing phase on two of them.)

Last year, I tried it for a week, and then decided that editing the work I’d been suffering over since 2007 (Finding Cadence) had to take precedence over any new material. So I put that idea aside. For later. I like the story, I just can’t have three completed novels in various states of disrepair hanging over my head like a black cloud.

This year, my problems are much the same. I’ve been toying with Virtually Yours Forever (completed during NaNo a few years ago) for… well, forever. It’s time to clean up this tale of moms, the internet, and high intrigue and get this story nailed down and move on to the next project.

I can no longer tell myself that I’ll write more when I retire from this business. The sad truth is that I might have to work until I die. But I’m also a writer, and I’m not going to sacrifice my art for outside influences.

Not anymore.

So to all you writers out there who are participating in NaNoWriMo – Bravo! or Brava! Keep pushing on. I’m there with you in spirit, and I hope will have my edit complete by November 30.

 

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My First Books and Authors Event

Posted by Joanne Huspek

Yesterday, I attended my first Books and Authors Event at Leon and Lulu‘s in Clawson, Michigan. This store is trendy, hip, and sells everything from jewelry to clothing to furniture to toys. It’s one of my favorites, as my husband can tell you from our VISA bill.

I can’t even believe I went through the event; hell, I can’t believe I filled out the application. And then sent it in! And then was selected as a participant! As you might know, I’m rather lackadaisical about selling my work. (I’m also rather lackadaisical about writing – sometimes.) But, I’ve been in a slump since summer, so I’ve signed up for writing prompts, classes, and have committed to (somewhat) weekly Skype conversations with my editor to sort of kick start my juices. So I figured, might as well throw this event on the pile.

I had NO IDEA what to expect at this event. NONE. I had hoped to sell a few books, get my name out there. As with everything new that I do, I was petrified. And as with everything, in order to get rid of the petrification, one must dive in head first.

Leon and Lulu’s does a fabulous job of making all 50 of us authors feel comfortable. They provide food, coffee, water, even hot dogs! The friendliness relieved some of the sting. 🙂 After being shown my table, I set up.

booksandauthors

We had an hour after that to look around. While all of the authors were from Michigan, amazingly many of them were from Royal Oak. I found I was speaking with authors who were neighbors!

Some had many titles to choose from. Some, like me, had the one physical book, and the eBook. Some were traditionally published; many more were self-published. Most of the books were for children, picture and chapter books, many were mysteries, there were some non-fiction, and just a few novels.

If you’ve ever been to Leon and Lulu’s, you’ll know that walking into the store is a total assault on your senses. Bright colors, things hanging from everywhere. Add to that 50 authors and their many books, and even I was shell shocked. It was a long day, but it’s what I needed. Suddenly, I’m energized to get that manuscript out and start editing in earnest. I sold a few books, handed out a ton of business cards for those who wanted to buy the book in eBook format (one woman did it from her phone while chatting with me!), and made a few new author friends. I enjoyed it so much, I’ll definitely do it next year.

The only thing is, I need to have another book for next year.

Better get to work.

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Another Set of Eyes

Posted by Joanne Huspek

I’ve spent quite a few months in inactivity. My creativity hasn’t dried up, it’s just taken a sabbatical. Hopefully, somewhere nice and warm, like the French Riviera.

As an artist and a creative person, when the well threatens drought conditions, you start to worry. The worry turns into a bigger monster, into self-doubt and self-loathing. You begin to second guess your choices, your methods of operation, your intelligence, and your stamina. All of that conspires to make the largest black hole of negativity that will swallow you whole if you allow it to.

If you allow it to.

If your writing life pitches to these historic lows, there’s only one thing you can do: Get another set of eyes. Meaning, find someone else to read your work, to offer honest commentary and critique, even to read and gush. Yes, these are times when even your mom or your sycophantic employee will do. When the stakes are that low, you need all the uplifting you can scrounge up.

It’s not going to be easy. You may have to beg someone. Not your mom, of course, she’s always going to love you, but that employee who claims to love your writing while rolling her eyes behind your back, yes, you might have to beg her. You may have to barter one skill for another. Find another writer and offer to do the same. It doesn’t have to be a long term critique-partner commitment. What you need is short term. The idea of a set of different eyes works for everyone – we as writers ALL feel deficient at some point. Plus, I find it interesting to read the WIP of others.

In my case, I turned to my Editor for Life. I try not to bother him too much, as he has other clients, most of whom are NOT tied to him in a lifetime commitment. This time, the urge to cry for help was overwhelming.

We normally email, occasionally text, but this time he wanted to Skype. (I don’t really like Skype, but what the hey? At this point, I was willing to try anything.) Our first meeting was a blur. I couldn’t understand what he was trying to tell me. The next was the “light bulb” moment. I saw clearly what vision he had for my novel. It’s “okay”, it just needs a little je ne sais quoi. It was as if my writing block needed a tow truck to pull it out of the mud. I’m not on the highway yet, but I’m on my way.

So, thanks to another set of eyes, I’m on my way to (yet) another rewrite. Thanks to another set of eyes, I’ve found the spark that was missing in my writing. Thanks to another set of eyes, I’m back on my way.

Yes, writers are a solitary bunch. But if you don’t have that other set of eyes, you might as well fold up your tent and go home. Because even if your ideas are fabulous and your technique is flawless, you don’t know everything.

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Action: You’ll Never Accomplish Your Goals Without It

Posted by Joanne Huspek

I’ll admit, I’ve been in a bit of a slump.

There are a lot of things going on my life right now. Kids. Parent. Work. Outside influences. More outside influences. Even more outside influences.

I’m normally a pretty upbeat person, able to handle any situation with aplomb, but every person has a top level of stress that he or she can optimally handle. After two and a half months of piling on and more piling on, my creative juices trickled and then shut down completely.

Yes, I’m depressed. I liken depression to an emotional fetal position. Your brain curls up and stops working.

I’m not only fairly upbeat, I’m smart. I went to the doctor. I have medication. I purchased a light box for the SAD that began two months early because of the horrible summer weather we’ve had. I force myself to run/walk on my incline trainer every day.

But creativity… it still wasn’t forthcoming.

This is when I realized the writing won’t get done until I plunk my behind in a chair (or resume carrying my notebook, or keep a pen in the car) and begin doing it again.

Action is the only means by which to accomplish your goals.

I might be minorly depressed, but I still have goals.

So… I signed up for another writing course, starting in October. If forced to complete tasks on a schedule, well, I can do that. I also applied for an authors’ meet and greet at a local chi-chi store, for October 26. I was amazed (and excited!) to be chosen as one of the participants. (Finding Cadence might not be a perfect work of art, but it’s mine, and I’m proud of it.)

In the meantime, I’m using the J. Peterman catalog as a writing prompt. If you’re familiar with the catalog, which was made popular by the TV show Seinfeld, it sells trendy clothing and accessories (think high-end Banana Republic). The catalog features catchy titles, and the first few sentences are usually not about the clothing. Instead, the short paragraphs might refer to a romantic rendezvous in Toulouse or chance meetings with a fetching red-head whose mane glistens in a harvest sunset. This catalog is evocative. Dreamy. I’ve never purchased anything from them, but love the catalog for its literary value.

🙂

So my current mini-writing assignment is to take each title in the catalog and write my own scene. Should take less than ten minutes.

The takeaway from my sad plight is to remember this: You have to ACT. Make a move, any move. Hibernation isn’t going to solve anything. Taking that first positive step might not be a joyous one, but it’s a step in the right direction.

After all, you can’t claim to be a writer until you write.

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What To Do When The Writing Dries Up

Posted by Joanne Huspek

This summer has been brutal. Exceedingly so. If you’d like to read about it, go here, otherwise save yourself some misery and continue on.

I have a confession to make: because of what was going on up there, I haven’t written a single word since the end of June. It’s not so much writer’s block as much as it’s been a writer’s sabbatical. I suppose I could call it anything, including laziness, but naming my lapse a sabbatical sounds so much more forgiving.

What have I been doing in the meantime? I mean, besides worrying about many things, including wondering if I’ll ever put another good idea down on paper? Lots of things. Many things many writers could try doing if they find themselves in a similar logjam of non productiveness.

1. I worked out. Physically, I mean. I ran every day. EVERY DAY. I know, I can’t even believe it myself. I forced myself upon my NordicTrack and pushed and pushed. Running (or fast walking, which is mostly what I do) makes your body breathe in regular intervals, not in gasping breaths. While I on my incline trainer, I emptied my mind. Or tried to. The jury is out on how successful I was.

2. I read. A lot. If you can’t write, you might as well read others’ writing. Luckily, I am never in need of books; my To Read pile is now more than a mountain, it’s a mountain range. Reading keeps the brain engaged. While reading, you are less likely to worry about your own situation, you’re taking a dip into another world. That’s what I need right now, other worlds.

3. I cleaned. Yes, I purged. Might as well, right? I wasn’t getting any writing done, and the energy had to be disbursed somewhere. While cleaning the basement (which hasn’t been cleaned since 2004, when we moved here), I located my old notebooks of poems and other writings. So it was win-win-win situation. Plus, I hope to make some serious garage sale cash next weekend.

4. I worked with my hands. Gardening, making jewelry. It’s been mostly too wet to garden, and my mind is too consumed with problems to make any jewelry of real import. But… the type of jewelry I make depends on many small parts. I used this fallow writing time to construct a lot of small parts. When the creative juice kicks in once again, I’ll be good to go.

My days of non-writing are drawing to a close. A true writer never stops writing and really never has a block. My last sabbatical lasted 20 years, and I know this one won’t take that long. I know in order to get out of any funk, you have to force yourself into action, and that’s what I’m doing today. I have a book of writing prompts and I’m going to start at page one and work myself as far as it will take for me to pick up writing again.

Sometimes you have to kick yourself in the ass when your writing dries up.

 

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Part Time vs. Full Time Writing, or Why I Must Cut Myself Some Slack

Posted by Joanne Huspek

I recently read a blog post about a woman who finally “retired” from her Real Job and began working full time as a writer. After all, you can’t really say you’re a working writer until you start doing it full time.

While I instantly cheered her good fortune, a part of me ignited with jealousy. I would move mountains to quit my day job and write hours every day. I am heading in that direction, but it’s a slow slog. I happen to like a few things in my life, including food, a roof over my head, and basic needs like health insurance. I’ve never been very good at being a starving artist. I like food too much.

After my initial envy died down, other, more dangerous emotions flared up. Feelings of incompetence. (“So, why haven’t I made enough money by now so I could retire and do what I want to do, instead of what I have to do?”) I felt trapped by my situation, depressed that when I do sit down to write, those minutes are stolen. And yes, there was some anger, directed at myself for being such a boob as to let myself be dictated by such things as food and a roof over the heads of me and my children. Anger because I don’t have the luxury of time. And sadness, because I wonder about all the stories that have come to me and have gotten away, ever since I began writing stories. I felt sick to my stomach. I wondered if I would ever finish anything ever again.

Then after my anxiety attack (also brought on by some personal issues my family has been having), I decided there was only one thing I could do: Cut myself some slack.

Writers should never compare themselves to other writers. My reality is not the same as anyone else’s.

I can only do the best I can with the time that I have. Since my creative time is limited, I have to prioritize my to-do list. I have to pack as much as I can into the smallest bit of time.

Someday (like when I hit the Lotto or if a wealthy, non-existent uncle dies), I may have unlimited time to devote to writing. For now, I’ll plug along as best as I can and make my strides in baby steps, not lopes.

Am I a “real” writer? Even though I’m part-time?

I think so.

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The Excavation of Words

Posted by Joanne Huspek

I don’t know how I’ve been struck with the ambition, but I am in the middle of deep cleaning and purging my house, in advance of a monster garage sale I plan on hosting late in August.

I’m not a consummate slob. I tend to veer toward the lived-in but not dangerously germy look. Deep cleaning is something I haven’t done in the ten years we’ve been here. Just consider: a four-bedroom house with plenty of nooks and crannies, a basement full of boxes (most of which haven’t been opened since we moved), and a walk up attic bulging with the hastily packed mementos of my children’s school years. (Yeah. I didn’t oversee that operation, and I should have.)

Back at another place I wrote for online, an orange, hazy, huge toxic bubble, I remarked in a post that I had misplaced my folder of poetry, and asked the pressing question, “Where the hell is it?” The resulting comment thread blasted me for being a dumb ass, and how the hell would the Internets know where my poems were?

Even back then, my feelings were rarely hurt. Just temporarily slapped silly. I imagined I’d thrown my folder out by accident (I grew up in the Ice Age, and had only the typewritten copies, having not had the time or inclination to put the work on an actual computer, where my words could be backed up on a flash drive or by Carbonite), or maybe the guy we had staying at our home as it was being sold decided to run off with my silly scribblings.

Eventually, I chalked up my loss as a learning experience. My teenage and new adult angst-ridden lyrics and poetry forever absent, never to be enjoyed by posterity.

(Now I back up in several places and pay Carbonite for the stuff I’m apt to forget.)

Imagine my pleasant surprise last weekend. After fighting years of cobwebs and nearly retching over an army of dead bugs, I opened a box labeled “Kids Books” to find my folder of poems prominently sitting atop well-loved copies of Pat the Bunny and every book ever penned by Mercer Mayer.

Win! (clean basement) – Win! (possible garage sale windfall) – Win! (my book of poems). I momentarily died and went to heaven.

I spent an hour reading them. Most of my “poetry” was set to music. I played the guitar back then, and wrote simple songs with (what I thought were) tender lyrics about unrequited love and loss. Reading the words brought back the music, and I found myself humming. Most of my songs were god-awful, music and lyrics, but some of it wasn’t half bad.

What was most interesting that my writing voice back then isn’t that far removed from my writing voice now. The excavation of words cements the fact – in my mind – that I was destined to write.

Now, to celebrate my wonderful find, I will regale you with one of my favorites, written after a trip to Sioux Falls, SD, where we lit sparklers during a midnight tornado warning after ingesting Black Star.

 

Black Star

 

his grandpa was a cowboy, he said

you nod in silence–

your dreams are riding the range.

 

a little wine, a little smoke

helps to ease the loneliness,

shake off the chains —

lose those midnight blues.

you laugh and joke,

ha! your smiles are plastic

flowers molded from pain.

and still you choose

too much wine and smoke

the strawberry madness.

so you’re backed against the floor.

from another galaxy, he leans toward you

and shouts in a foreign frequency

heyareyouallrightdownthere?crazybroad!

o-zoned again.

 

lonesome cowboy,  roll me in your arms

just once.

i know i ruin everything good

but sometimes one kiss is all i need.

 

what space tripper? you’re returning home?

but you’ll soon return to ride the range

blue skies your rolling prairie

unlimited, weightless, darkened void.

you’re always searching for the light

in a heaven that gives no easy answers,

in a heaven where the sun

is just a black star.

October 28, 1978

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