Smacking the Writing Demons around

The Writing Demons have had the upper hand for the past few weeks, but I think I'm finally figuring out their weaknesses.

To the ones that say "Your writing isn't really improving while you're here; you're still making the same mistakes over and over," I now respond, "But the stories are harder. If I make the same mistakes, it's because I'm learning deeper answers to the same old questions that every writer wrestles with -- it's just that now the stories are bigger, stronger stories. Small stories, small mistakes. Big stories, big mistakes."

The ones that assail me with anxiety over the ways in which I differ from the other Clarionettes flee when I challenge them to describe to me a Real Writer.

The old, old schoolyard demons chanting that nobody likes me, everybody just tolerates me -- they're harder to defeat. But quite frequently a Clarionette will say or do something kind, and I'm reassured. (You don't beat all the demons on your own. Sometimes it's a team effort. I'm really hoping I've helped some people with their demons, too.)

Here's to big stories, real writers, and teamwork.

Incidental note to all grammar-weenies: Gardner Dozois has come out firmly on the side of the serial comma. I feel vindicated.

My first all-nighter at Clarion

And, annoyingly, it's not even for the purposes of writing. No, it's to get the first edit of that document back to the client ahead of deadline. It was worth it to me to lose the sleep, because I've bought myself a couple of days' break while they go over the edits, and I'm planning on using it well to make progress on my Week 5 story. (My Week 4 story gets critted in a few hours -- will I be able to stand the strain, having had no sleep whatsoever?) Unfortunately, I'll have to lose a few of those hours this afternoon taking a nap. If I ever return to the "awake in the daytime, asleep at night" pattern, it will be the proverbial miracle.

We're all shuffling around with one foot on either side of the line of consciousness. It makes for interesting conversations.

The Clarion convenors tell us that part of the object of the game is to help us prepare for life as professional writers. I reckon I've got that one down: take on almost overwhelming commitments of writing, reading, and critiquing, and then take on more overwhelming commitments to earn enough money to scrabble between now and the next paying gig. In the rare moments of breathing room, research markets, polish stories, and send them out, with virtually no hope of earning anything even like an income from them. Yup, this week's been a professional writer's week, all right.

ADDENDUM: I did eventually get about one hour's sleep (7 to 8 a.m.).

In the middle of Week 3 of Clarion

I've finished my barbecue story, and I like it. I'm slowly re-learning to like my own stuff, after a couple of very hard weeks in the Crit Pit. The problem is, of course, that I submit stories and I like them heaps, and then seventeen other people AND the Inner Writing Demons all join together in a hideous chorus of derision and pity and tell me all the things that are wrong with them and why couldn't I see all these problems myself, clearly I have terrible, terrible judgment and I'm completely clueless about my own writing and will never be able to trust myself to polish it. (Okay, the derision and pity may be projection, not reality. But you can't tell me it doesn't feel like that.)

One of the things that's helping me get a bit of perspective is that I've also agreed to edit a large (150 pages or so) document for the World Bank, because they PAY ME MONEY. The resulting rapid and painful increase in pressure has, predictably, focused my work habits and attitudes enormously.

Last night I sent "The Futurist" (slightly edited) off to a (paying) online SF magazine. I'm pretty sure it's the very first time I've sent any fiction off to a paying market ever in my life. I got somewhat spoiled writing nonfiction: I've sold many pieces, had many others (written in the course of a day job) printed verbatim in newspapers and over wire services, gotten an article printed in a peer-reviewed journal, had dozens of requests to reprint or link to stuff I've written and posted to my web site, etc. etc.

This fiction thing is different. It makes me really nervous, in a way nonfiction never has.

It's nice to know my family is cheering for me!

I send my Clarion stories to my husband and child as I complete them. They really liked the current one, "The Futurist". It concerns F.T. Marinetti's bizarre artistic and literary movement of the early 20th century, Futurism.

It's very different from most of the stuff I write, as it has quite a dark, emo tone to it. The fact that they like it so much, of course, makes me instantly deeply, deeply anxious that all the stuff I write that isn't dark and emo is crap.

Sigh.

Heavens, I'm tired.

WAY short on sleep. Always another story to read, another one to write. Four hours a day in the Crit Pit. Trying to make sure I eat proper meals, at least most of the time. Occasional outings, usually Clarion- or spec-fic-related. Exercise, if not too exhausted (it's the only way to stay focused, I find). Showers, bathroom breaks, wash dishes. Discuss stories (own and others') with dorm mates. Shopping when food supply gets too low. A blessed interval of reading the papers on the weekend. Keeping up with email. That's it, that's what I'm doing.

Oh, it's intense.

I'm having the time of my life.

I love my family.

Here at Clarion South, I'm far, far away from my family. I mentioned to my daughter that encouragement helps, so at random intervals she's been sending me a text message on my phone: "Go mommy go! Go mommy go!"

Now I've got to finish this story by the deadline. My family is cheering for me, and I can't let them down. I have to seize this workshop and shake it like a terrier shakes a rat. I have to bash it, toss it high. (To paraphrase one of my own poems.)

And right now how I have to do that is finish this story. So if you'll excuse me....

Day One of Clarion

Okay, yeah, I volunteered to have my first story critiqued on the first day. But did it have to be the very first story of the whole process?

It's really quite painful to submit a first draft for critiquing. People keep commenting on things you WOULD have fixed, if only you'd had the TIME, what, do they think you're STUPID, of COURSE you would have fixed them. It's going to be a rather harrowing six weeks.

Once I finish lunch, I have my one-hour one-on-one with this week's tutor. I wonder how that's going to go.

Well, I'm here....

Here at Clarion. So far everyone is cheerful and friendly, which is comforting. It was a real wrench to leave my family -- I don't think I've been separated from either of them for six weeks since...well, since Margaret was born. More than eleven years ago.

The dorm room is spartan, which I'm enjoying. I've found the Brisbane frequencies for my favorite radio stations. I've got the network connection up and running. I'm unpacked. Houston and Margaret took me to the supermarket to get my personal supplies before they took off. The weather isn't that hot (yet).

I'm not writing anything at the moment; just trying to settle in. Yes, it does remind me a lot of when I left home for college, many, many years ago. Although I hope I have a few more life skills than I did at seventeen!

It's all very intimidating. I want to get my money's worth, and it will be all my fault if I don't. I want to prove I'm a Real Writer, and it will be all my fault if I don't. And yet I have no idea whatsoever how to make those two things happen. I guess I'll have to pretend I'm a character in a story, who has to take each sentence and paragraph as it comes....