I’ve been invited to do a reading during the Edinburgh Fringe (details to be announced) — a five minute slot. That’s shorter than anything I’ve got, so I have to write some fresh fiction. I’ve been so focused on creating DIY Book podcasts; I haven’t written anything of my own in ages.
As I contemplate what I could present, the old worries creep in: What if I suck? This is another chance to establish myself here, but what can I do that’ll typify me and impress everyone?
Happily, I know enough at this point to recognise these thoughts for what they are — just stupid fear and wrong-headed priorities. These are easy to pick up, as there’s so much pressure on writers now to constantly think about marketing, selling, and being promotional. But, oh right, the value in what we do begins and ends with telling stories — which we can’t do when we’re thinking about product and effect rather than process, heart, and having fun.
The solution?

• Ask the world. While I’m waiting for a chance to work on this, I can put the question out there: “What story do I want to write?” Like a cat slinking off to catch ‘gifts’ for me, my subconscious often brings me better material than I could ever deliberately manufacture.
• Don’t try to solve the problem on the fly. I can’t get this written while doing copywriting, washing the dishes, or lying in bed. In that state of mind — half-attending to it — I can’t get any deeper than the surface concern about “What will they think?” Worry is what we do when we feel the need to take action but can’t.
• Give yourself time. A corollary of the last point: I know from experience that a project like this needs dedicated time. Then I can get my head into it the way I need to and not be trying to rush right to the part where it’s finished. If this piece will be worth listening to, it’s worth taking time for.
• Give your head a shake. I’ve got to get out a big piece of paper and tip the contents of my brain into a mind-map. If I dredge up the the deep-sea worries and name them, they will die in the sunlight. The fear they contain is completely unconnected to — and unconcerned with — fact. With them out of the way, I can brainstorm possible stories and remind myself of all the good reasons I like to do this work.
• Look behind you! Um, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve done this! The fear likes to obscure the past and make me forget that I’ve created things before and that I know how to do this work. It’s just trying to protect me from change — any change, good or bad. I’m grateful to have that radar, but it’s not useful here. I can derive the confidence I need from looking back at what I’ve already done. The best part of that work came out of my being vulnerable, available, and true to what was inside me to give, not from any attempt to produce an effect. Weird how fear always tells me to vivisect my work and remove all the dangerous, weird, and personal stuff — the things people actually like best.
• Make it a gift, not a test. If I can disconnect from wants and expectations, I’ll find the generosity of spirit to pull something up from the bottomless well of creativity and give it freely to the listeners as a gift. No attachment, no manipulating them so they’ll give me something — people sense that and hate it, ’cause we get it all day long in the form of fake stories called advertising. This is a story to be told around a public campfire; you can’t do anything with the sparks, but they can make the night and connect us to the stars.

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How long will take you to write your novel? And how do you balance this with the rest of your life?

I just received an e-mail asking for advice about making the leap to writing her own fiction. Here’s the advice I would give anyone in this situation:

Screw what anyone else thinks. Your joy as an artist can only come from you doing your thing without apology, and trusting that to take you where you need to go.

Ignore the bad advice you’ll get from publishing industry people and from those whose dreams and sense of themselves is tangled up with getting creative permission from corporations. Very few of us make it commercially, but you can always be happy if you stay focused on your writing as self-expression and as a discipline you can always be growing and making progress in (by getting truer and truer to yourself as you also gain skill).

Do what’s fun for you!

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In this session, you’ll break your story arc into individual chapters, then divide those chapters into scenes — leaving you ready to start writing your book!

I don’t understand self-publishing websites that keep posting articles by literary agents and other tied-to-the-industry people who, of course, don’t want to think about self-publishing as “real”.

Fine, whatever, but some of us are busy trying to do it, so I don’t see what’s helpful when people who claim to also be involved in this keep forwarding the bilious insults to our professionalism, intent, and talent — or else keep engaging in endless blather back and forth about whether it’s legitimate.

Whatever! I’m more interested in engaging with people who are taking their own work as far as it can go, sharing ideas and insights, inspiring each other — making something! This other stuff is pointless.

Indie publishers engaging in the “is self-publishing real?” online spitting contest are like a jilted lover sending a constant stream of e-mails to an ex. It’s not happening — do something else, or you’re a loser!

The industry is like an abusive ex, and our readers are the true love of our life. Which do you want to pay attention to?

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No, I’m not. Strangely, more people have asked me this lately than have when I have been working on a book.

Just yesterday, it occurred to me that it’s about a year, maybe more, since I put out Finitude. I felt funny about it — you know, that old immediate response of “Uh-oh, something’s wrong!”

But nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been catching up on life-stuff, then started the DIY Book podcast. That project is the size and scope of writing a novel, except instead of using my usual process to write content, I’m using the process to write out the process. Kinda odd.

I’ve had the fourth episode of the podcast ready to record for a while, but being away in Canada for the last month I haven’t had a chance to do it. Last night was my first regularly-scheduled writing session since then, and I was feeling hesitant about it: “Who am I to be talking about this when I’m not doing it myself?”

Of course, I knew this was just mental babble, so I had a nap (always a great way to change your state of mind, rather than bloodymindedly ploughing on — as long as it’s a short, timed nap), and while I was lying there I thought, “Okay, just to prove to yourself that you can write something anytime you like, come up with an idea.”

I let my mind go, and I found myself following this young girl around a little town. She had a nasty habit of tattling on everyone and was causing holy hell, wrecking lives hither and yon. The effect was pure evil, but she did it out of a righteous concern for them, or just unconsciously. But then something happened in her life and she needed a secret of her own kept…

So there it was, beginning, middle, end, just as I was going to talk about in this podcast episode on plotting out the acts of your book. I got up, went into my little office-oubliette, and spent the next few hours recording it.

Like I say, “If you’re stuck, it’s always because there’s a question you’ve forgotten to ask or answer.”

Still, I feel the urge to start another book, but nothing is demanding my attention. I’ll know when it’s time.

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In this episode, you’ll get to work defining what particular story you’re telling, and starting to map it out.

Okay, that’s pathetic: I haven’t updated this since May. Let me explain.

See, I got into a relationship in October, and it felt weird to post about it here. He doesn’t get what all this social media stuff is for, so understandably felt unsure about everyone, everywhere being instantly aware of what we were up to. But he never said “Don’t do it.”

I took the blog down anyway… until I reworked the site and thought it would be good to have someplace off the front page to babble. So, in addition to all the new stuff like the “DIY Book” section, I put the blog back — and proceeded to leave it blank. Hey, I was busy living!

I also wasn’t sure what to say. I’d liked the idea of a “business only” site — talk to the hanging sign — and couldn’t get my head back into the idea of sharing personal stuff. Now I was thinking, “What’s that for?”

While I was away on holidays this summer, I read Natalie Goldberg’s new book, Old Friend from Far Away, about memoir-writing. She’s the one who first inspired me to write, and while I have no intention to write my memoirs, her book reminded me how beautiful and magnetic real-world details are.

As a fiction writer, particularly once you start putting your work out into a hostile world, it’s easy to become too slick, to make everything a bit too glib and Teflon-y. A lot of beginning writers fall into what I call “validating your pain”, putting all their hurts and angst into their work, which, sorry, I find boring. As personal growth author John Bradshaw was once devastatingly told by his therapist, “John, your suffering is ordinary.”

But this is different. When Natalie Goldberg talks about a friend’s cooking, or the landscape of New Mexico, I am absolutely with her. The world tells you to stick with the plot, grab ’em with the first paragraph, make sure they don’t get a chance to be bored. Yet my editor once told me she liked my blog posts better than my books: there was an extra dose of me in them.

How do you strike a balance between vanity, catharsis, self-exploration, and the holy original details of daily human life?

I don’t know, but I’m back, and I am inspired to risk boring you by having the courage to experiment, not just put out slick finished works.

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This episode contains several exercises to help you define the characters who will populate your novel.

We take a look at the way ideas begin to connect after you’ve been gathering them for a while, the major story archetypes, and some ways to prepare for the task ahead.