Jamie Cat Callan: When the Going Gets Rough

Here's a Thanksgiving treat that won't put on a pound and could lift the weight from your literary shoulders now and again! We promise not to tease you any longer about any guest starting this week, and yes, we are posting her a day early so you can enjoy and ponder her response as you hit the road or the kitchen.

Jamie Cat Callan is a writer and writing teacher extraordinaire. Her work has appeared in The New York Times Modern Love column, to The Missouri Review, to UCLA Magazine. Awards include the PEN Syndicated Fiction Award, the Goldwyn Award in Screenwriting, two First Prizes in the Writers Digest Fiction Competition, a Bread Loaf Writing Conference Fellowship, and several residencies. Her March 2009 release entitled French Women Don't Sleep Alone: Pleasurable Secrets to Finding Love will be her second book on love and romance; she is author of the YA novel Just Too Cool, and she is spending time in Los Angeles these days researching a novel based on adventures she had as a script girl for Meg Ryan.

We invited Jamie to take a question of interest to all writers, whether on our first, fifth or fiftieth manuscript, because in Jamie's spare time she is the author of The Writers Toolbox: Creative Games and Exercises for the "Write" Side of Your Brain, and has taught this right-brain approach not only at Boston's Grub Street, but at Yale University, Wesleyan University, NYU, UCLA, to name a few.

Q: I'm facing a terrible writer's block. Threads head into dead ends I can't get out of and characters don't act or speak the way they should, no matter what I do to force them back toward my outline (which seemed right when I started). What tactics can you suggest to keep things flowing and get back on track?

A) I believe each individual writer possesses a kind of gold--an individual voice and style that is so unique, no one else can replicate it. Sometimes it's hidden in that deep place within that is bound up in love and tears and confusion and joy and secrets. As a writing instructor, I see it as my job to help you find that core--that heart center--where good, strong writing flows. To do this, I use "right brain" technique. I bring games and laughter and even a kind of creative irrationality into the classroom, so that you feel safe to take risks and to jump into that deep pool--where you will find your own gold--your own truth. So when the going gets rough:

1. Leave off the writing each day at a place where you'll be excited to go back. Don't completely "scratch that itch," so that you'll have something to look forward to the next day.

2. Throw scraps of interesting sentences, pictures and even discarded passages from other work in a box next to your desk. When you hit a wall, reach into the box and just go with whatever you get. Use the power of the right side of your brain, that part that's intuitive, nonlinear and slightly wacky, kind of like your third cousin--the one with the sequin eyeglasses and the bright red beehive. It's the opposite of the left brain--that's the more analytical and critical part--perhaps your mother's voice in your head asking you what makes you think you could be a writer.

3. Go for a walk. Actually, Dorothea Brande in her landmark writing book "Becoming a Writer" suggests that any rhymic, repetitive, nonverbal activity will get the juices flowing. When I worked for Meg Ryan and someone asked me to xerox an entire book (a bound book--so it would take hours)--I welcomed it has an opportunity to think and take notes on my own book.

4. Don't ever let the "paint get dry." By that I mean, don't spend too long away from your project. Otherwise, it's harder to re-enter the dream of the narrative.

5. And to continue the metaphor, try "throwing some paint" on the wall. See what sticks. Embrace your wacky-inner-child self. How do I "throw paint on the wall"? First off, I always approach my work as if I'm just going to fool around. I make no demands on myself. If I'm stuck, I like to go out and eavesdrop and use "found dialogue" the way visual artists use found objects to make sculpture. It's amazing how you can get inspired just by standing in line at the CVS prescription line!

6. Hook up with writer friends who will encourage you, give you a deadline, suggest agents, etc. and give you a good boot in the pants, when necessary.

The going is always rough. I think that's just the way it is, and I think that's why we write.

Confidence

Posted by Lynne Griffin

Confidence sits in the precarious place between self-doubt and egotism. Having faith in yourself takes work.

Yesterday my daughter called from her college campus. With exams, projects, and juried performances right around the corner, she was understandably stressed. The subtle catch in her voice told me she doubted it was possible for all of it to get done, and for her to do well. I could have offered her a standard mother daughter lecture--don't take things too seriously, make sure you get enough sleep, be sure to eat right--but how many of those helped me when I was in her shoes?

Instead I told her a story.

"Remember when you were in third grade and your big book report involved getting your summary of characters, setting, and plot to fit on an ordinary cereal box? And you had to do it creatively? You didn't struggle to read the book. You didn't mind analyzing the story. In fact, I recall you loved those parts. I watched as you learned, by trial and error, how to make the decisions that would make your project unique. You wanted to follow the guidelines set forth, and impress the teacher. Sure you worried that maybe you couldn't do it, or that it would take so long you might not finish on time, but that didn't stop you from doing what had to be done. The stress motivated you, it didn't immobilize you. Of course you completed it, and it was a job well done. Looking back, I don't remember a single project you didn't finish or one that you handed in late."

"That's true," she said. And then she went on to list some really overwhelming projects she worked on during her formative years. Projects I remember all too well. The invention. Building a Mayan civilization out of clay. The twenty. (You don't want to know about this one.)

Telling her a story helped. Experience builds confidence, if you remember to look back and appreciate it. Like my daughter, if you've done something before, why not be confident you can do it again. Have you written one chapter? You can write another. Sent out one query letter? Send out another. Introduced yourself to a writer you admire? Introduce yourself to another.

I can't give my daughter the confidence to sail through her final month as a freshman in college. And I can't tell you that you'll achieve your goals either. What I offered my daughter was what she and I call, mother's pearls. Those tiny bits of wisdom generously given to support, encourage and motivate. Even with those, she must find the door to the land of confidence--east of doubt and west of egotism. And once there, only she has the key to the door.

You're the only one that can find your confidence, too. It isn't always easy, but here are a few things I've learned in finding my own.

Looking at previous successes inspires you to believe you will find success again.

Whether you think you can or think you can't--you're right.

Experience is something you get, even if you fail.

Making a Literary Life Friday: Watch This Space!

We had an idea to make our blog a little extra special. There are so many fabulous people living this literary life whom we quote and from whom we seek inspiration, that we thought it would be fun to interview them, get their tips and thoughts and experiences. We'll focus on what we and you most want to hear. So, say we were to interview the likes of Carolyn Parkhurst, Dr. Pauline Chen, Hallie Ephron, Chris Bohjalian, Tom Perrotta, Castle Freeman, Nathaniel Fick -- and yes, we will talk with them all! -- what do you most want to know? Who else would you like to hear from? Agents, publishers? We are just as interested as you!

Lisa Marnell
Gregory Maguire said he was lucky, that he knows numerous writers who can put together a more beautiful sentence than he can. I still have a hard time believing that. When I met him last spring and interviewed him for the Grub Street Rag, I did realize, however, he has his writing strengths and weaknesses. THE GREGORY MAGUIRE, of Wicked fame and brilliance, has worked to become the writer he is.

I look forward to interviewing a few people. I'll keep them up my sleeve for now, but if you have any interest in YA and Middle Grade Fiction, stay tuned!

Amy MacKinnon
I feel blessed living in a community rich with literary figures. I attend as many readings as possible at Buttonwood Books, all the literary events sponsored by Grub Street and PEN New England. Each time, I leave reassured, inspired even, when the writer tells the audience just how daunting getting a book published seemed in the beginning. They share stories of overwhelming odds, feelings of desperation, dark days, and then -- finally -- the light came and they were on their way.

Hearing famous writers share their stories over the years helped get me through the hopeless times, a vicarious triumph. It's an embarrassment of literary riches living near Boston, something not all of you are privy to and so we want to share by interviewing amazing people. We're starting with writers, but we'll be sure to include agents, editors, reviewers as well as the unsung heroes: foreign rights directors, publicists, and cover designers. It's our hope that those vicarious triumphs will help light your way.

Hannah Roveto
Things I want to know include process and revision tips, including ones that sounded good and didn't make sense. What comes easy, what's hardest? What's the funniest experience you've had from a career perspective -- authors, agents and publishers -- and what was the most valuable? What's the most real moment to make it into fiction -- and be told was implausible? Is there any way to define "you know it when you see it" more clearly than that? And... and... and...!

Lynne Griffin
I enjoy author readings and conference networking for all the reasons Amy mentioned, and I've always tapped into the thinking--go where the successful people are. What I mean is, if I can put my finger on the ingredients that make a writer an author and an author successful, then I really have something. Learning craft is vital to growing as a writer, so too is knowing the industry, becoming aware of obstacles and learning appropriate etiquette.

This week I interviewed Carolyn Parkhurst, author of The Dogs of Babel and Lost and Found. She was generous with her time and insights into living her literary life. You'll want to read her interview, which will be posted next week. We can all learn so much from her story.

A New House

Posted by Lynne

I've never built a house, but I took a wonderful course on building a novel. When I was deep in to a revision of Life Without Summer, I took a course on story construction offered through Grub Street by the smart and talented Stace Budzko. It helped me then, but how was I to know that eight months later, as I delved into crafting my next novel, that things he taught me would flood into my mind with new relevancy.

The elements of our stories are not unlike those of a house. What we know about our characters--how they behave and misbehave--their desires, wants and needs are as important to the writer as the windows that allow light into the living room. Plot can be seen as the opening and closing of doors. Voice--the house's architectural style.

Having built and sold one novel already, I know that building a good foundation is critical to the novel's ability to stand out in the marketplace. For me, settling on point of view is an important first step in creating the right structure, telling the right story. Whose story is it? Which character(s) have the most to gain and the most to lose given the situations and complications I've chosen to write about? When I find the heart of the story, I know it. I love writing in two voices, so for me there is often more than one heart to consider.

At every stage of novel building it's important to use quality goods. For a writer, the raw materials are words. This time I'm finding it even easier to lay down the structure with care, partly because the more I write the more I fall in love with words. Though in truth, I'm confident, because I trust that even when a house is done, there is nothing wrong with moving a little furniture or hanging new curtains. Even brothers and sisters have been known to change rooms, and parents know when it's time to add a room over the garage.

Perhaps the single most valuable lesson I learned from Stace during that weekend in April relates to setting. I will be forever grateful to him for opening my eyes to the idea that setting can be compelling, not merely a backdrop "where characters do their thing". Whether you imagine the places in your novel as pleasing, forbidding or somewhere in between, setting embodies all the places that influence the way your characters see the world and how they respond to it.

Andre Dubus once said, "We enter the fictional world through memory". During my weekend course, Stace urged me to take every opportunity to pry, eavesdrop, stare, and otherwise gather the material I'd need to build a story. Little did he know that the perspectives he offered, I would remember, serving me well in my building projects down the road.

Lessons Learned

By Amy

Have you seen this yet? He's Professor Randy Pausch of Carnegie-Mellon University and he's dying.

Prof. Pausch wanted to share some life lessons with his students in the time he has left. Not every dying man has wisdom to impart. These days, I spend a fair amount of time around the terminally ill. Some want a warm sweater on even the most stifling day, many cry for their long-dead mothers, and nearly all reach out a hand to strangers passing by, desperate for human touch from just about anyone. It's difficult to hug some of them, impossible not to. None speak of great accomplishments or obstacles overcome. I hear only regrets.

But Dr. Pausch isn't so desperate, at least not so far as we can see from this video. Instead, he's sanguine about his life's course, grateful even. He doesn't want our pity, so I'll honor that. Instead, I'd like for the writers reading this to focus on one lesson in particular Dr. Pausch has learned in his 46 years.

Brick walls are there for a reason: they let us prove how badly we want things.

As a writer how many brick walls have you encountered? How many unfinished manuscripts do you have, how many rejection letters for that book under the bed, how many days and weeks have you spent wiping away the tears, drinking away the grief because you've slammed headlong into that damn brick wall. Again. Do you still want it so badly your gut twists, so much that you fall asleep at night dreaming about your writing, wake several times through, and then in the morning linger in that dream state because reality is too much to bear. Do you want it that much? Do you?

Well, then you'll probably find a way over, under, around or through that brick wall. Because you're a writer. That's what writers have to endure. It's not exciting or romantic, but when you get beyond the wall, you'll know you've earned it. Each of us has a brick wall in our path -- or a journey peppered with them. This is the life we chose, the one that chose us. Accept it, embrace it, learn from it and know how badly you want it.

Watch the video and you'll hear Randy Pausch share his childhood dreams, discover how he achieved nearly all of them. His lesson to each of us is that bricks and mortar are no match for our dreams. Not even close.

I promised I wouldn't pity Dr. Pausch. It's hard not to do when you see his three young children. So much lost, yet so much found.

No pity, Dr. Pausch, instead thanks for extending a hand to us.

The Difference

By Amy

Waiting for the elevator in the Grub Street lobby were two women, one of whom was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen. I recognized her immediately as Boston's chief investigative reporter, Hank Phillippi Ryan. I tried to melt into the walls as I eavesdropped on their conversation; to this day I'm not sure they realized a third person rode up with them. Hank was telling the other woman her agent was sending out her manuscript that week. She has an agent, I thought, she's going to be published. We sat next to each other in that writing class -- Hallie Ephron's Writing and Selling Your Mystery Novel, hands down the best writing class I've yet taken -- and became friends. I expected Hank's book to sell within days, but it didn't. Sent out as chick lit just as the publishing world grew weary of the genre, Hank's novel was rejected. Was she disappointed? You bet. Devastated? Well, that would imply Hank was somehow paralyzed by the experience. No, Hank took her manuscript and after a matter of weeks, she rewrote it as more of a mystery. Her agent had to have been impressed. Prime Time sold in a two-book deal. It's been one of my favorite books of the year, I fell in love with her character, Charlie McNally, and can't wait to see her again when Face Time is released next month. By the way, after the success of Prime Time, Hank's publisher bought the rights to her next two books.

One writer I adore wrote and submitted for two years, receiving nothing but rejections. Friends and family were generally dismissive because they knew her only as Judy, no one particularly special, certainly not a writer. They said she was a dreamer, too big for her britches, they reminded Judy that the odds did not favor the likes of her. Still she continued to write, submit, and be rejected. Until her first book was published, The One in the Middle is the Green Kangaroo. A fluke then. She continued to prove them wrong when it was followed by Iggy's House, then Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret, and on and on...Thank goodness Judy Blume never gave up on her dream, never gave in to the naysayers. How would we have survived childhood without her?

Have you read Michelle Zink's blog? She tells it better, it's her story, but it's ours, too. She gave up her job, her family sacrificed vacations, she had trouble paying her bills, all so she could write. How many times have we told loved ones not right now or I'm sorry, I can't go. How many nights have we lain awake wondering how to pay that credit card bill, or in Michelle's case the mortgage? Michelle wrote FIVE books, none of which were published, all the while struggling, doubting, though still forging onward. And then Indigo Sky came to her and as Publishers Marketplace reports, earned Michelle a much-deserved six-figure advance.

Writers I know have similar stories. First manuscripts rejected by agents. First books submitted by agents and rejected by editors. Second, third, fourth novels, memoirs, non-fiction. Every writer I know. Every last one.

Amanda Eyre Ward (if you haven't yet read her work, run right now to your local bookstore; I just finished and LOVED Forgive Me) hosted a Grub Street South workshop and she said the people in her MFA program who were published were the writers who never gave up.

That's the difference.

Not Right Now

By Amy

To be perfectly honest, I don't feel like writing this post. No offense, people, but my personal life is upside down, I'm a bit peckish, woefully tired, and, frankly, I'd rather spend my time living in a world I created than the one I've recently been handed. That's not to say my protagonist is having a better time of it, it's just I know the outcome to that particular tale of woe.

I'm thick in the revision process (thank you, Therese, I needed that), and even though it's summer, even though a plethora of amazing books have been released this year, and, yes, shamefully, even though my family needs me, I want to ignore reality, sit here at my desk in my stuffy office, with a puppy in desperate need of a bath (but, my goodness, he is the sweetest dog in the world, isn't he?), and write.

So, please excuse me for this short post, but my time is no longer my own and every moment has become precious. I'm close, so close, and I really need to get back to my writing.

Before you go, a favor? So that I may live vicariously through you, take the kids to the beach and be sure to pack a good book for me.

Knowing When

Posted by Lisa

The first fifty pages are strong. I think they are, anyways.
I've poured my literary soul into them, not to mention those early morning hours, late night hours, and recent sessions at my local bookstore cafe.

Lynne, Hannah, and Amy, it's up to you soon, to critique my YA novel, book number two, as it's close to being finished. My characters, sigh, have lived out their story. Turns out this final product, its plot and characters, are nothing as it started. But a novel evolves, doesn't it?

But there is one caveat...I never know, for sure, when it's done.

Heidi Pitlor, a brilliant editor, and lovely writer, spoke two years ago at Grub Street's Muse & the Marketplace. When writing her novel, The Birthdays, she said it was her husband who told her it was done. She'd been editing and editing, and editing some more. When he voiced his suggestion, she agreed, he was right. Her novel was done, and off it went to her editor.

I won't rely on my husband, I don't think. But I do question, at times, at the start, at the finish of writing sessions, if I'm on the right track. Should a particular sub-plot be expanded? Should another be eliminated? Is there too much weather (cold and icy snow in my New Hampshire setting) and not enough details about physical surroundings (buildings, objects, characters' possessions)?

It's hard to know since the is no right and wrong. But there is good and bad, and very good and very bad. Sometimes, it's hard to know.

Seconds Anyone?

Posted by Lynne

I know my protagonist's name, her job and her immutable truth. I know what her son looks like; I know his struggle and how he moves the plot forward. Yet there is so much more I need to know. Most importantly, I know it won't help to rush it. It will come in it's own time, in it's own way.

The second novel. Certainly, it will be compared to the first by you, your friends and family, and of course readers and reviewers, but that won't change how you care for it.

I'm beginning to gestate my second novel. I've done some reading about time periods I plan to use, several characters' occupations, and my chosen setting. This upfront reading is fun, and it will inform my writing once I get enmeshed in it. I don't think I'll plot my novel until I get toward the middle, I like the nebulous beginning, where characters evolve and story lines surprise me. Though I'm open to seeing how things develop this time around, since I expect writing my second novel will be a completely unique experience.

Like having a second child.

When I became pregnant with my second child, I was over the moon. I'd always wanted two children and felt since I knew what I was about to experience having gone through it before, I would savor every blessed minute of it. I even bought a book called, Your Second Child by Joan Solomon Weiss.

I wasn't content with our hand-me-down crib, I marched right over to Boston Baby and bought the white cradle and companion rocking chair I was hesitant to purchase on my first go around. The setting my baby was born into needed the perfect details.

At the first ultrasound, we asked the sex of our baby. I loved knowing we were having our boy. I got a jump start on naming this character of mine; each kick and pregnancy symptom helped me to bond with him.

Going through the experience a second time, had its pluses and minuses. On the bright side, I knew the early exhaustion would give way to renewed energy in the middle and complete joy at the end; each twinge, each pain would pass, with time. No need for anxious calls to others who'd already gone through it. I knew what to expect. On the darker side, I knew carrying this child was in some ways the easy part. Like his sister before him, he would have to come into the light and endure the fickle aspects of living in the world. A world where he wouldn't always be protected by me.

If you have more than one child--or more than one book--you know no two are alike. This is as it should be. I don't want to have two identical children, nor do I want to write the same book. I want the process to have a life of its own. I know I have enough love in me for both.

As I begin to develop the life of my second novel, I'm open to how the process might be different. I'd love to hear from the friends of our blog who are writing their second novels, especially those further along than I am, who have published before.

Tell me, which labor pains are the same? Which different?

The Mountain

Posted by Lynne

Amy's reference to The Myth of Sisyphus is the inspiration for my post this morning. I've loved and leaned on Albert Camus's famous essay all my life. For those unfamiliar with it, or in need of a refresher, the essay is about a man's search for meaning, his struggle to understand absurdity. It's a primer on existentialism.

It's rich on many levels, so I do suggest reading it in it's entirety. The most known portion of it involves a man pushing a boulder up a hill, only to have it roll down again. His fate is to continue to do this forever without ever seeing different results.

After spending several days deep in revision three of my novel, I can relate to Sisyphus. Without changing a single character or plotline, I have expanded and fine-tuned my story. I changed some scene locations, added deeper motives for certain characters' actions, and included more backstory. Unlike Sisyphus, in this attempt to move my efforts up the mountain, I'm getting somewhere.

From the outside looking in, the process of writing a novel is absurd. Read about writers and their process and you'll find these universal truths. A writer spends incalculable hours thinking about the story, writing the story, revising the story, editing the story. To say nothing of what's required to gain representation for the story, or find a home and readers for the story.

I have spent more time with my characters than with some real people I truly enjoy spending time with. I've forfeited beach time, shopping trips and lunches, in favor of hanging out on an imaginary dock and in a child's bedroom. I've written, rewritten and rewritten again a scene on a boat, in a police station, and in a garage. If my little darling ever sells to a publisher and I take my advance and divide it by the hours I've spent writing, I'm certain to be in the red.

Examining writing a novel from the inside out, is a different matter. What some see as absurdity is full of meaning to the writer. For me, each revision strengthens my faith. I'm more certain than ever that I have an important story to tell. I'm the person to tell it, and someday a reader or two will enjoy the concrete reality of my sisyphusian efforts.

At the end of Camus's essay, he sums up the search for meaning beautifully. He concludes that the struggle itself is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

When I'm writing, I'm happy. Though I admit, getting to the top of the mountain would be nice.

Mind Over Babe

By Amy

Look at this guy. His name is Babe. Wouldn't you love to wrap your fingers around his fat little belly and squish the stuffing out of him? Go for a walk and show him off to the neighbors? Sit quietly while he snores in your arms? Me, too.

We adopted him over the weekend. Completely impulsive. My family went out for a bike ride, saw him in a neighbor's yard rolling around with his litter mates, and my husband, inspired, bought a lottery ticket. When they arrived home, my husband told me we had to adopt one. Too much money, I said, but if you scratch that ticket and we win, sure. We won. If you've been reading this blog long enough, you know how I feel about signs. Just look at the little guy.

So what does Babe have to do with writing? Chair glue. I wanted nothing more than to wallow in puppy heaven yesterday, but I forced myself to work on my manuscript. There are always reasons to not write. Life -- and let's be honest here, especially a woman's life -- is filled with demands on our time: family, work, volunteering, squishy puppies. If you're a writer, if you want to create something meaningful with the intent of getting it published, you had better find time each day and glue yourself in that chair. No excuses, because no one cares if you have one anyway.

Why? Few in your life expect you to finish writing that first draft and, trust me, no one cares to hear about your months-long revision process (that's nice, but did you hear about...) Your phone won't ring with friends calling to see how that query letter is coming along (write tomorrow, let's go out for a drink now). Friends outside of writing have no idea literary agents even exist (why don't you just self-publish like my friend?). When you get an agent, s/he won't badger you to finish revising that manuscript s/he was gushing about when s/he signed you (your name is? and you're calling regarding?), s/he'll just move on to the newer, more promising client. Really, no one cares if your manuscript ever becomes a book -- no one cares but you. So why do it?

I asked myself that same question over the weekend. While sitting in the bleachers at my son's baseball game, a foul ball headed for the stands. I made a joke to the other parents about the parallels between it and John Irving's "A Prayer for Owen Meany." They all stared back with blank expressions. Not one person had ever heard of the book or even John Irving. *Sigh*

That chair glue is for me, it has to be. I want to write a book, a good book. I want it bound by a publishing house in New York and held in the hands of the few readers who care about words. I want to evoke a connection with my reader. If it doesn't happen, those around me won't care particularly. They'll offer an ear, listen for a day or two, and then forget. But I'll care. I'll care for a lifetime.

I glue myself to my chair each day because I have expections of myself -- and I plan to exceed them. Not even Babe can compete with that. Well, maybe just a little.

Beginning to End

Posted by Lynne

There's an old song, It's not where you start it's where you finish. We've talked a lot about beginnings this week, beginnings of books, beginnings of chapters. I thought endings deserved their just due. Well-crafted chapter endings have the power to convince someone to read just one more page. Hooking the reader has as much to do with a good ending as a good beginning.

I'll borrow Hannah's technique to demonstrate.

1. There was my father with his head sewn up and my mother just having told me her life was a joke and I finally felt like things were a little bit normal.

The Patron Saint of Liars, Ann Patchett

2. Lester got in his Toyota and pulled into the fog of the coast highway, heading north for Point San Pedro and Corona. The fog was so thick his headlights were reflected off it and he had to drive slow, and careful.

The House of Sand and Fog, Andre Dubus III

3. People dealt with grief in different ways, but somehow he couldn't see himself lounging by a swimming pool just four days after his dead sister had been plucked from the ocean in a fisherman's net.

Amagansett, Mark Mills

4. I can't think of one way in which Alden resembles Harry, and yet, there I sat on the furniture of both marriages feeling as diminished in one man's company as I had in the other's.

Okay, that's from my novel. Do you think it works to keep you reading?

While the beginning of a book gets a great deal of a writer's attention, readers more often than not, say they're concerned about endings. I've heard from more readers than I can count, that a rough beginning is forgivable. A weak, or contrived, or disappointing ending is a sin. I admit my word of mouth recommendations have a great deal to do with endings, too.

Enter into a debate today over the importance of beginnings vs. endings. Which do you spend most of your energy on? Do you write like Tess Gerritsen? This week, she blogged about her first draft process of writing through. It's during her second draft process that she methodically chooses her chapter endings.

Beginnings draw the reader in, chapter endings keep us reading. Novel endings keep us talking about a book long after we've handed it off to a friend. Don't you dream of someone saying this about your novel? "You have to read this. It's amazing!"

The Black Days

By Amy

If you can do anything else, do it. Don’t write.

It was advice given to me once at a reading, offered by a debut novelist. We were surrounded by tables with thick linen tablecloths and lovely crystal glasses, a view of the harbor and robust coffee. All in her honor. She should have been beaming, celebrating this first reading of hers before a restaurant filled with eager readers. Instead, her shoulders were hunched and her young face had about it the weight of someone who’s suffered a great loss and knows not to trust that everything will be all right.

Though it was her debut novel, it wasn’t the first book she’d written. She had two more under her bed. Talking with writers, it’s a familiar scenario. Some manage to pick themselves up and move on to the next project, while others cut themselves free of the writer's life, make their way doing something far more reasonable, less damaging: Accounting or office work, perhaps bartending because one night’s tips are better than all the money your writing has earned in a year.

If you’re a writer, you understand the melancholy. That sense of numbness that descends after too many rejections or a particularly difficult one. Or worse, silence. You give into the voices, playing on an endless loop inside your head, voices you’re afraid others will hear, too: You’re not good enough, you have no right to hope to be something you’re not. Your dreams will never come true.

I’ve heard from writers, ones whose names you undoubtedly know, that they’ve shared this affliction. Some call it “angst,” others the “in-between days.” It all amounts to the same. Sometimes all that can see a person through the Black Days is fear. Fear of never being the person you want to be, I want to be. It leaves no choice.

So have a good cry, the kind that wells from the core, painful, wrenching sobs that leave your eyes horribly swollen and your insides twisted, and then catch your breath and press on. Keep moving. Forward. One step, then another because there’s nothing else you can do. Not really. And know there’s hope.

You’ll find it on the next blank page.

Play

When you repeatedly come across a certain phrase, or two people tell you a strikingly similar story, you know you're supposed to be listening for meaning. Really listening.

This week, I read David Elkind's wonderful new book, The Power of Play. A must read for every parent and teacher. Simultaneously, I picked up a copy of Susan K. Perry's, Writing in Flow. In the first chapters of each of these well-written books, the authors summarize the years of work done by philosopher-psychologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi.

Mihaly researched the special union of work, play, and love. When these things collide, and feelings of enjoyment-- not bound by time, or self-consciousness, or fear of failure--run high, a person is said to be in flow. It's an abstract concept to be sure. Unless you've experienced it.

In a loose sense, we've all written about being in flow this week. Lisa chooses not to reveal the intricacies of her work-in-progress, because she feels the essence of her work, and play, and love might lose something in translation. Amy's post explored the notion that ultimately the process of writing should be enough. If we free ourselves from the distractions of finding an agent, a publisher, and interpreting the whims of the marketplace--perhaps then we can be in flow. And once in flow, I would argue, you will probably create your best work, and those trappings of the literary life will fall right into place. Hannah shared her thoughts about actors as artists. The role models she described embody the notion of working in flow. Have you seen, The Queen?

Last night my husband, and biggest supporter, and I talked about balancing my promotional activities for my non-fiction book, with my compelling desire to keep working on the revisions to my novel. He's concerned that I might be working too much. I am. Yet when I'm drawn into the world of my fictional characters, there is where work, and play, and love collide. Deep in revisions, I'm working hard on what Chekov calls the "little particulars." This week, in a trance-like state, I added in the details of my protagonist's daughter's bedroom. I'm "word painting," playing with descriptions of a bedspread, a window seat, and a doll's house. The time flew by, and when I finished, I was more refreshed than if I took a bath, a long walk, or a nap.

My favorite quote by psychologist Jean Piaget was aimed at children. He said, for children, work is play and play is work. In flow, I am a child. One who never wants to grow up.

How do you balance the longing for being in flow, with the practical details of daily living?

The Crux of the Matter

By Amy

The others came to me quickly, easily. Clara was guileless, sharing all of her self through intense conversations that would last long into the night; unexpected considering how life had hollowed her out. When I woke, she’d resume talking in that melancholy way of hers, just a hint of a Rhode Island accent rolling off of her R’s. She needed me to tell her story.

Linus was a more patient conversationalist. He would wait until I settled myself on my ancient desk chair, a cup of coffee warming my hands, and then he’d start, Where was I now? Oh, yes… It never took long to write his chapters, I copied them verbatim as he spoke.

But Mike wasn’t used to sharing the particulars of his life. Not with anyone, not anymore. He was guarded, a ghost of the man he used to be. We, Mike and I, weren’t close friends; our talks weren’t conversations, but interviews. I would ask him questions and he would offer up one word answers. I’d have to ask him the same question cloaked as something altogether different to draw out a few more words or expression of sentiment.

Each of my characters needed to tell their stories from their points-of-view and while Clara and Linus were eager, Mike didn’t trust me. As a result, I didn’t trust his chapters.

When I announced at writers’ group that I was considering deleting Mike’s sections, I was more than halfway through the manuscript then, I remember Lynne waving her hand.

“But I don’t think they’re working,” I said.

“Oh, they’re working,” Lynne replied. Both Lisa and Hannah nodded their agreement.

They trusted Mike and, because I trusted my writers’ group, Mike’s chapters stayed. Months later as I neared the final pages of my manuscript, I was grateful to have had that trust in my writers’ group. Contained within those last pages was a passage only Mike could tell. If I hadn’t listened to my writers group, trusted their judgment in a character who made me earn his trust, I don’t know if my story would have had as satisfying an end.

Don't misunderstand, it wasn't a matter of trusting the instincts of my writers' group over my own, it's more complicated than that. I believe my writer friends trusted me to tell the story, trusted that I would find my way through the thicket that is the middle of a novel. Or maybe they trusted that I could fix a narrative if it didn't work after all.

And that's crux of a good writers' group, isn't it, trust.