Lilith Saintcrow

When you get up at 6AM with a whole week’s worth of to-do collapsed into a single day…everything turns into a blur. Especially when you’ve been awake half the night stressed out about All The Things You’ve Decided To Do Today. I was up pretty early this morning, and I got everything accomplished. My list, which looked like a mad scientist’s scratchpad, has EVERYTHING crossed off. If I wasn’t so damn tired I’d go get myself a glass of wine to celebrate. Unfortunately the wine would put me straight into a coma.

So I’m just checking in with a couple of quick things.

* To Reader Shelly H.: your letter made me cry. It’s those types of letters that get me through and remind me why I’m doing this on days when I’m deluged by bad reviews or deadline panic, revision hell or Muse bonbon shortage. Thank you for taking the time to write. You really made my day. Hell, my month. Keep swinging, kid. I’m right there with you.

I do read every piece of fanmail you guys send. I can’t respond much (if at all) because of Deadline and Life Pressure. I know you guys understand because you tell me you do, often in the the first paragraph. I do read and treasure–and in some cases, reread–your letters. Thank you so much for writing to me. You’re all awesome.

* I’ve signed myself and the kids up for a rock-climbing basics class in April. (The Krav Maga place was always closed when I went by to check it out. Oh well!) It’ll teach belaying for me, and other stuff for the small ones. They’re absolutely thrilled. I hadn’t realized we had TWO community centres with indoor rock walls in Vancouver. (The mind boggles.) Plus there are other ones in Portland.

However, I know next to naught about climbing. I’ll be climbing indoors for the foreseeable future. Reader TJ Tradekraft (hi TJ!) has already given me some great advice, and if anyone else around here is a climber, feel free to advise me in comments or drop me an email. Yes, I am actually asking for advice. Don’t look surprised, I do this all the time.
I’m looking for stuff like:

what to look for in a good climbing wall
what to look for in a good instructor
general safety tips
general comfort tips (like TJ says, “tape your fingers!”)
general advice

That about covers it. I’ve got dinner cooking and some wordcount to get in so today is a total win instead of a qualified win. I suspect I’ll feel better with more food in me; lunch was good but it was hours ago.

Whew. Off I go…

Cross-posted to the Deadline Dames, a year old and still going strong.

I can definitively state I AM NOT MY CHARACTERS.

Most of them–Danny and Jill spring immediately to mind for some reason–come from a pretty dark place. Others, not so much. I’ve had some scary experiences in my life (and something tell me I will have still more, life being what it is.) Some of those scary experiences are fuel. Others are just…there. They don’t go into books, they’re too personal. I have to come to terms with them in other ways.

Using the fuel of scary experiences can be good. It can help you process, it can help you deal. There are several different types of artistic fuel, however, and getting hooked on one to the exclusion of all others is a chancy proposition. Art does not live by one fuel alone–and trying to make it can have bad effects on you.

Case in point? Well, me. I’m in a state of highly personal, highly charged change right now. Some of the fuel I was using while I was miserable five years ago, or two years ago, or six months ago is no longer around. I don’t have that whip to push myself on. I am, to put it bluntly, afraid that if I get healthier or happier I will no longer be able to peer into those dark places or face them with the courage needed to pull those characters out of the shadows.

Most of me knows this is silly. As someone wise recently told me, “Those miseries were ways you had of coping and surviving. They worked to keep you whole and protect you. They’ll still be there if you need them again.” I know it’s true–I can put them back in my toolbox and get them out if I need them.

But, dear Reader…I’m scared. I’m scared the characters won’t talk to me if we don’t have the pain-points in common. I’m terrified that I’m a one-trick pony. I’m scared that getting healthier and happier will change something in my makeup and send me spinning and careening off into the woods, where my career will die a lonely death and I’ll end up hungry on the street.

I know it’s not rational. I know I’m feeling this because change is inherently frightening. When you add personal change to the cauldron of insecurities writing can and does uncover, it’s about as comfortable as bathing in a tub full of very angry cobras.

So how do you get through? How do you reassure yourself the words will still be there even if you change?

I suppose a simple answer is faith, with a large helping of stubbornness. I did not get to where I am today by listening to the fear or letting the rejection stop me. The words have been there during every other damn change in my life; this one just feels different because I’m suffering it OMGNOW! Time will add a measure of perspective that will drain my panic.

None of this helps with the agony of indecision, fear, and agitation I am experiencing, yea even at this very moment.

Which gives me hope. Over the course of a book, I take people apart. I feel their agonies while I whack away every single solid thing they rely on and put them through the wringer. They risk everything because they have no choice. It’s who they are, and living requires the courage to do no less.

I guess we’re not so different, my characters and me. Which brings me to my bone-deep stubbornness again. If they can make it through everything I can throw at them, I can make it through this. Jill would set her chin, glare out of her mismatched eyes, and stride forward. Danny’s thumb would caress the katana’s guard, and she’d wear that little half-smile. Kaia would grin and brace herself. Even Theo, the calmest and sweetest person I’ve ever written, would fold her arms and get that determined little glint in her eye.

No, they’re not (and never will be) me. But the strength to write them is and always has been mine. If I’ve lost the fuel of misery I’ll find something else to burn. If I’ve kept the fire going this long, I’ll likely find something else to throw on it. I have to trust–not my gods, not my characters, not other people. I have to trust in my own willingness to let the words come through me. I have to trust that I’m still interesting even when I’m not broken. That this will only make me stronger and better.

I’m not my characters. They can still teach me something. And I can look back on creating them and know there’s no shortage. Remember? My job isn’t to make the magic. My job is to show up every day.

I can do that. No matter how scared I am.

Writing takes emotional and physical energy. And time.

This means you have to prioritize time and energy if writing is something you want to do. One of the biggest mistakes I see novice or unpublished (not necessarily the same thing!) writers committing is trying to fit writing in the same way you fit in bathroom breaks. Or not quite, because writing doesn’t have the same biological urgency a full bladder does. (At least, not for most people.)

Plenty of novices/unpublished writers get to the end of their day job, go home, deal with Home Stuff, and find themselves staring at a blank screen. Then they panic, because the words don’t come flying out. The negative self-talk starts.

I can’t do this. I’m a loser. I’ll never get published. This is too hard.

And before you know it, they stop writing, or they get frustrated and spend their limited energy bitching, or they end up surfing the Internet. (Not that I’ve ever, um, personally…oh look! Shiny object! Look!)

Julia Cameron, in The Artist’s Way, talks about “filling the well”. Creating stuff takes energy, you need to build up a store of that energy. It’s the same principle Judith Beck talks about when she says you have to set aside priority and energy for lifestyle changes. “If you had to make time for a lifesaving medical procedure three times a day, you would.”

I often talk about making writing a priority. It needs to be important enough to you that you can arrange some bits of your life to make sure you have the energy and time to Do It.

Dr. Beck suggests making three columns on a piece of paper: necessary, highly desirable, and desirable activities. Then you list the things that you do on a daily basis–if you spend time doing it, write it down on a separate sheet. Then go through, one by one, and figure out how important each one is to you. Activities that are “necessary” get first priority, activities that are “highly desirable” need to be examined to see just how desirable they REALLY are. Activities that are merely “desirable” can be scaled back.

Then, list the hours of the day, from the time you get up from the time you go to bed, on another sheet of paper. Work out a schedule that gives you time for all the necessary things. You can add some highly desirable things too. Don’t be afraid to erase and change things around.

I know a lot of people don’t have the luxury of having writing be their Day Job. I know a lot of people hold down two jobs and raise kids. I know this isn’t really as simple as I’m making it sound. The point here is not “you’re weak for not scheduling your time right.” The point here is “YOU DESERVE TO DO THINGS THAT MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD.” If writing is one of those things, and writing for publication is your goal, then you need to shift some other things–like Internet surfing or what-have-you–to make room and energy for it. And you have the absolute right to say, “I need some time to myself to make these things happen.”

I often say that a kitchen timer is a writer’s best friend. I’ve often set mine and told everyone in my house, “When that rings, you can have my attention again. In the meantime, unless someone’s bleeding or dying, leave me be.” And I stuck to that. I successfully enforced that boundary because I had to–if I didn’t make deadline, I wouldn’t get paid, and my kids wouldn’t eat. That was a hell of a motivation.

As I’m learning to set other boundaries (it’s taken me a while, but better late than never, right?) I’m finding out that making time for writing is a skill I have to constantly practice. I get distracted by People Who Neeeeeeeed Me, or by shiny things, or by things that aren’t precisely a priority but I get wrapped around the axle about anyway. I have to constantly remind myself that sitting down for the words, making time and energy so I can do these things, is non-negotiable. So, take heart: it’s not the sort of skill you get once and then forget about. It’s a constant process, and you can start taking steps toward it at any time. You can refine it at any time, add to it, find out new and better ways to make it work for you.

All right, dear Reader, now we get to the question part of today’s post. How do you make time for writing or other Important Stuff? What works for you? I’m always on the lookout for new strategies, and this is the sort of information that makes more happiness the more it’s shared. So what do you do? Don’t be shy, tell me.

After all, I need all the help I can get.

The first day back from a vacation and already I’m looking at the pile of work in front of me and feeling like…oh, weeping would be an alternative, wouldn’t it? No, of course not. And besides, I worked all the way through vacation, so it’s not so bad. True, I did put some things on the docket for the first week back because, well, it was supposed to be the holidays. So, today and tomorrow are for short stories and wordcount.

Since it is the first day back, I should take this opportunity to answer a few questions. Yes, I do read all the mail my Readers send me. I can only respond via email rarely. If enough people ask a question, I answer it here or put it on the FAQ.

Let’s see:

* A few of you asked when the next Jill Kismet is out. I don’t know precisely yet. I do know that it’s in the revision process, and as soon as I have more concrete information I’ll update the site and announce it. Fear not, there are two more Jill books forthcoming.

* Many of you are intrigued by the words “Latin self-study”. It’s like juggling more chainsaws; I’ve had some luck with it but not much. More than finding a Latin class in my area that doesn’t require an hour of driving either way, that’s for sure. For those of you interested, I recommend Wheelock’s, and also Artes Latinae. Rosetta Stone also has a good program, if a bit spendy.

* Loyal reader TP recently asked this very interesting question:

Why read at readings? Yes, the name of the event answers the question but really, why is it that you, or any other author, must read passages from the book (doesn’t it get boring?)? I have always thought that reading a book is immersing oneself into a new universe but seen and heard through the filter of one’s own mind. Hearing the author reading does neither good nor ill to that universe, I just haven’t found that it adds much to it (then again, I have gone to perhaps only 4 in my life, one in which the author didn’t read but just talked to and with us). From your end, as the author, does reading passages do something for both you and your interaction with the audience that I’m missing?

The short answer: I don’t know, I do what the bookstores (who are kind enough to invite me) ask me to do.

The longer answer: I think it does add something, and I’ve been asked by fans to read a certain chapter and do a podcast. (When I get a microphone, editing software, and some time, yeah. I love you guys, but the actual writing comes first.) Yes, reading the book invites you into the universe the writer has created, you can experience it through the filter of your own mind. On the other hand, your experience of that universe can be deepened and enriched by hearing where the author places emphasis. I’ve had people tell me they came away with a new understanding after listening to me read, especially from the Valentine books. (Hearing me “channel” Japh’s sardonic, flat tone is apparently hilarious.)

Then again, I enjoy reading aloud. I’ve done it a lot and sometimes I’ll read a sentence aloud a few times to get a handle on emphasis and pace. Being taught to stop at punctuation marks and to look for the natural “breathing points” in poetry or lines delivered onstage is far from the worst experience one can have when looking for hitches in the smooth reel of the written word.

Oddly enough, the things I’m most asked at events are either spoileriffic, or about aspects of the world I’ve thought about but couldn’t cram in the books because of space considerations, or about the act of writing itself. I think a lot of people view writing as a sort of Black Arte and are looking for the turn. The actual process is fascinating. It just becomes normal when one does it every day.

Hm. Long answer is long. But I found it a very, very interesting question. I’ve fallen into doing readings because bookstores ask me to, and I’ve found I enjoy them a bit. Except for the parts where I want to pause and correct/revise something on the page. ARGH.

And that’s all that I’m fit to blog today. I have a hot date with breakfast and some coffee, since I’m up anyway. Good luck out there.

It is my firm opinion that every major life change deserves a major hair change. Therefore, I have gone back to my natural color.

This comes as a shock to anyone who’s seen me, but I am actually blonde. Born that way. I got so tired of blonde jokes and the like that as soon as I could, I started dyeing my hair. The dyes grew progressively darker and darker until I was consistently black-haired. You know, most people want to bleach their hair out to blonde, but not me. I wanted to get as far away from platinum as possible.

But that requires some upkeep, and I’m in a transition phase right now. So, I’m going back to blonde. I can now handle the next person who makes a blonde joke with an icy stare or an application of violence. (Verbal only, I don’t have time for fistfights. Not anymore.)

It’s weird to see my natural haircolor again. It’s even weirder to apply eyeliner and put on mascara and look like a blonde in mascara. I’m just not used to seeing anything other than dark hair. Which is kind of how I feel about a lot of things nowadays–I look at them, and they seem different because I’m different. I’ve come out the other side, and am now standing bloody but bandaged, not to mention unbowed, and looking at the battlefield behind me.

I don’t yet know if I’m ready for the armistice and the work of peace. But I do know I’m tired of the explosions.

Wow, I just ran that metaphor right into the ground, didn’t I. I keep touching my hair in disbelief, and looking at a stranger’s face in the mirror. She’s usually wearing a pained half-smile, as if she can’t believe it either. She’s changing even more quickly than I am. Or at least, it looks like it.

Anyway, no more hair dye for a while. I’ll see how it shakes out. Now I’ve got copyedits, line edits, and wordcount to get done today. *cracks knuckles* At least that doesn’t change.

Thank God.