That Really Deep Writing Post // Part #5

And, here we are again with another That Really Deep Writing Post, because like I said, I have way too much time to think when I’m at work. And if I don’t think about things to write, I will go insane (or, to be accurate, more insane). 

Anywho, here we go. 

Please, Me Do Other Things? (Me writer. Me talk good English.) I’ve already mentioned this feeling a little, but it bears repeating. Even though I have a great boss and I like my job and my workplace, and even though I love earning money, (*eyes turn to dollar signs*) I spend a lot of time fighting the desire to go home. A large part of this is anxiety, but part of it just comes from forgetting that I am tired and in pain now, but if I go home, I will just be tired and in pain there. I have this annoying habit of always wanting to be doing something other than the task in front of me. Every time I start reading a book, I suddenly get the urge to read a different book. When I'm at work, I want to be writing. When I'm writing, I want to pet the dog. If I’m sitting in one chair, then by golly, I would like to sit in that other chair. *shakes head at self* I’m essentially a toddler. 

Likewise with writing. If you’re doing NaNoWriMo this November, it’s probably because you want to write—because, despite the many conflicting emotions that come with the job, you do love it, if only in secret. But that doesn’t change the fact that you are likely to spend about 75% of your writing time wanting to do just about anything else. You make your coffee or your tea. You sit down at your computer. And bam! You have the sudden urge to wrestle gorillas or donate your eyes to science. Anything to avoid putting words on the page. And you know what? You just have to push through it. Teach your brain to ignore these feelings of discontentment, these little lines of complaint, and you will get stuff done. If your brain tries to sabotage you, put it in time out. Don't forget that you're in charge here. (Side note: Don't be like me with antsy horses. When I was working in a barn one summer, another barn girl told me to show the thousand pounds of anxiety who was boss, so I left the horse in charge. Don't do that with your book.) 

Can’t You Stay Clean For, Like, Five Minutes? As you hurdle toward the end of November, you’re likely to start thinking about revisions. So it only makes sense to include an editorial comparison. 

When I’m cleaning on Sundays, I have to work around the youth group. Basically, they follow me like the trail of slime following a snail. Me being the snail, since I feel like I’m working so slowly all the time. And them being the slime, because they make things messy. (Gosh, Liz, you can’t just go calling people slime. It’s not nice. It’s not civilized.) Whatever. I clean stuff just in time for them to use it and make it dirty again, which is totally fine. That’s what I’m there for and that’s what they’re there for. La di da. But it can be somewhat sad to realize that the set of rooms I have just spent two hours cleaning is going to be dirty again in a matter of moments. When I leave the building, it’s usually with a dramatically mournful sense that I have accomplished nothing more than damage control. *cue existential crisis* 

In the same way, when you edit, sometimes you can think you are doing a wonderful job. At least, you hope you are doing a wonderful job. Everything is so clean and shiny and perfect seeming. You are brilliant, you mad genius you. And then you send the draft off to beta readers, and they dirty it up with all their comments and their red pen marks, and you have to do even more cleaning. You don’t get to enjoy the satisfaction of a tidy draft for long. This is to be expected, though, so it works best for everyone if you refuse to let yourself get frustrated. 

It’s not a perfect analogy, I know. But it works in my mind, so maybe it will work in yours? 

What about you, my little coffee beans? Do you find it somewhat disheartening to think you have done a good job with editing, only to realize you have so. Much. More work to do? Do you struggle to be content in the moment? Do you think that’s purely an anxiety issue, or something else as well?

That Really Deep Writing Post // Part #4

And here we are with another That Really Deep Writing Post (you can find the others here). You could either interpret this as me being good at gleaning post material from random places, or me being too lazy to think about other things at work besides more work. (That sentence made little sense. Please ignore it.) 

Onward and upward. 

Think Long-Distance Running. I realize I’ve used this comparison several times over the past couple years, but I know from my years running cross country that it is painfully accurate. When you begin the race, no matter how many miles you have ahead of you, it can be tempting to sprint right from the starting line. But you can’t afford to do that with long-distance running. You have to pace yourself, or you will burn out/injure yourself (and also possibly vomit). Only start sprinting when the finish line is almost in view. 

The same goes for writing and working custodial. Janitorial work is not especially difficult, but it is strenuous (if that distinction makes any sense), and it can be easy to set a pace I can’t maintain for nine hours. I don’t want to use up my limited energy in the first two hours, only to find myself lagging more and more as the day progresses and the sun goes down. That is a recipe for an anxiety attack. 

You can bet this applies to writing as well, specifically NaNoWriMo. It can be so temping to ignore sleep and meals and hygiene in favor of writing until you can’t feel your hands on the first day. But unless you know from experience this won’t burn you out, you’re going to be in trouble sooner rather than later. And you could cause permanent damage to your wrists and shoulders. If you’re in it for the long haul, you are allowed to do what you like, but you might want to consider maintaining a consistent (but challenging) pace until the final week. 

Deadlines. I have to get my custodial work done before I can go home, which means I have to stay focused and keep working even when I don’t feel like doing anything. I don’t get the luxury of taking a nap when I feel like taking a nap (which is always). Likewise with writing under any sort of deadline, like NaNoWriMo. You can’t afford to slack off when you’re not feeling it. If you are going to reach your goal this November, whether it’s the 50K, or some other number, you are going to have to write even when you would rather be doing something else. But the end result will be worth it. And if you’re like me, you need the deadline to keep that fire under your butt burning hot and bright, or you’ll turn into a sad potato. True story. 

Alone, But Not. I’m alone a lot when I’m doing my job, but there are also plenty of times when I'm not. There are days when the silence of the empty building gets lonely and scary. Likewise, sometimes sequestering yourself in your writing cave might not be the best option for your sanity, even though you still need to get your work done. Writing in coffee shops can help with this, as can hanging out on the NaNo forums. When all else fails, maybe buy cutouts of the hottest actors you can find and talk to them while you work. (That sounded like a better idea in my head.) 

There are also times when the sounds of other people in the building make my anxiety worse and I would rather be alone. One of the functions of my PTSD is that being in crowds, especially crowds of loud young people, can trigger flashbacks, even when I have my earbuds in. Similarly, sometimes the people around you will be too distracting when you’re trying to write. Maybe they won’t give you flashbacks, but they might give you anxiety or slow you down in other ways. Sometimes you can come up with solutions for this, but other times you’re just going to have to grin and bear it. But if I can clean through the flashbacks, you can write through the distractions and the anxiety. I believe in you. 

What about you, my little coffee beans? Do you like writing under deadlines (self-imposed or otherwise), or do they kill your mojo? What are some ways you cope with unavoidable writing distractions?

That Really Deep Writing Post // Part #3

Ever since I got a custodial job in August, I’ve been amassing ideas for another Really Deep Writing Post. (If you want to read the first two, you can find them here and here.) This one will, of course, be somewhat NaNoWriMo-themed, as this is technically my first pep talk of the month. It's on the short side, but don't worry—there's more to come. 

Manuscript Mountain. If you’ve been reading the official NaNo pep talks for any amount of time (or anything about writing, for that matter), then you’re probably familiar with the concept of Manuscript Mountain. I think it goes without saying that comparing writing a book to climbing a mountain creates a painfully accurate picture (but I’m me, so I’m going to say it anyway). 

What you may not know, however, is that custodial work can seem like its own mountain. I have to clean my church Fridays through Sundays. And it’s a large church. To break it down, I have to clean the building twice every weekend—roughly one third on Friday, two thirds on Saturday, and then the whole thing all over again on Sunday. Sundays can be especially overwhelming, since I have tended to need about nine hours to get the work done. It’s not that I can’t handle the job, because I can, even when I feel like I’m two steps away from falling asleep on my feet. Literally. But my anxiety has a tendency to look at the amount of work ahead of me and freak out. It tells me that I’m going to be stuck there all night—that I’ll still be cleaning the same bathroom when my boss gets there in the morning. As can be expected, I have to work harder to overcome this anxiety. 

Likewise with writing (and editing) a book. When you think about the concept of writing 50K words (or more), it doesn’t necessarily seem all that difficult. That’s why so many people will cavalierly declare that they would write a book if they had the time. Anyone who has written a book will hear this and laugh while crying hysterically on the inside. 

However, anxiety or no anxiety, once you actually break ground on your novel, you’re likely to start feeling a little overwhelmed. And by “a little overwhelmed” I mean, you would probably sell your own kidneys to get out of finishing that draft. This is an understandable emotion. But please don’t start selling your organs just yet. 

The trick is to focus on the task at hand and, for the most part, ignore all the work ahead of you until it’s time to move on to the next task and the next. It’s fine to plan ahead, but you’re going to exhaust yourself if you spend too much energy thinking about all the stuff you have left to do before you can call it a day. Yes, anxiety does not listen to reason, so either way, you may still suffer. No matter how much I remind myself that everything will be okay, I struggle. Every day. But the more I fight to control my thoughts, the more I win small battles in this larger war against my mind. 

But the thing you have to remember is this: Just because your veins feel like live wires doesn’t mean you should quit. And it gets better, even when it feels like it’s getting worse. I have, in small measures, gotten from the point where I couldn’t even think about leaving the house by myself to the point where I am sitting here, typing this in a coffee shop full of strangers. I have gone from the point where I couldn’t fathom getting another job to the point where I work overtime every week because I like getting the job done and doing it well. It doesn’t get completely better, not right away, maybe not ever. But it improves. You can improve. 

Motivational speech over. 

What about you, my little coffee beans? Do you struggle with anxiety, in life and/or in writing? What are some ways you fight your fears?

That Really Deep Writing Post, Part Two

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post comparing my housekeeping job at a classy inn to what writers tend to go through, and if you haven’t read that one yet, you should. Or else.

Currently, I’m in the middle of packing, and I’m switching gears as I prepare to move to another state, so I’ve finished up with that job (don’t worry, I wasn’t fired—this was the plan all along). But, since I really enjoyed working at the inn and I know that I’ll miss it, I wanted to write a second comparison post. You’re welcome.

Treat Your Housekeepers/Writers Well. (This idea was actually suggested by one of my fellow housekeepers, so I can’t take credit for it.) Housekeepers work hard to make sure that the rooms you stay in are clean and presentable. They have to run back and forth, swapping stained sheets for unstained sheets and stained towels for unstained towels, all the while cursing the easily-marred whiteness of the linens and the terrycloth. They get down on their hands and knees to clean the toilets and the mop boards and the scuff marks on the walls from careless luggage handling. They go into trashed rooms and turn them into livable environments (even when they’d rather just call a Hazmat team and get it over with).

Writers, too, work hard. We spend hours and hours pounding out our first drafts, and even more hours turning those into something vaguely readable. We chop words and kill darlings and torture our characters, and we drink copious amounts of caffeinated liquid in a desperate attempt to remain sane. We endure the embarrassment and the disappointment and all the other negative emotions that come with receiving critiques from beta readers. And very many of us do this, not for money, but because we want to.

Without housekeepers, you wouldn’t have clean hotel rooms, and without writers, you wouldn’t have books. So treat your housekeepers and your writers well, and they won’t plan your death. True story.

Judgements. Both housekeepers and writers must deal with the opinions of others, whether good or bad. We like it when people recognize our hard work and tell us how much they appreciate what we do, but there will be times where we must endure harsh, often unwarranted criticism. Guests might complain about nitpicky details that are beyond our control. Irritated customers might call us lazy and misconstrue our actions, even when we’re working our bums off and following policy (I’m speaking from experience here).

Likewise, writers will have fans, however many, but they will also have not-fans. Sometimes those not-fans will have legitimate reasons, and sometimes they will share those reasons nicely and rationally, but often it seems that people find fault because they want to find fault. And they won’t necessarily by polite when they point out those faults. Readers will question a writer’s motives and make judgments about that writer’s character. They will misinterpret stories and react far too strongly for the situation, and they will give less weight than they should to the author’s intentions.

Unfortunately, that’s all part of the job. At least the bad experiences make the good ones seem so much better, and at least we can use the negative feedback as a chance to learn and improve.

Advice. In a similar vein, people will offer advice, whether solicited or unsolicited. And no one seems shy about sharing their opinions.

Often people will tell my boss what they feel she could do differently—that she should add such and such a feature to her rooms or her lawn or whatever. Some of this advice might be helpful, but for the most part it’s better to just smile and nod and ignore all the fiscally irresponsible feedback. People tend to be far too eager to run other people’s businesses, anyway.

Likewise, with writers, we face all sorts of input. If we have shared our work in any way, shape, or form, people will tell us what they think. And they will also tell us what they think we could be doing better, even if we have not asked for their opinions. They will offer us story ideas and character ideas and whatnot. They will inform us the ways in which both our writing and our style can improve. Again, some of this input can be valuable, but authors have to throw out most suggestions in favor of sanity.

All in all, it’s a matter of personal discretion, and hotel owners/housekeepers/writers must find their own style and stick with it, even if it means ignoring much of the unsolicited but generally well-meaning advice. Once you put yourself in their shoes, you’ll understand what it’s like.

Interaction. Last, but not least, both housekeepers and writers face customer reviews. Some people seem eager to point out all the good qualities of our work—others seem far more eager to find the faults (whether real or imagined). While we can benefit from facing up to the ratings and the reviews, at times we also need to distance ourselves. To the customer, our services are a product to be evaluated, and that’s fine. But to us, our services are a matter of pride and joy, and it can be difficult to watch people tear us down for all the world to see. Likewise, it can be similarly hard to process good feedback (yes, we are rather interesting creatures, are we not?). In the end, it boils down to a matter of personality—do we benefit from the ratings and the write-ups, or do we benefit from walking away and avoiding the outside voices. Does the input help, or does it drown out our own inner peace or creative muse? No two housekeepers are alike, and no two writers are alike, and what works for one won’t necessarily work for another.

Well, that’s it, my little coffee beans. I probably won’t come up with any other housekeeper/writer comparisons now that I’m moving on to another job. But I’d love to know if you have any work/writing parallels of your own.

That Really Deep Writing Post

A few weeks ago, I started working at a classy inn, and from the start I knew that this would be great for writing research. After all, what better way is there to observe the oddities of humanity than to clean someone’s messy room? And let’s not forget the added prestige points you get when you straighten up after a semi-famous person and help give them directions to the nearest post office.

But in all seriousness, every day I go to work and think about the parallels between housekeeping and writing. So, I figured I should share some of those with you.

Tidiness. People tend to notice tidiness as a general concept, but they’re much more likely to clue in to individual mistakes. For instance, we could spend half an hour sweeping the floors, making the beds, sanitizing the bathrooms, and dusting every single surface. But if we miss that one little hair on the pillow, we’re probably going to hear about it the next day. (Okay, I’m exaggerating, but you know what I mean.)

It’s the same with writing. You can comb your manuscript a dozen times and catch almost every typo and inconsistency and awkwardly phrased sentence. But the few mistakes you miss are going to stick in people’s minds a lot better than the overall neatness of your prose. As the writer (and the housekeeper), you can think of hundreds of errors you’ve fixed, but your audience isn’t going to know about those. And because most people don’t realize how much work goes into a finished manuscript, they won’t be as forgiving of mess-ups as you, the writer, will be. Unfortunately, that’s life.

 

Pickiness. At the inn where I work, we’re very picky about cleanliness. This means we’ll often dust stuff that isn’t dusty and wipe down surfaces that aren’t dirty. Likewise, in writing, it’s a very good idea to give your manuscript at least one last read through, even when you’re certain it’s finished and ready for other eyes. You’d be surprised by what you find when you make that final, seemingly unnecessary pass.

Minimizing Distractions. In cleaning a hotel room, the goal is to make the area seem almost unlived in, as though your current clients are the first people ever to use those facilities. It’s not that we want to dupe our customers into thinking they’re being given extra special treatment when they aren’t, but it’s nice for them when they can forget that they’re sleeping in a bed dozens of others have used before. The general neatness and freshness creates a relaxing atmosphere of renewal and comfort.

With your writing, you want your prose and grammar and spelling and all that fun stuff to be so tidy that nothing distracts your reader from the story. Essentially, as a writer, you want to disappear, because you aren’t describing the world, you’re creating a window to it. Sure, it’s important to leave your own special touch, just as it’s nice when we make flowers out of the tissues and fold the towels into pleasing shapes, but you don’t want your presence to be so overpowering that the reader can’t really focus on creating their own experience.

 

Attending to all the Little Details. Tidying up a hotel room can take a team of three anywhere from fifteen to forty-five minutes, depending on our energy levels and the extent of the mess we’re dealing with. There are lots of little details that need our attention—the above-mentioned towel folding and tissue origami, the little soaps, the coffee tray, the dusting and glass cleaning and furniture polishing, the sweeping and mopping and bed-making, the shower and toilet and sink, the rug, the smudges on the walls from careless luggage lugging, the fingerprints on the door paint, the stray hairs on the fresh duvet covers and pillow cases and towels, etc… While it’s possible for us to move quickly and efficiently, we can only do so to a point, and the more we rush, the more we’re bound to miss something.

In writing, you don’t have to force yourself to go slowly, but you don’t want to jump the gun, either. As you edit, especially, you want to make sure you take enough time to notice all the little details, and you want to make sure everything gets its fair share of your attention before you move on.

The small things may not be that important on their own, but added together, they make the difference between a messy room and a clean room, a messy manuscript and a clean manuscript.

Popularity. Last but not least, when it comes to hotel business, the more popular you get, the more work you have to do. Lately, the inn has had a steady string of no vacancies each night, which means we have to clean every single room every single morning. So, while that means more money for us, it also means more labor. You really can’t have one without the other.

Writing, especially blogging, can turn into a give-and-take relationship like that. The more comments you get on your blog, the more time you have to invest in answering them and, possibly, visiting your commenter’s blogs. As your page view counter begins to rise, you’ll be happy, but you’ll also have the added stress of knowing that if you blow it now, you’re blowing it in front of a larger audience. There’ll be that greater pressure to provide interesting and original content so as not to let your readers down. (I imagine this is much the same for popular, published authors.) And you’ll probably find it rather disappointing if your success rate plummets for a time.

 

Well, there you have it, my little coffee beans. I’m sure I could dig up other parallels (co-workers and characters, for instance), but I don’t want to bore you. If you have any work/writing comparisons of your own, I’d love to hear about them. In the meantime, to all my writer coffee beans, best of luck with your novel editing. I’m off to clean some rooms.