On Writing – Page 16

How to Write a Novel in ONE Sitting

Stop balking. It can be done! I’ve done it. In fact, it’s the best way for me to write a novel. Trust me. You do not want to be inside this head. I have the attention span of a–well of something with the most minute of attention spans in the history of attention spans. I prefer not to say a gnat, because, well does anybody actually KNOW what the attention span of a gnat is? For all we know, they could have a superior attention span. That’s attention span bigotry, in my humble opinion.

What was I saying?

Oh yes. How to write a novel in one sitting.

Having done this on several occasions, I could probably give a few tips on how to do it. The most important thing for me is to not take myself too seriously when I do this. Don’t get me wrong…I take my writing output very seriously. The finished product must be as close to infallible as possible. But writing…the actual act of sitting in a chair–or on a chair–or on a table–or on the floor–and writing? I can’t take that too seriously. F to the U to the N. That’s what I require when I decide to give my writing self 72 hours to come up with a complete novel. Stepping into a novel marathon situation with a sneer and a steel resolve to GET THINGS DONE would equate to ABSOLUTE FAILURE for me. If you think you can attack a marathon writing situation by approaching it without humour and with a resolve to GET SHIT DONE, by all means…give it a go. That’s not me.

Here are some points to consider prior to hunkering down for a one-sitting first-draft novel:

1. Remove all commitments from your schedule. This should go without saying, but you would be surprised. Don’t schedule a one-sitting novel writing jag with a doctor’s appointment in the middle of it. That’s a real life break. You can’t have real life breaks. They interrupt the flow of the marathon mind. That shit will fuck you up. Make sure your schedule is COMPLETELY open. No “I have to watch Matlock Saturday at 7pm…but that’s the only break I’m taking!” You can’t have things to distract you from the trenches. You can take breaks…I’m not saying you can’t. I’m just saying you can’t have REAL LIFE breaks. You can’t come out of the cave.

2. If you don’t have somebody looking after your dietary needs for the marathon sitting, make sure you have enough previously prepared food to take you to the end of the marathon. Refer to #1. Preparing yourself a 3-course meal on day two of your marathon would be a lovely reward for sticking it out, but it would also take you completely off course. Might as well pack it in, because your mind left the cave as you sliced the onions and mashed the potatoes. Nothing kills a creativity binge more than straining broccoli through a colander. Have everything you need for your meals readily available. The most you’ll want to do in the kitchen is nuke things in the microwave or send some bread to the toaster gallows. More than that, and you’re disturbing the force, Luke.

3. Stand up and move away from your screen whenever you desire. Writers know that not all of the writing is done in front of the screen. You can leave your shelter all you want, you just can’t leave your cave. Take a walk down the street. Do jumping-jacks or gestalt or scream therapy. Walk down to the water and jump in. Now you’re thinking ‘why can’t I peel potatoes when I can jump in the river?’ Don’t question me, grasshopper. I have done this several times. Just think yes to FRIVOLOUS ACTIVITY and no to CHORES. You can do one while remaining in your writing cave, but it’s hard to remain in the cave while doing the other.

4. Listen to music OR don’t listen to music. This is, of course, a personal choice. A lot of writers have PLAYLISTS for their novels. If you know what you’re going to write about during your marathon jag, create a playlist prior to entering your cave. Listen while you write, if that’s your thing. Or, if music during writing makes you want to pluck your eyeballs out, then don’t do it. The key is if you’re going to listen to music, have everything you need for it at your fingertips. Creating a playlist while you’re in the cave could be catastrophic to the force, Luke. You’ll think about searching for a certain song, and you’ll go to download it or what have you. Next thing you know, two hours have passed and you’re in some dingy basement backroom of Youtube, watching/listening to a 1970s bootleg concert of Patty Smith and you won’t know how to escape. You will have to surrender the fantasy.

5. Take a boatload of writers with you into your cave. There are now several novel marathon events around. Find one…participate in one. You will thrive on the camaraderie of being in the company of other writers while doing this seemingly impossible thing. You will feed off of each other in the most positive of ways. And you will walk away from your weekend (or mid-week jag, if you will) with not only a finished first-draft but a load of new siblings in writing. Relationships will be formed that you will carry with you for a long time.

6. BE FOOLISH. Allow yourself to laugh. You are doing a phenomenal thing. To write a novel from cover to cover in one sitting is extraordinary. You will be tired (EXHAUSTED), you will be emotional (A WRECK), you will be excited and wired and down and up and sideways. Don’t try to hold everything in. Don’t try to make this a pseudo-military mission. There are no rules. There is only you and the unfolding story. You have to have fun. It’s the only way to get through it. Trust me on this. You’ll have some great moments. Breakthroughs will be everywhere. But at 2:30 in the morning on your second day you might want to pull out all your hair and set your legs on fire. You will be giddy to the point of crying…but remaining in your cave is the way through it. Let seriousness fall away and be your child-self. It’s how you will make it through the dark tunnels of the marathon. WRITE YOUR WAY THROUGH.

7. Whatever you do, don’t look back. Writing a novel in one sitting is not like seeing a runaway freight train bombing down the tracks at an impossible unstoppable speed. Writing a novel in one sitting makes YOU the freight train. Don’t, for the love of god, stop that train. You have to let go of the ego self that screams at you to edit that last sentence, that last paragraph, that last chapter. The editing can come later. Much later, if you want. During the marathon, there is only ONE DIRECTION. Forward.

That’s enough for now. The biggest thing about attempting to write a novel this way is that there are no rules. YOU FIND YOUR OWN WAY. These are just a few loose suggestions. (-: You have got to try to write this way. It’s so liberating. Magical. Imagine not needing to do anything else between the start and end of your story. It’s unfathomable, but not impossible.

When You’re Sleepless, Madness…er…Magic Happens!

I know I’ve been talking a lot about the Muskoka Novel Marathon lately, but I can’t help it. It’s coming. Like a freight train that sneaks up on ya when you’re walkin’ the tracks and singing old Buddy Holly tunes. Or…yeah! Blancmange! Something something about a train going down a track…

The atmosphere of the marathon is such a magical non-quantifiable thing. You cannot write about it and do it justice. You just can’t. You try to stay up all weekend, you write non-stop…but you also socialize non-stop. You eat non-stop. You listen to music non-stop. Skip the light fandangle, et cetera, et cetera. It’s a high like no other.

As if there isn’t enough going on to warp your mind, you step out of the building on the Saturday night and the streets are turned into a carnival of milk chocolately, caramel stickable gooeyness. Because…don’t close your eyes…you have walked into the strange and magical world of Nuit Blanche North. Art installations and crickety crawling stilt-walking juggling sensations. And what would a Nuit be without a fire-eater.

(Just a side note, I love that most of my words today are being underlined in red squiggly lines.)

When THIS is happening INSIDE at the Novel Marathon, you pray that you will find sanity OUTSIDE! (-:

I always think of that classic line from Bill & Ted when I’m at the marathon. “Strange things are afoot at the Circle K!” That pretty much sums up the marathon. Just when you think you have to get outside to embrace a reality that is NORMAL, you walk out into this:

And this:

But before you run off down the street like a madman, you take a hard look at your surroundings and you realize that things are just as they should be. Writing a novel in a weekend SHOULD be a magical experience. Your heart SHOULD stop every now and again. You need these moments of wonder peppered throughout the weekend. It’s another classic reason for me to haul out that overused saying of mine. “Don’t be afraid to eat the dishes!” You’re gonna have some hard times over a 72-hour writing period. You’ll get cranky. You’ll get tired. You’ll get bloated. You’ll get indigestion out the wazoo! You need to step out of the world and into a carnival.

I’m sure that’s why the city planners threw Nuit Blanche into our weekend. They knew that into every novel marathoner’s life, a little magic must fall.

The tree that you see above ^ is a tree completely wrapped and enshrouded in TIES. Yes, ties. I sat beside that tree for about half an hour before I saw it at last year’s marathon. At first, that scared me. But when I stopped to think about it, it was pretty par for the course. I was, after all, writing. We marathoners took turns writing in the street in downtown Huntsville. We were our own art installation…and we collected a nice sum of money for the cause (the literacy program of the YMCA of Simcoe/Muskoka). If you see us out in the middle of the street this July, BRING MONEY!

I guess the lesson there is DON’T EXPECT TO QUESTION THE EFFICACY OF A TIE TREE WHEN YOU’RE MARATHONING. Or something like that.

Did I say juggling fire-eaters and stilt walkers? I think I meant fire-juggling stilt-walkers.

You’ve heard of the player piano, I’m sure. But did you know that Huntsville had a play-me piano. Right there in the street. Just waitin’ to be played. How frickin’ awesome-sauce is that! My only complaint? I DON’T KNOW HOW TO PLAY A PIANO! I wish I did. That corner of the downtown core would be hoppin’! This year, one of my goals is to get a fellow marathoner punchin’ those keys to an awesome sing-a-long song. Or something like that.

WRITING! It really does happen at these things! I have 5 novels to prove it. This is a shot of my screen during Nuit Blanche. If you want to know the height of exhilaration and dare-devilness, just write a novel in the street while hundreds of people are walking by reading over your shoulder! YIKES. Okay…I know you’re probably thinking that jumping out of an airplane is a whole new plateau of exhilaration that is miles above writing in the street. So what. By it’s very nature, it would have to be at least a mile above a street. There’d be no exhilaration jumping out of an airplane that’s parked on the runway. For a writer, public writing under a microscope pretty much does it for adrenalin rush-hour kicks.

So, am I excited for this year’s Muskoka Novel Marathon? Nah. Nothing good ever happens at these things. Just. BIC (bum-in-chair) writing. Nothing else. Move along. Nothing to see here (or do I mean see-hear-smell-touch-taste?)!

Kicking a Gift Horse in the Mouth

The title says it all. I just spent the last 9 years or so repeatedly kicking a gift horse. In the mouth.

Why would I do such a thing? I can think of a zillion words that describe my writing journey. And knowing that each one somehow belongs to me makes me feel more than a little ashamed of myself. Let’s give it a go, shall we: apathetic, detached, indifferent, remote, withdrawn, lackadaisical. I think you get the picture. BUT…there’s a big but. The actual BIC writing time—I am always serious, always attempting to do my best. I don’t slouch when it comes to the writing. That’s the part that allows me to escape. I have always honoured it as much as I could.

But, ACK, the business end. The getting things done end. I’ve been so weak. So nonchalant. Ooh, there’s another good word I must claim. No more, though. I’ve come to a point in my writing life where I feel I have to force myself to connect, to stop detaching. To own my writing and respect it…to see where it will go beyond me. The first couple of novels I wrote…I’d get some kind of extreme pleasure deleting them. It was the writing I longed for, not the result. It took a long time for the result to mean anything. It just felt like I was done, once I got the story out.

With two books published, I’m finding a small bit of confidence I never in a million years imagined I would have. With seven or eight more finished novels on my PC, I have come to a point where I feel I should stop kicking that horse. I need to take this more seriously. I need to edit, revise, respect—those manuscripts can sit there rotting, or I can give them the time they deserve and clean them up and send them along their merry way. What’s the worst that can happen?

A vow to myself. Respect the hours of hard work that I put in…by taking the next step when I have a completed manuscript. See things through. Stop detaching from everything. Writing has been very very good to me. It’s time to take the foot out of the horse’s face and give it a little pet. Horses won’t stand there forever and allow a person to keep kicking them. Sooner or later, the horse is gonna say, “Screw it!” I don’t want it to come to that. I want an amicable relationship with this horse. Time to put my foot down and get down to business!