Author: ajunge

  • Fanfic++

    I am a huge advocate of new writers cutting their teeth by trying out fan fiction. Fan fiction can be a great playground. For starters, so much fanfic is truly awful, so the bar is set really, really low. Whatever your fandom, somebody, somewhere, has a fanfic forum where you can, if you choose, post your work, get feedback, and cultivate a stable of beta-readers. You will be practicing foundational skills such as plot development, dialogue, character motivation, story and emotional arcs, etc., without having to do all that tedious world-building first. OK, so it’s not “original.” When you think about it, what is?

    So without further ado, I would like to thank everybody who made this year’s Nanowrimo novel possible. I stand on the shoulders of giants.

    The concept for a race of randomly and inexplicably immortal humans is lifted whole cloth from Robert Adams Horseclans books, which I purchased by the dozen in the mid-1980’s from the how-can-you-read-that-crap shelf at the used bookstore for around seventy-five cents a pop. The idea that maybe they don’t rule the world because been there, done that, hated that job, is entirely mine.

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  • The Final Push

    Four thousand two hundred fifty nine words to go [0]. In three evenings. And I am tired. So, so tired.

    This happens every year. I’m going steady all month long, but end up with almost no pad before the final push. I usually end up with my 50,000th word written at the final write-in, at which point I close my notebook, wave goodbye to my fellow-travelers, and stick the whole project in a drawer for a couple of weeks.

    You know how the last twenty miles of a long road trip take the longest? It’s like that. The last 5000 words of each Nanowrimo project are like pushing peanut butter uphill with a bendy straw. I may love the story. I may hate the story. But by gum, there will be a purple bar next to my name. Only the heat death of the universe will stop me.

    I will cook a nice meal— after Friday.
    I will spend time with my family— after Friday.
    I will resurrect my neglected Netflix account— after Friday.
    I will read my library books— after Friday.
    I will take a nice long walk and get some exercise— after Friday.
    Until Saturday, I am still writing.

    [0] As of this writing. As of posting, there will be fewer.

  • (Peer) Pressure and (Face) Time.

    What is it that keeps me writing 50,000 words of only slightly mitigated crap through November? Peer pressure, of course [0].

    The Lawrence Wrimo group is amazing. The Lawrence Wrimo group is so amazing that people who have moved away to other parts of the country still participate— on Facebook, by email, through our blog, on IRC [1]. I fully expect that once the first Lawrence Wrimo goes to that Great Thank God It’s Over Party in the ceiling [2], they will still be logging in to talk smack bless us with their presence.

    We have thrice weekly write-ins through the month of November. We have nearly nightly chat-ins [3] which are raucous parties in their own right. We hold monthly Writer’s Nights Out year-round, and if all goes well may start scheduling the occasional Writer’s Movie Night [4].

    What was wholly unexpected when I started doing Nano lo these many mango seasons ago, is that we keep getting together because it turns out we like one another. And through that liking we support one another, suggest ideas, provide escape hatches for those who have written themselves into a corner, cheer on successes, mourn the loss of ideas that seemed good at the time but simply could not be brought to life, and hold one another accountable to our word/page counts.

    For something stereotyped as an introverted, solitary pursuit, writing is surprisingly social.

    [0] True story: I did not volunteer to be a Confabulator. I became one when Sara fixed me with her beady eye and said, “Pick a day to post. Saturday is open.” I was too intimidated to say no. [0.5]

    [0.5] Seriously, Sara, I love you. I just needed the kick in the pants.

    [1] That’s Internet Relay Chat, the great-granddaddy of texting, to you youngins.

    [2] Or basement, depending on how well they’ve studied the scripture according to Strunk and White and followed the tenets of good grammar.

    [3] I’m trying to get an early morning version going for those of us who do our best thinking before 3:00 PM.

    [4] The Hobbit, definitely. Anna Karenina or Les Miserables, possibly. Cheesy musical seventies porn based on fairy tales, there will be plenty of booze. Anything from the Twilight series, oh dear god no. There is such a thing as standards.

  • No Mercy

    Week Two of Nanowrimo is supposed to be the Mighty Mountain of Doom. It is the hump, the long slog, the place where plots go to die. Where the trail is littered with the desicated carcasses of Wrimos who, upon discovering they lack the necessary fortitude, lay down to die.

    I thought I had dodged that particular bullet. Walking into the write-in tonight I blithely announced that my story was going great! The rest of my life was going to hell, what with the laundry and the dirty dishes and library books that have to be finished before I return them and the pot of inedible soup I made this weekend and the small electrical fire and needing time to write this blog post and an employer selfishly wanting me to work on their projects rather then my own, but the story was just fine. I grabbed some junk food, sat down, opened my notebook, and….

    I got nothing.

    Well, that can happen, so to jumpstart myself I began looking at yesterday’s writing to see where I had left off. And then I looked a little further back. And back a little more. And came to the horrifying realization that all I have written in the last four days is a couple of decent scenes glued together with a lot of brainstorming as I looked for a way out of this plot hole — excuse me, plot Grand Canyon.

    It’s a lot of words, but these are not good words. Mind, they count for Nanowrimo! They all add to word count! But they don’t advance the story.

    A farbled along for a few pages tonight, enough to meet my goal for the day, and with a heavy heart left the write-in pretty early. As I was walking home, I suddenly realized that these two characters are going to meet and exchange critical information because one is going to look up the other in the phone book. I had been brainstorming about psychics and hacking into the drivers license database and hiring a private detective, and all I need is a phone book? Seriously?

    So yeah. Week Two. Week Two has no mercy, and really nasty sense of humor.

  • Writing in the Cracks

    There are two things I do every November. One is National Novel Writing Month. The other is to serve as an election judge for my county. In theory, this is a perfect marriage.

    In theory, there is no difference between theory and reality. In reality….

    Nanowrimo is about learning to write in the cracks of time. If you have fifteen minutes left in your lunch break, you write. You show up early to the dentist so you have an extra ten minutes in the waiting room to write. If you can steal half an hour between the end of your workday and coming home to dinner, kids, and a spouse who wants to talk about the toilet, you pull over in the grocery store parking lot and write.

    Election day is a day full of cracks. You get up at oh-dark-thirty, pack a “nutritious” lunch of caffeinated soda and Girl Scout Cookies, drive through the darkling, still streets to your assigned poll, spend a frantic hour setting up, remind the waiting voters that the poll opens precisely at seven and not a minute more and I don’t care what your watch says, and once the before-work voting throng has dissipated you crack open a sleeve of Thin Mints and settle in for the day.

    I figure in an average election day there’s at least five hours of aggregate time-in-the-cracks. Most voters, once you check their eligibility and hand them a ballot, want to be left alone. A perfect time to get ahead on word count, right?

    Oh, hell, no.

    A poll is a minefield of distractions. If the voters don’t have questions, it’s your chatty fellow poll workers. The county has called to see how things are going; a journalist has stopped by to ask the same question. A voter needs to find the correct precinct. A kid asks for a sticker (of course you can have a sticker!). Do we want to order a pizza? Where’s the other box of cookies? Are there Samoas? I moved across town this summer, can I vote? I never registered, can I vote? I live out of state, can I vote? I don’t feel like driving across town to vote at the precinct near my house, can I vote? I just landed a flying saucer on the lawn on my way to Beta Centauri, can I vote? [0] A poll is a time-distortion field; two hours in you feel like you’ve been there all day, but as evening approaches you have no idea where the day went.

    I can knit in this environment. On a slow day, I can even read. But I cannot write. This year, I didn’t even try.

    [0] These are actual questions.

  • Nano to the Wrimo

    Every year Nanowrimo is an adventure—that is, it’s miserable, uncomfortable, undignified, and I’ll get utterly lost at least once a day. I am comforted by two harsh realities: that I am going to explore new ground, and that the end result will be gloriously awful.

    But, like a good camping trip, if you don’t come out of it with twigs in your hair and half a hillside worth of mud down your pants, you’re not doing it right.

    This year I want to try a paranormal urban fantasy caper. I am inspired by my friend Rachel’s publisher, Carina Press. Looking at their back catalog, I realized that this is where fanfic writers go when they grow up. Want to publish a M/M erotic vampire/werewolf fantasy—in space? If it’s any good, Carina Press will give it a shot. Just, you know, slap a fresh coat of paint on that Farscape/Firefly crossover before submitting it [0]. (more…)

  • Information Design. For Dummies?

    This week’s Confabulator Cafe topic is how to avoid confusing your reader when using a large cast of characters.

    So it’s about managing complexity.

    In other words, information design.

    Information design is one of those meta-meta [0] terms that can make your brain bleed. It’s like water to a fish— all around you, but you barely notice. It’s similar to the concept of linguistic framing.

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  • I Have Nothing To Fear From Maternal Attention

    My mom taught me to be a technical writer.

    It was my first job out of college. Her company needed to hire an hourly “contract” worker (temp, no benefits) to read 20,000 lines of Fortran code and describe them in English. My degree was in the sciences, and I had taken exactly one programming course and no writing courses whatsoever. I had no idea what I was getting into.

    The pay was just OK and it was an hour commute each way, and despite the fact that our workspace was five people crammed into a 30 by 40 foot offsite “office” I was still expected to wear pantyhose. It was the early 1990s and we were working on, I think, two Macintosh LCs [0] with these nifty 8.5 by 11 inch monitors that you could rotate on the fly to either portrait or landscape orientation. Adobe was the undisputed king of desktop publishing in those days and we produced seven books in Pagemaker, ginning up flowcharts and other line-drawings in Freehand. I thought our setup was the neatest thing in the world, going as I was from typing term papers in WordPerfect 5.1 [1] and sneaking into an unused lab in the biology building to run off free printouts on a University dot matrix printer [2] to WYSIWYG layout design and laser printing. (more…)

  • Structural Integrity

    For what I do, one of the challenges it to prevent the reader from flipping though pages. If the reader is flipping pages, searching for an elusive bit of information, then my document structure has failed.

    You can tell a story different ways. If you are looking at a sequence or procedure, then you probably want to organize your document chronologically. But if I’m trying to describe a situation, I prefer an inverted pyramid structure. Start with the wider picture, then drill down into specific details. Each section can have an independent internal structure as well.

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  • Where Am I, and What’s the Deal With This Handbasket?

    A number of years back I was poking around on LiveJournal and ran across the blog of a friend of mine who was describing this thing called National Novel Writing Month. Which sounded really interesting, and I decided I wanted to try it.

    The only problem was that Nanowrimo runs from November 1 to 30 every year, and it was already the day after Thanksgiving.

    I had just finished (? Was finishing?) grad school and I was looking for another all consuming obsession to fill the anticipated void. I had matured as a technical writer and writing term papers and giving in-class presentations was coming easy. Challenging, yes, because I still had to master the material, but the actual effort of repackaging [0] was running smoothly.

    Writing fiction, however, was a nut I had yet to crack.

    I remember that when I was a kid I had written a short play— the kind you act on a stage, not on a screen. I must have written that play three separate times because I was so in love with the story [1]. I never did get a chance to put it on, though, because as a shy, bookish, nerdy, introverted child I didn’t have enough friends to fill out the cast. Thank all the Muses that none of my schoolteachers ever found out about my playwriting— no doubt they would have considered producing said play the perfect social therapy for a shy, bookish, nerdy, introverted child. In the 1970s, the Geek had yet to inherit the Earth, and a girl who was smart rather than sociable was simply Not On.

    Anyway, I had to wait eleven and a half months for my first Nanowrimo. By the time it finally rolled around I had already read No Plot, No Problem! and tried my hand at creating story out of the motion of pen over page. However, I looked forward to the discipline of having a series of deadlines as I experimented with long form fiction.

    The book I eventually wrote was dreadful. But the experience was a revelation.

    For some reason it has never been the online Nanowrimo community that caught my passion, which is actually pretty weird considering that I have been participating in online communities since approximately 1989 [2] and at the time lived and died by email. The greatest part of the Nanowrimo experience turned out to be sitting at a sticky table in some random coffee shop with a dozen perfect strangers, most of whom I would never see again, and bonding over writing absolute crap and bitching about it. Cheering those who caught up with their word count goals. Speculating about those mythical Nanowrimoers who supposedly hit the fifty-thousand word mark within the first week. Responding to challenges. Sagging in relief when your own fifty-thousandth word was completed on November 29 or thereabouts, and you could Have A Life once more. Applauding wildly those who met their own fifty-thousand word goal at the write-in.

    A few years later some in my local Nanowrimo group started this thing they were calling the Lawrence Writers Group in order to continue that special energy of a Nanowrimo flash community throughout the rest of the year and for some reason the universal expectation was that of course I would be involved. I’m not sure why— fiction writing isn’t really My Thing, I don’t generally do recreational writing except in November, and I sure as hell have no intention of trying to get published. But Lawrence Writers turned into the Confabulators turned into the Cafe, and here we all are.

    Like writing a Nanowrimo novel, I’m going to keep moving pen over page and see where it takes me.

    [0] An actual term of art in library science meaning taking the stuff you learn for class and turning it into term papers and in-class presentations.
    [1] I have absolutely no clue whatsoever what that story is now. But when I was 9, it was the stuff of brilliance.
    [2] Yes, Virginia, that is three years before the formal invention date of the World Wide Web. Yes, I am older than e-dirt.