The Confabulator Cafe

Category: Writer’s Life

  • (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.

  • All Creative Types Need My Husband

    I come from creative stock. Every side of the family — from the ones I share genetics with and the ones claimed through love — has crafters and artists and a handful of writers. And they’re all supportive. They think its cool that I can make half-an-income writing and raising the child. They look forward to seeing me succeed in publishing a novel.

    However, this is an ode my husband, who I have stolen from all other creative types who need so earnest and supportive a cheerleader. (Nyah-nyah!)

    I was one of those crazy chicks who made it known way, way too soon in the relationship that I wanted to be the mom who works at home and writes. After several years of trying to scare each other off with our assorted dysfunctions and issues, we had a baby and got married instead.

    Best decision I’ve ever made. I assume he feels the same way.
    (more…)

  • The Entry Where I Thinly Disguise Myself to Make a Point

    This is what the sound that makes you cringe looks like. Image attribution.

    Feedback is important because no writer works in a vacuum. Not really. We have day jobs, families, significant others, pets, friends, and obligations. A writer won’t necessarily worry that much about feedback, or shouldn’t any way, but will keep on going until it becomes obvious it’s time to stop.

    That time is usually when no one is talking about your work.

    (more…)

  • Family Ties

    Having someone who supports you with your writing is perhaps one of the biggest motivators to keep going, story after story and page after page. A support group does wonders for this, but when the support follows you back home, that makes all the difference.

    I have been very lucky to find that support at home. When Lindsey and I first moved in together in 2006, I don’t think she took my threats of “I don’t do anything during November except write” seriously. She soon learned, when dinner wasn’t ready in time and dishes were piling up, or when I was wearing the same shirt for the third time that week because I couldn’t break away from my novel to do laundry. It was the true test of a relationship – and we got through it with flying colors and only the occasional squabble. (more…)

  • The Boxing Kangaroo and the Professor

    Folies Bergere, Boxing KangarooThere’s an old story that a boxing kangaroo is only good until it gets punched. After that, they don’t want to fight anymore. (Don’t ask me where I heard it. My head is filled with useless trivia like that.)

    The same thing happened to me. Kind of.

    All my life, I’ve been lucky. When I told my parents I wanted to be an English major, they were very supportive. When I told them I wanted to go back to school and get my master’s degree, they encouraged me. My folks were always the type to say, “You can be anything you want to be.”

    Of course, that’s not strictly true, is it? As kids, we believe we can be anything. It’s not until later that we realize we all aren’t athletic enough, clever enough, or artistic enough to make those dreams come true.

    (more…)

  • My Only Enemy Is Me

    I am extremely spoiled by the support I’ve received from my family and friends. The only negativity I’ve ever received came from the girl in the mirror. She’s pretty good at it, though, so it was plenty to keep me from following through for a very long time.

    Norman Rockwell’s “Girl at Mirror”

    My parents never laughed at anything I wanted to do. As a kid, I wanted to be a writer. In high school, I looked forward to getting a degree in English. When I got to college…well, that’s a long story. I’ll try to keep it short. I moved around a lot. I changed colleges with every move. And I changed majors frequently.

    First, it was film. I wanted to be a producer, though I had no idea, really, what producers did. But they had a lot of money. When I shot my final project at the wrong speed, I panicked and dropped the class. I hadn’t written it to be in slow motion. Nobody laughed, though. They encouraged me. Even though I quit the rest of my classes, too, and moved away.

    Business is smarter. If you want to get rich, major in business.

    Did you know they’ll make you take accounting? I was getting a C in the class, but still had no idea what the hell I was doing. I quit. And yeah, I moved again. But it was okay. Follow your dreams, right?

    We’re not even going to discuss marine biology. I love the ocean. Whales are awesome. Living near water might have helped this move along better than it did, but let’s just call it a non-starter and press on.

    I did other things. Started businesses doing weird things like desktop publishing and making stuffed bears dressed like people. But writing was always there. I just didn’t think it was smart to make it a career.

    Thirty-six. That’s how old I was when I went back and finally declared myself an English major. My husband was proud of me. My kids were proud of me. My parents were proud of me. It all slipped into place. I wrote stories and finished them. I went away for a week to a writer’s workshop. I had a few things published in the university’s literary magazine.

    Everyone beamed with pride. The encouragement was incredible. For Christmas, my brother presented me with a copy of the year’s Writer’s Market, telling me “It’s time.”

    He was right. I took the next steps, and when I became a neurotic wreck from submission-related waiting, my family rallied around me, soothing my fears, making me eat, and telling me constantly that I’m a great writer and something good was bound to happen.

    And now? They still rally around me when I’m afraid, neurotic, depressed, or obsessed. The kids make sure I eat when I’m on a writing bend. My husband doesn’t complain when he can’t find clean socks. My friends understand if they don’t see me or hear from me for weeks. The whole house goes silent if I’m on a deadline.

    Nobody’s ever laughed or told me I was foolish but me. And even the girl in the mirror, though not exactly encouraging yet, no longer voices objections.

    I am the luckiest writer in the world.

  • If You’re Really My Friend, You’ll Cook Me Dinner During NaNo

    I’ve known since I was little that I wanted to be a writer, and my parents have had time to come to terms with it. It helps that I grew up in an artistic household. My dad went from freelance artist to working for TSR to making video game art and then back to freelance art. Growing up with this lifestyle has made me realize that people can support themselves and a family off of art, but that sometimes it’s really difficult to make ends meet. My parents are one of my primary sources of encouragement and support for my writing, but they also want me to be realistic.

    When I went off to college to pursue a Creative Writing degree, they kept suggesting I consider how I was going to support myself and reminding me that most writers had a day job. Up until recently, I always assumed that I would support myself by working the fast food industry, because that’s what people who have English degrees do if they’re not planning on teaching, right? Luckily, I managed to find a desk job—something I never thought I’d see myself doing—that I actually enjoy most of the time. Writing has currently been sidelined to a hobby. At some point I would like to see it become something more. Though I think if I ever quit my day job to pursue writing full time, my mom might have a panic attack. (more…)

  • A World of Support

    I have always been incredibly fortunate when it has come to friends, family, and significant others and my writing. I have never once run into someone who said I couldn’t do it.

    I’m not sure my family, my Mom especially, ever really understood my drive to write, but they’ve always encouraged me. We’re a family of storytellers anyway, so that part I know they understand. I just choose a different medium. A medium most dyslexics shy away from.

    I’m pretty sure my extended family, as well as my close friends, think it’s really neat that I write. They always ask to read my work when I tell them I’ve been writing. Someday I might actually even share it with them! (more…)

  • The Writer’s Wife: Maybe a Test, Never a Target

    When it comes to writing, my wife and I have an odd relationship.

    She goes out of her way to be supportive of my writing endeavors. She encourages me, she tries to make sure I carve out time in my schedule to write, and she understands when I hit a creative rough patch and need to just escape the house and family for a few hours of in-my-own-head time.

    I have no doubt she’s in my corner when it comes to this writing thing.

    The bit that’s probably weird to a lot of people is that, to my knowledge, my wife reads very little of what I produce. It’s not that she doesn’t want to read it, but there are times when I caution her not to seek it out.

    (more…)

  • Behind every good writer…

    I’ve been a lucky writer. I’ve enjoyed a large amount of support from friends and family. In fact, I have never known anyone who was not supportive of my writing.  Even family and acquaintances who don’t read my particular style, or don’t understand or appreciate some of the things I have written are supportive of my life as a writer.

    It is an interesting thing. Maybe there are critical people out there, and I’m just not aware of them. But there is a fine line when it comes to a writer’s confidence. Support is great. We need it. We especially need support of our writing time. Anyone can be supportive when it doesn’t affect them. But writing is a solitary business, and it is a lot harder to be supportive when it is affecting your time with a loved one.

    However, in my experience, people can be too supportive. That sounds odd, maybe even impossible, but there is a definite fine line. Writers are psychologically fragile. At some point, support, though well-meaning, can place a lot of pressure upon the writer. (more…)