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Searching for community on a broken internet

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The Good Old Days (via One Terrabyte of Kilobyte Age)

On a rainy Wednesday afternoon, less than 48 hours into my “no social media for a month” resolution, I find myself on Twitter. And not just passively scrolling either. No, I find myself obsessively reading the replies to a Nigel Farage Tweet deriding the Irish government for its response to the latest Brexit proposal. I don’t know how I found myself here (I don’t follow Farage or any of his ilk — I would rather stick a rusty fork in my eye), but I can’t look away.

“Its nothing but pathetic Anti British sentiment. It all goes back to the old adjective, “England’s struggle is Ireland’s gain”. The Irish psyche is too bitter to make an honest decision” says one anonymous Tweeter (typos ALL that Tweeter’s own).

“If Republicans want another war, I say let’s give them one. Let’s see how they like hellfire missiles through their windows and dealing with an SAS fresh from slaughtering ISIS and Al Qaeda” screams another.

And on and on and on they go. Dozens of tweets and most of them singing some variation of the same tune — “The Irish are bad, it’s Ireland’s fault”.

I read through them until a pain erupts deep in my belly and I can feel the old familiar feelings of panic rising in my chest. I’m reading horrible tweets about my home country, about people like me, and yet I can’t stop. It’s like a scab that you can’t help picking at until it bleeds. Finally, I catch myself and think, why am I doing this?

This is not a post about Brexit or even about politics, it’s about social media and how broken it’s become. Before I go on, I want to acknowledge the incredible privilege I have as a well-educated cishet white person. I can’t even imagine the difficulties of navigating social media as a POC, member of the LGBTQ+ community, or any other marginalized group and I absolutely do not mean to minimize the issues they face. I can only speak from my personal experience and my personal experience is that the internet in general, and social media in particular, has become a cesspit and I don’t know what we can do to fix it.

I’ve been online in one form or another since I was about fourteen years old, connecting to the family computer for a stolen hour or two every couple of days until my mother yelled at me to get off so she could make a phone call (hard as it is to believe, there was a time when you could have the internet or the phone but not both at the same time). Back then the internet felt exciting and fun. I spent hours building GeoCities sites dedicated to obscure interests, entered chatrooms and asked strangers “A/S/L?”, and giggled with friends when someone tried to “cyber” with us. I joined forums and gave myself usernames like “Rainbow Moonchild” and gained an American penpal who I would spend hours chatting to on AOL instant messenger, him telling me to listen to Eisley, me telling him to listen to Muse. Back then the internet was something I could turn off at will. Something I could walk away from. I could go days at a time without logging onto my email and I wouldn’t even bat an eyelid.

It was 2011 when things began to change. That was the year I moved to Canada and got my first smartphone and I don’t think it’s much of an exaggeration to say that it changed my life. I was far from home in a strange city and having 24/7 access to Facebook made me feel connected to all the people I was desperately missing. It tethered me and made me feel less alone. From that point on, the internet was no longer a useful tool or a happy distraction. It was essential.

It’s not a unique story. The insidious march of forward-progress means that all of us, all of us, are more online than ever before. In fact, I’d bet good money that some of the people reading this don’t remember a time without the internet being literally everywhere, all the time. Looking back, it’s easy to see how it happened — with every new step, every new app, every improvement to software and hardware our lives got easier and easier. I’m far from immune to this. All of my banking is done on my phone, I use it to check when the next bus is coming, what the weather’s going to be like tomorrow, and the best route to get from A to B. Even social media can be a force for good. I’ve discovered so many artists, writers, and musicians I never would have if not for Twitter, Instagram and yes, even Facebook. But these days, I can’t help but wonder what price we’re paying for this convenience. We’ve all seen news articles citing studies that show that social media is making us lonelier. What are any of us really gaining from being online all the time?

Last year I deactivated my Facebook for 30 days. Facebook had been making me feel uneasy for some time and I wanted to see what life would be like with the temptation to “just log-on and check” (“check what?” you ask. Exactly). One month turned into six and, a few months back, I finally logged back on and deleted my account permanently. I knew I never wanted to go back there again. After months with no access to my account, I was able to definitively say that Facebook added nothing to my life. It only took (hours and energy and tears of frustration). It’s not just me that’s feeling this way. A few weeks ago I had dinner with a friend who deleted all her social media a few months back. “I was starting to think in terms of Instagram captions” she confided in me. It frightened me that I knew exactly what she meant.

Does that mean I think all social media is bad? Well… no. But I think that our relationship with it is broken. Social media at its best helps us to connect. It helps us to build community and share the things we love. But lately, all I can see when I log on is the other side of the coin. For every person highlighting an injustice, there are others spewing vile hatred. For every person trying to promote their new album or book or film, there are others who want to tear them down. I don’t want to think that people are inherently bad but after the past few weeks of mudslinging and grown men screaming at 16-year-olds who want to change the world and right-wing hate speech the dam has broken. My tolerance is shattered. I’m exhausted and I’m opting out.

The internet and social media aren’t going to go anywhere. For better or worse, they are a part of our lives and our jobs now. We can’t go back to the internet of before — the internet that was a fun distraction. We can only move forward and try to find new ways of building community in a broken internet.

For my own part, I’m doing what I need to in order to preserve my own mental wellbeing. For the rest of the month of October, I’m not going to open Twitter or Instagram. I’ve deleted both apps from my phone. I’m trying to be more present, to use my phone less in general. I’m trying to re-learn that the internet might be an integral part of modern life, but it isn’t everything. Who knows, with all this extra time on my hands now that I’m not passively scrolling down a page, I may even have time to write another novel or maybe I can start another website, in the fashion of the GeoCities of old, dedicated to obscure interests with a sparkly banner atop that says “respite from the storm”.

***

This post was something that’s been rattling around in my head for a while now, but I would be remiss if I didn’t direct you to Sarah Maria Griffin’s Girl Offline column on The Gloss. She’s a gorgeous writer who explores this idea in a lot more depth (and far more beautifully). 

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How do you know when a novel isn’t working?

Genuine question here guys. How do you know when a novel you’re writing just isn’t working and, relatedly, how do you know whether it’s time to give up entirely?

Let me back up a second.

You may remember a few weeks ago I finally (finally!) finished writing a novel from beginning to end and got it to a state where it’s fit to be seen by other humans. About two weeks ago I sent that manuscript off to a few beta readers for feedback and I figured, while I was waiting, I might as well start working on something else. The only question was…what should I focus on? Should I reach for the shiny new idea (of which I have several percolating away in the back of my brain) or should I return to a previously abandoned novel attempt and try to see that through to the finish line.

I chose the latter option.

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I have two abandoned novels that, for one reason or another, I never got around to finishing (long story short, a combo of being a longtime Discovery Writer or “Pantser”, a severe lack of confidence, and increasingly busy full-time jobs worked together to create the perfect creative storm).

One novel was a YA portal fantasy that I thought I had abandoned at the halfway mark but turns out I just wrote and rewrote the same six chapters over and over again trying out different scenarios (again, the plague of not outlining anything for years).

The other was an adult urban fantasy novel that I actually got pretty far with before running out of steam. I took a look at the most recent draft, which I had optimistically titled Draft 2 for some reason (I don’t know why, both Draft 1 and Draft 2 are almost exactly the same and neither of them was complete) and found I had 48,000 words with 17 chapters fully written, two chapters half-written, and six chapters with a couple of bullet points in each. I knew how the story would begin and how it would end and I had somehow meandered my way over the years to a manuscript that was 3/4 of the way done. Seems like a no-brainer which project I should work on, right?

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Yeah, I think it was a bad idea and here’s why:

I decided my first course of action should be to transfer everything over from Google Docs to Scrivener (my current writing tool of choice). Once that was done, I started to read through everything to understand a) what I actually had, b) where the gaps were, and c) what I would have to do to make a minimal viable draft—i.e. a draft that I could work with and improve. At first, I was pretty optimistic. I like my opening chapters a lot. I think the dialogue is pretty strong and I really do love my main characters—they’ve lived in my head for seven years now, how could I not?

But therein lies the problem. The roots of this story are seven years old. Seven. That means, when I started writing this book, I was 24-years-old. I’m 31 now and a LOT has happened over the years to make me a very different person. I still love a lot about the characters and the world I created, but looking over the draft now, I’m just not sure it’s really working.

The more I read, the more it feels like a book written by someone else—after about three or four chapters it just doesn’t sound like me anymore. Well, actually it sounds like me trying my best to write like someone else (an unholy mashup of Jim Butcher and Neil Gaiman). So there’s my first problem—the voice of the book is all wrong.

By chapter seven, I realized I was mixing third-person limited and third-person omniscient perspectives in the same scenes. That my friends…is not good. Over the last almost-a-decade I’ve learned so much about the technical aspects of writing and I recognize how amateurish it reads to me now. To be honest, the whole book has massive structural issues that would require an extensive rewrite to make work. So that’s my second problem.

My third problem is that it’s obvious I had no idea as to where I wanted the story to be set because I never committed one way or another. I jump back and forth between setting the book in Toronto and setting it in a fictionalized, unnamed city. There are pros and cons to both approaches and even now I’m still not sure which would work best for this story.

There are a whole host of other problems with this book that I won’t get into right now but essentially boil down to this: if I go ahead and try to finish the draft of the book in its current state it will be bad and I would only be doing it for the sake of being able to say that I finished the damn thing.

Now, an argument could be made that this isn’t a bad goal in and of itself. It’s good to finish things because you learn something from the process of seeing something through to the end. It’s just so hard to make myself finish this when, in its current form, it’s a story I no longer believe in.

There are kernels that I could salvage (the premise, the characters, a few scenes here and there) but in order for this book to work, I honestly believe I would have to go back to the drawing board and outline the whole thing from scratch. Truth be told, I don’t know if I can do it right now.

Seven years is a long time and maybe any affection I hold for this story is simply a product of familiarity—like a friendship I’ve outgrown or a job I should have left years ago. Maybe it’s time to shelve the novel for good and finally move on to something else. It’s just so hard to let go.

I don’t have a good way to wrap this blog post up because, honestly, I don’t really have an answer for what I should do next. So I suppose I’ll end with a question—have you ever abandoned a novel? If so, why?

 

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3 Underrated Books on Writing You Should Check Out

If you do a Google search for the best books on writing you’ll see the same titles pop up time and again—The Anatomy of Story, On Writing, Save the Cat! etc.

Don’t get me wrong, these books are essential reads for a reason, but today I want to share with you a few books on the craft of writing that may have flown under your radar.

Damn Fine Story: Mastering the Tools of a Powerful Narrative, Chuck Wendig

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Hook Your Audience with Unforgettable Storytelling!

What do Luke Skywalker, John McClane, and a lonely dog on Ho’okipa Beach have in common?

Simply put, we care about them.

Great storytelling is making readers care about your characters, the choices they make, and what happens to them. It’s making your audience feel the tension and emotion of a situation right alongside your protagonist. And to tell a damn fine story, you need to understand why and how that caring happens.

Using a mix of personal stories, pop fiction examples, and traditional storytelling terms, New York Times best-selling author Chuck Wendig will help you internalize the feel of powerful storytelling. In Damn Fine Story, you’ll explore:

  • Freytag’s Pyramid for visualizing story structure–and when to break away from traditional storytelling forms
  • Character relationships and interactions as the basis of every strong plot—no matter the form or genre
  • Rising and falling tension that pulls the audience through to the climax and conclusion of the story
  • Developing themes as a way to craft characters with depth

Whether you’re writing a novel, screenplay, video game, comic, or even if you just like to tell stories to your friends and family over dinner, this funny and informative guide is chock-full of examples about the art and craft of storytelling–and how to write a damn fine story of your own.

If you’re an aspiring author and don’t know Chuck Wendig you’re doing something wrong. His blog terribleminds.com is a treasure trove of tips and tricks for aspiring authors and as well as writing a whole bunch of novels and comic books, he’s also found the time to publish several books on the craft of writing as well.

In Damn Fine Story, Wendig mixes personal anecdotes with tangible examples from some of the world’s best-known stories to explain the elements of storytelling and, most importantly, why these elements work.

It’s funny and irreverent and honestly, I got so much out of it! It really helped me think about the mechanisms of story and how I can apply them to my own work.

Fair warning, Wendig swears A LOT (and very creatively might I add) so if you’re the kind of person who gets offended by that sort of thing this one might not be for you.

2k to 10k: Writing Faster, Writing Better, and Writing More of What You Love, Rachel Aaron

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“Have you ever wanted to double your daily word counts? Do you sometimes feel like you’re crawling through your story? Do you want to write more every day without increasing the time you spend writing or sacrificing quality? It’s not impossible; it’s not even that hard. This is the book explaining how, with a few simple changes, I boosted my daily writing from 2000 words to over 10k a day, and how you can, too.”

Expanding on her highly successful system for doubling daily word counts, this book offers practical writing advice for anyone who’s ever longed to increase their daily writing output. In addition to updated information for Rachel’s popular 2k to 10k writing efficiency process, 5 step plotting method, and easy editing tips, this book includes all new chapters on creating characters who write their own stories, plot structure, and learning to love your daily writing. Full of easy to follow, practical advice from a professional author who doesn’t eat if she doesn’t produce good books on a regular basis, 2k to 10k focuses not just on writing faster, but writing better, and having more fun while you do it.

Rachel Aaron (who also writes as Rachel Bach) is an absolute powerhouse. She’s a hybrid author who has been both traditionally published and who’s recently taken to self-publishing. It’s safe to say she knows her stuff.

Her book on writing efficiency, 2k to 10k: Writing Faster, Writing Better, and Writing More of What You Love is a little different from most writing books because there’s a strong focus on the act of actually getting the words on the page as quickly as possible.

The first section breaks down the method she used to maximize her writing output and take herself from writing 2,000 words per day to over 10,000. She explains everything so well and gives real, concrete advice on how to implement her method to increase your own output.

The second section includes more traditional advice on plotting, writing memorable characters, and editing your own work.

No matter what stage of novel-writing you’re at, this book has something for you. And honestly, the eBook costs about as much as a cup of coffee so it’s an absolute steal. Highly recommend this one.

On Writing and Worldbuilding: Volume I, Timothy Hickson

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Writing advice tends to be full of ‘rules’ and ‘tips’ which are either too broad to be helpful or outright wrong. In On Writing and Worldbuilding, we will discuss specific and applicable ideas to consider, from effective methods of delivering exposition and foreshadowing, to how communication, commerce, and control play into the fall of an empire.

ON WRITING
Part I: Prologues
Part II: The First Chapter
Part III: The Exposition Problem
Part IV: Foreshadowing
Part V: Villain Motivation
Part VI: Hero-Villain Relationships
Part VII: Final Battles
Part VIII: The Chosen One
Part IX: Hard Magic Systems
Part X: Soft Magic Systems
Part XI: Magic Systems and Storytelling

ON WORLDBUILDING
Part XII: Polytheistic Religions
Part XIII: Hidden Magical Worlds
Part XIV: How Empires Rise
Part XV: How Empires Work
Part XVI: How Empires Fall

EXCLUSIVE CONTENT
Part XVII: How I Plan a Novel
Dozens of sidenotes and extra thoughts on all these wonderful stories

My last recommendation for today is the newest release of the bunch, YouTuber Timothy Hickson’s On Writing and Worldbuilding: Volume I.

Hickson’s YouTube channel, Hello Future Me, is a fantastic resource for writers—particularly those of us who write fantasy and science fiction—and this book is basically an updated collection of Hickson’s video scripts along with some new material.

What I really appreciate about Hickson’s work is that he avoids using absolutes where possible—there’s no “you should/shouldn’t do this” to be found here. Instead, he lays out some best practices for everything from writing prologues to creating a fantasy religion and, like Wendig, he explains how and why they work.

He pulls from dozens of well-known novels and movies to illustrate his point and turn potentially abstract concepts into concrete and easy-to-grasp examples.

At $5 or so for the eBook, it’s another absolute bargain for any writer.

*****

There you have it, three of my favourite underrated writing books! I’m always on the look-out for great new writing resources. What are some of your favourites?

 

 

 

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How to push past a first draft (or, how I finally managed to write a book!)

Ok, confession. The title above is slightly misleading. When I say I managed to write a book I don’t mean that I am publishing said book or that it’s in any state to be read by other humans. I mean that, after years and years of trying and several failed attempts, for the first time in my life I have a completed draft of a book that contains a definite beginning, middle, and end. Quality notwithstanding, if someone stumbled upon it tomorrow they would recognize it as being recognizably book-shaped. That might not sound like much but for me, it’s a huge accomplishment.

My problems started early

Like basically every aspiring author who ever lived, I started writing from an early age, typing up stories “inspired by” (read: plagiarized from) my favourite books on my mother’s typewriter. I would fold them up, and place them in sealed envelopes that I would never again read but would instead destroy several months later in a fit of artistic despair (I particularly regret destroying a series of Babysitter Club fan-fics I wrote when I was 10).

When I was 11 or 12, I managed to write a “novel” (I say novel, but it was probably 12 typewritten pages long). I was reading a lot of WWII stories (think Goodnight Mister Tom by Michelle Magorian and The Silver Sword by Ian Serraillier) so naturally what resulted was a very melodramatic story called War of the Heart about a Nazi fighter pilot who got lost in a storm and crashed into a field in Ireland and was later discovered by a 12 year old girl. That novel was another casualty of my need to destroy everything I ever created so I no longer have a copy but I’m pretty sure it was resolved by the girl telling her parents and the fighter pilot being sent to prison. A thrilling tale indeed.

This pattern of creation and destruction continued until my early 20s when I decided that I was going to take writing seriously for once and finally write a damn novel. I had not one, but two English degrees under my belt and a whole bucketful of ideas. Surely it would be a breeze.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

When you can’t even finish the first draft

I want to jump into the stuff that might actually be helpful so I’m going to make a long story short. I didn’t finish a novel in my 20s and I truly believe that the reason it took me 10+ years to finally do it comes down to two simple things—crippling self-doubt and a need to make everything perfect. 

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Basically

It worked like this: I would get an idea for a book and cheerfully start writing it. I would hit maybe 15-20,000 words when suddenly, I would realize how far I have to go—probably 50-70,000 more words. That’s a lot of writing. I would be hit by a crushing wave of despair and doubt. Did I have it in me to write that much? Was the idea good enough to sustain interest for that long?

I would then go back and reread what I’d written, tweaking a few words here and there (“I’ll just work on this chapter a bit more”) until eventually, I got caught in a cycle of reworking the same chapters over and over, never moving on and never satisfied with what was on the page.

I think that we can all agree that this is not the most effective way to write a book.

The worst part is that I’m actually an editor too. I’ve coached several people through early drafts of their work and whenever they got stuck I would always give the same advice: keep going, you can’t fix a blank page.

Sick and tired of being a hypocrite, I decided to finally heed my own advice.

Step 1: Drafting

You’ve probably all heard that there are two types of writers—plotters and pantsers. According to The Write Practice:

Simply put, a plotter is someone who plans out their novel before they write it. A pantser is someone who, “flies by the seat of their pants,” meaning they don’t plan out anything, or plan very little. Some people, like me, call themselves “plantsers,” which means they’re in a little of both.

As you might have guessed, for years I was a pantser. I would think of an idea, open a Word or Google doc and simply…go.

Typically, I knew what the start of the story was and roughly where I wanted to end, but the middle? That was a mystery to be unveiled as I went along.

This method worked for me…until it didn’t. As I said above, I would invariably hit the 1/4 mark of a novel and realize that it had completely fallen off the rails and I had no idea how to course-correct.

I knew I needed a guide, but chafed at the idea of a strict outline—I still liked learning about my world and my characters as I went. In the end, I decided to find a happy medium and try the plantsing approach. Here’s what I did:

I knew I wanted to write a scary story for children like the books I devoured as a youngster so I spent some time with a good old-fashioned pen and paper brainstorming some ideas. The premise came to me pretty quickly. In fact, here’s the original “pitch” I wrote (it’s changed quite a bit since then but this will give you a rough idea of what it’s about):

It’s almost Samhain and the walls between worlds grow thin. That means one thing – the trooping fairies have come to town. All the children of Clonbridge know three things: If you hear the music of the sídhe, block your ears, if you hear a scratching at your window, do not look out, and once the sun has dipped below the horizon, do not go outside. Cat knows this better than most—she has inherited her grandmother’s gift of the sight—but when her baby brother is stolen away she knows she only has one chance to save him because, when dawn breaks on November 1st, he’ll be lost forever.

From there, I started to ask myself questions:

  • How did I want the story to start?
  • How did I want it to end?
  • How would Cat’s brother be stolen away (i.e. what was the inciting incident)?
  • Why does she go after him alone?
  • What are some obstacles she might encounter along the way?

Once I had answers to these questions, I began to list out all the major events and things that need to happen (e.g. how Cat discovers her brother has been swapped for a changeling) and all of the important information a reader needs to know (e.g. that Cat’s mother is a single, working mother and her granny takes care of her most of the time).  When I was relatively sure I had a comprehensive list, I began to order them into scenes and chapters.

I now had a roadmap that I could consult. It still had plenty of gaps to allow for random creative flourishes and bouts of inspiration but it gave me a direction to work towards.

Step 2: The Vomit Draft

With a plan in place, I set about writing my very first draft. For this, I employed the vomit-draft (sometimes called the zero-draft) approach.

What is a “vomit draft” you ask? Well, it’s exactly what it sounds like. You sort of…vomit out words. The idea here is to just get the story down on the page. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be done.

As I said above, you can’t edit a blank page and, for me, having something—anything— to work with is far easier than getting the story out of my brain in the first place.

The key to making this work is to not look back over what you’ve written until the draft is complete. Seriously, don’t do it. The minute you look at the word-soup you’ve created your inner-editor will rear her ugly head and want to start tinkering (“I’ll just fix up this one little bit…”). You must silence this voice by any means necessary.

I managed to quell my inner-editor in two ways:

  1. I gave myself a deadline: last year I participated in NaNoWriMo for the first time. Knowing I only had 30 days to write 50,000 words was extremely motivating for me. I really, really wanted to win and managed to bust out some epic wordcount days near the end.
  2. I summarized what I had just written: at the end of each writing session, I would summarize everything that just happened in my story. This way I could quickly remind myself of what I had already written without having to read back over the draft itself.

Step 3: Making it all make sense

I won’t lie, this step was daunting. Once the vomit-draft was finished I had a big pile of something that wasn’t quite a draft and wasn’t quite an outline but something mushy and in-between.

The first thing I did was pour myself a cup of tea (read: a glass of wine) and read through my summary, not my actual draft (it was too awful and I knew I would be disheartened). While I was happy with the story in general, I realized that I needed to add a few new scenes to up the tension and make some character changes. I also identified a few plot holes that needed filling in.

Then, I reworked my vomit-draft summary into an expanded and improved outline.

Now I knew with more certainty where I was going, I opened a new Scrivener file (more on my thoughts on Scrivener at a later date) and began work on my second draft.

For me, the key to getting through this draft was to take things one step at a time. I didn’t copy and paste everything over at once. Instead, I copied over one chapter at a time and worked through that, rewriting and tweaking as necessary. As I worked through the second draft and the story began to take on a more recognizable shape, I realized that there were other narrative and structural issues I needed to address. Instead of going back and fixing them in this draft, I decided to make note of them for next time—I had enough work to do adding in whole new scenes and creating brand new characters and I knew that if I went back at this point I would fall back into the endless self-editing loop.

By the end of the second draft I had two things: 1) a proper draft to work with and 2) a list of changes for next time.

Step 4: Polish, polish, polish

Now we reach the messy step. It’s the step I’m in now, the one that technically has no real end in sight.

I’ve written a third draft, using pretty much the same technique as I did for the second draft (one chapter at a time, rewrite/delete/write new scenes, make notes for next time). The difference is that now I feel like I have a really solid base to work from. I decided that for my next round of edits, I need to switch it up a little and make notes by hand. So, for the first time since I was 12 years old, I printed out a full copy of my novel.

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Title redacted because it’s a working title and I don’t know if I love it or hate it yet. Also, look carefully and you’ll spot my writing buddies—Quoth the Raven, Gnick the Gnome, and norse god Loki.

And that’s where I’m at now! The plan is to read through the novel, handwrite some notes, and prepare for draft 4.

What’s next?

That’s the question isn’t it? How do you know when it’s time to let go and let other people read and critique your work?

To be honest, I haven’t fully figured it out yet. I suspect that, for me, it’ll be after draft 5 (which will hopefully be more of a copy edit than a full revision), but that’s the sort of thing that every writer has to figure out for themselves. I’ll let you know when I get there.

TL;DR

So there you have it, how I finally pushed past the first draft and actually wrote a (workable draft of a) novel.

I hope this was helpful for some of you who might be struggling through the same kind of thing. Please keep in mind though that there is no right way to write a book. This was just the method that happened to work for me this one time.

If there’s one thing I hope you take away from this giant ramble it’s this—don’t be afraid to switch it up. If your method isn’t working for you then try something new. It doesn’t have to be perfect, or even good, it just has to be finished. Revising brings its own difficulties but if you have the raw material to work with you can always make something better.

Are you working on a novel? How did you push through your first draft? I’d love to hear from you!

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Unpopular Bookish Opinions

You know what we don’t hear enough of these days? Other people’s opinions. In order to rectify that, here are some of mine:

Sometimes the film actually is better

I thought I’d start on a nice controversial one to get the ball rolling! I agree that 99% of the time the book is better than the film — they’re usually more nuanced and allow more time for characters to develop. But every so often, a movie comes along that is the exception to the rule. For me, some of those films include The Godfather (if for nothing else, than for dropping the terrible bridesmaid subplot), The Green Mile (come to think of it, I could have made this list up of Stephen King adaptations alone — The Shining, The Shawshank Redemption, Stand By Me...all great books/short stories, but the films just tighten things up), Jurassic Park (Goldblum + really great animatronic dinos = enough said), and The Silence of the Lambs (again, still enjoyed the book but the movie is such a classic.)

It’s OK to dogear your books

I’ve written about this one before but it bears repeating. By all means, take care of your books if that makes you happy, but just know that some of us actively enjoy being monsters. Dog ears, underlines, cracked spines — all are fine by me and don’t impact my enjoyment of a story in the slightest.

Happy ever after is overrated…

…Sometimes. Listen, I enjoy an appropriate HEA as much as anyone else, but what really gets me is when they are shoehorned into stories they have no business being in. If the main character has been put through the wringer, I don’t really want to spend the final chapter finding out that it’s all good because at least they’ve married their childhood sweetheart. Give me a bittersweet ending, a happy-ish ever after, an I’m-not-OK-but-I’m-fine ever after.

One book that did this really well, in my opinion, was Stephen King’s 11/22/63 (I just bashed King above, so I feel I owe him). Spoilers in the next paragraph!

When Jake Epping successfully travels back in time and foils the JFK assassination only to totally mess up the current timeline, he gives up his shot at happiness with Sadie, the love of his life, to undo it all. When he returns to the present, he finds her again — now an old woman — and they dance together one last time. (Even writing that brings a tear to my eye!)It wasn’t a totally happy ending because his actions had consequences, but it was sweet and satisfying.

It’s OK to get rid of books

For the longest time, I believed that it was sacrilege to get rid of books. If you bought it you’re stuck with it( even if you didn’t even like the book all that much). Getting rid of most of my worldly possessions last year to go travelling around Canada by car finally cured me of that problem once and for all. While it’s lovely to be surrounded by books, you don’t need to hold on to every last one. It’s OK to give them away to friends, drop them into Little Free Libraries, or even sell them to a used book store for credit.

These days I have three criteria for whether or not I’ll hold onto a book:

  1. Is it a book that I’ll potentially reread in future? (The Lord of the Rings, the Harry Potter series, His Dark Materials, The Graveyard Book…just a few books I turn to time and again when I need comfort.)
  2. Is it a book I want to lend out to multiple people? (Books like Fingersmith by Sarah Waters which I know most of my friends and family would like.)
  3. Does it just bring me joy? (Hardcover editions of Grimm’s and Anderson’s fairy tales, a book of fairy illustrations written in French so I can’t actually understand a single word of it but just love to flick through every now and again).

If it doesn’t fall into one of these three camps then it’s out.

Maybe this will change in future should I ever actually live somewhere with, you know, actual space for lots of books. But for now, I’m happy to keep my bookshelf relatively lean.

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Do you agree with me or do you think I’m an uncultured cretin? What are some of your unpopular bookish opinions?