Writing Through Running

I started a running program this week. Now, let me say that I am not a runner and I buck the concept every (literally; pun intended) step of the way. It's not that I hate exercise, heck I'm a gymnastics coach! I enjoy physical exertion and who doesn't love the end result of regular workouts? Slimmer, more fit, increased stamina. I'll take that any day of the week. But running... eh, it's so hard! And getting started is the worst part. Waking your muscles and joints up enough to bear the added burden of running's impact on your body. Getting your mind set geared up so that you complete your exercise even through the pain, because when you first start running, even if your fairly fit - it's painful.

So why do it? Well, for me life as a writer encompasses a certain amount of sitting down. I also began taking college courses again last week, and even though I walk a good deal while on campus, studying and writing assignments always require staying planted in a seated position for hours at a time. I began to realize that were it not for coaching, I would be getting zero exercise a day. Not acceptable. But now with my increased workload I have less time to exercise, and that is where running arose as the obvious solution. I can do it indoors on my treadmill or get out for fresh air, and it is a sure fire way to a quick cardio response.

There you have it, my running reasoning, if you will. It has gone as I expected. Tough in the beginning of a run and tougher toward the end. I've started slow, incorporating only one mile runs this week and working toward one and a half mile runs next week. I'll keep that pace until I've worked up to three to four mile runs.

In planning this running schedule, it dawned on me how similar the process it to writing. Writing is hard. It is sometimes painful. You have to gear your mind up to continue writing even through the tough spots. Especially if you're new to writing or beginning a new writing regimen, because getting started is the hardest part. Well, that and editing, but I'll save the editing topic for another time.

Since I love writing and am not so keen on running, I visualize the writing process while I run. Getting that first page down, I liken to the first ten minutes of my run. As the exertion of the run increases I picture writing quickly as when thoughts are flowing easily and ideas abundant. When winding down through the final phase of running I imagine concluding a page or chapter. Wrapping it all up in a tidy package with just the perfect page turner thrown in at the end to whet the appetite for the next run, er ah... page.

Writing has made running bearable, and running has caused me to break my writing process down into clearly defined paths, giving me a solid foundation when I sit down at my desk to get started. I have never visualized my writing in such a way before. Sure I've always had a clear picture of my characters, my plot and the world in which they dwell. But I have never sat back and thought about myself doing the writing.

It's been an eye-opener to find that such visualization prior to actually sitting down to write such an effective technique. Were I to quit running, I would continue this new found method of focusing and organizing my creative process. Perhaps while doing the dishes, or laundry - why not? Could work. But for now I'll keep running. For all the pain there is something oddly peaceful about it. The thud of your feet, the hollow swoosh of your breath and the secure knowledge that you've burned off the half-pound bag of Twizzlers you inhaled while writing the night before.

Did I admit that out loud? Humph. Better go for a run.

Into The Great Unknown

Writing is a lot like gambling; if you play at it long enough you might just get lucky. That is what I tell myself every time I write a query, develop a proposal or send a completed manuscript out into the great unknown. It's hard to send your work out there. I mean, it's your work and in a great many ways, it is part of you. A representative of your creative self. An extension of yourself through the interpretation of your art. You baby it, fight with it, love it, hate it... and after you've picked apart all of its weaknesses, toyed with it, tweaked it and polished it - then you love it again. And after all of that, you diligently research possible markets for your work, your baby, and dutifully send it off to vie for publication and you wait.

And wait. And... well, you wait some more. You tell yourself that no news is good news. Your friends say things like, "Well, at least it hasn't been rejected"reminding you that rejection is the most probable outcome and it is only a matter of time before the rejection notices start pouring in. After all, it is the most probable outcome.

Suffice to say that landing an acceptance from a traditional publisher is a long shot, even if your work is excellent. Which is a good part of the reason so many writers have opted to self publish via Print on Demand companies. But even that isn't quite so simple and often P.O.D. contracts saddle the writer with the burden of high fees with very few, if any benefits.

Publication is the side of writing that is absolutely the most frustrating. Everything must be perfect if the writer hopes to attract the attention of an editor. Queries must light the fire of interest without being too long, or too wordy. It has to be perfect.

So you wait and as you wait you start to wonder if you did a good enough job. You start to doubt. And if, or rather when rejections roll in - you start to doubt your work. You pick apart the possible reasons why your query wasn't effective. You rewrite it. Edit it. Polish it and send it out into the great unknown again.

The fact is, you have to have a thick skin in this business. Critiques can be harsh, editors are usually quite demanding and rejections can sometimes be hard to swallow. But it is the way it is, and knowing that, the writer writes some more and dutifully sends their work, their baby, out into the great unknown hoping this time they'll hit the publishing jackpot - their name in print and a check with their name on it for their efforts.

Invasion of the "What if's"

Here I sit. Keyboard literally in hand... poised to bash my head into my computer monitor. I've had the same blank page in my "Word" program staring me down for about an hour. I had every intention of continuing my novel length work-in-progress (A.k.a wip) from my most recent stopping point. Actually, I ended a chapter and undecided on the direction I want to go, I opted to line edit and execute minor rewrites on all the chapters that led to this point. It was a good idea. Took a few days. Got a lot done.

It was a good idea... or at least, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I realize that in taking that pause rather than working through the stopping point, I failed to address the issue of direction. I didn't solve my dilemma rather, I sought to avoid it for as long as possible.

So now I'm left wondering why I allowed myself to duck for cover behind line edits. What stopped me. What made the end of this chapter a stopping point. Why was I so willing to pull away?

Could it be that my story really has no where to go? Is it dead? No, in fact I'm sure it is not. This story has taken on a life of it's own. It feels almost sentient to me. The characters breath and think and feel; they are perfect and flawed and in the world I've created in my wip, they are real. Okay, so the story isn't dead. So what's the problem?

Clearly, I'm at a transitive crossroads in my story. I could go in any one of several directions. But how to choose? What if I make the wrong choice? What if the idea sucks? What if...

What if I had sat down in my plot outline and ironed out my plot objectives rather than excuse myself by hiding in edits? Then perhaps I would not have found myself staring blankly at a blank Word document. I let the fear of the "What if's" distract me to the point of inaction. Duh! Didn't I see it coming?

Of course I did! I knew I was avoiding tough choices. I knew, I knew and I know better. I could kick myself for allowing the "What if's" to get to me. Plot transition needs to be addressed rather than avoided. Ugh. There is probably nothing as frustrating as being the cause of your own frustration.

Now I need to dig in and push through my own insecurities, so my wip can continue on it's intended path. And it has an intended path - I just need to figure out the twists and turns along the way.

News at Eleven

It's frustratingly ironic that the more technologically advanced we become, the less we can rely on the technology we've created. Take my modem for instance. Very nice when it is working. Underscore the word when. The most recent breakdown (there have been four in three months) cost me nearly four days of work. It's really difficult to do research when your computer ain't net ready. Thank heavens for friends who have computers and laptops and cell phones with internet or I wouldn't have even been able to check my e-mail. It's such incidents that really throw a wrench in a freelancers schedule.

I was left scratching my head wondering how I ever managed to get by before the invent of e-mail. These days I hardly ever use a stamp for anything aside from query submissions - and even a good many of those are sent via e-mail.

As I'm in Florida, this week we are bracing for Hurricane Charlie and watching Tropical Storm Bonnie with anticipation. I for one really think the powers-that-be, you know, the one's who actually name the storms, really missed a golden opportunity by failing to name the storms Bonnie and Clyde. C'mon, it's sooo obvious, duh!

Besides, it would have made for some fun "Storm Coverage" on the ten news channels all eager to panic the masses into a battery, plywood, and water bottle buying frenzy. I just hope that Charlie doesn't wreak too much havoc, though it would surely disappoint the local news media.

With the storms tracking up for debate, it makes me wonder if the Doppler radar is even all that accurate. Seems like they are no closer to knowing where this one is going to hit than they were when Hurricane Andrew hit in 1992. I remember watching that pre-storm coverage. It wasn't all that different from today's coverage. Serious looking reporters donning baseball caps and raincoats promising hourly updates, interviewing men as they boarded up houses and promising live "Team Coverage" at eleven.

Ah, lends some truth to the old adage; The more things change the more they stay the same. The more we come to rely on technology the more we are put at it's mercy. Doppler radar, my modem. News at eleven.

Time Bandits

It seems like nary a day goes by in which some misinformed individual passes a judgment as to the flexibility of my writing schedule. People automatically assume that because I am a freelance writer my cup must certainly runneth over with scads of free time. After all, I work when I want. Therefore, I am endlessly called upon to run here, go there, be available at such and such a time... blah, blah, blah. And you know, for a while there - even I fell for it.

I figured, well, sure I'll do this for so and so. After all it'll really help them, seeing as they have to work and all. I can spare a few hours. If they needed me to come in a bit early to coach at the gym, they could count on me. I'd be there. It only meant going in an hour early, it was okay.

A chunk of time here. A smidgen of time there. No big. I could deal. I could work around it; I create my own schedule you know.

Yeah, I was in deep alright.

The worst part about it was that I was permitting my own work to be compromised and devalued by failing to demand that anyone, anyone at all, respect my time. Even myself. And it was nearly fatal to my creative works. The more time I spent pursuing the tasks everyone else prescribed me, resulted in completing my paying assignments during the hours I would have spent on my creative works had I held to my own schedule.

Finally, it was up to me to undo the damage. I had to start saying no. And it wasn't easy. People weren't very receptive to my sudden inclination to decline their requests of my time. Their response when I asserted my need to adhere to a writing schedule I likened to how I imagine a thirsty dog would react to the sudden removal of his water-bowl while he is smack-dab in the middle of drinking. Dogs don't like going thirsty, and people don't like hearing the word no. Unfailingly both respond with the same surprised sideways tilt of the head, wearing an expression that asks "Huh?" Some even growl. So be it.

It had to be done or my creative work would literally die of neglect. Robbed of its sustenance, its value, and ultimately its right to exist by the time bandits who would continue to raid my creative itinerary, unless I stood to defend it.

That's not to claim that my reclaimed writing agenda is without interruption. Life happens. Business need to get done, kids need tending, dogs need to be walked, house needs to be cleaned and, in my case, gymnasts need to be coached. It's like a smooth walk across a balance beam just before tossing a back Handspring that lands a little wobbly; sometimes you just have to grit your teeth and hang on, or the amazing thing you were doing has lost all its value.