Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 23

Hi. My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer. It's been 23 days since my last writer's block.
If you haven't already, please read Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 1.

I got frustrated after I scrapped and restarted chapter 3 and started looking for something else that I can do during my writing time. I really just needed a break. I started looking at some collaborative writing projects going on around the web.

The best that has ever happened is clearly The Salem Door Project. That one was a pet project of mine that unfortunately lost its momentum and died after chapter 13, leaving the story unfinished. There were 16 of us writing it and each would write one chapter before passing it on to the next. No edits except for grammar or continuity errors. If any of you guys who were working on it still remember the password, I haven't changed it. We can still finish this thing! I think the problem with it was that people underestimated the time commitment it could take in order to participate.

I felt a bit better about that project when I realized that most collaborative writing projects seem to die off rather than end. One of the most interesting collaborative writing projects I discovered followed basically the same idea as "Salem Door", but each author was only allowed to write three words. You can check that out here: 3-Word Story.

I never found a collaborative writing site that really caught my interest.

I've had the idea for a while now of doing something similar to the VlogBrothers. The idea would be that you would have two (maybe three) people who are essentially digital penpals whose letters can be read by anyone. I just haven't been motivated enough to find someone crazy and bored enough to do this with me. If you're interested, please your audition in the form of a fun-to-read letter to veebjamn@yahoo.com or to me as a message on Facebook. I can't promise by the time you send it to me I'll still be interested, but it never hurts to try!

Ok, occasionally, there are things that it hurts to try. Punting a bowling ball comes to mind.

I finally found a website that I'm happy with. In fact, I may be a little too happy with it.

It's called Scribophile, and the basic idea of the site is that you post your work and other writers critique it. They have a system set up where you earn points for critiquing other people and spend those points to post your own work. They also have articles on different ways to improve your writing, how to get stuff published, and other stuff about writing as a career. It also has a forum to talk about whatever. If you did decide to join, I would suggest that you not bother wasting your time trying to find me, because unless you know my work or the way I think really well, you're going to have a hard time. I'm under a different name and my profile picture is a composite of Robin Williams, Jim Belushi, a couple other dudes who shall remain nameless for my protection. I'm not sure why, but I really want to stay anonymous on there.

I've posted one work and gotten pretty good reviews so far. They like me! They really like me!

One of my critiques pointed out a current formatting standard that I have been doing wrong. (I'm a skeptic, so I didn't just take their word for it. I looked into it, and their story holds up.) The standard several years ago used to be that at the end of a sentence, you hit spacebar twice. I think this may go back to typewriter days, and I'm not sure I understand the reasoning. I got into the habit, though, because I felt like it made things look nicer. The current industry standard, however, is to only hit spacebar once. It's a disgustingly difficult habit to break. I've been double-spacing for YEARS now!

I've spent the last few days on and off the site. For a couple of days, reading and reviewing on there was part of my hour of writing. I've had to change my standard on that, however, because I noticed that it is already so addictive that I spend large chunks of my day doing it anyway. While it may improve my writing (time will tell), it isn't actively pushing me toward my other goals. So, it no longer counts. Since I did do it consciously for a set hour during those days, however, I'm counting it for them.

Someone once told me that they like when my blogs have a final thought or question that ties the whole post together, something to take home with you and think about. Unfortunately, when I'm just babbling about my life like today, that's hard to do. So I will, instead, leave you with this song that has been stuck in my head since I heard it:

Shake It Off

Personally, I think the video's adorable.  I also leave you with this question that you should answer in the comments: While she's shaking off the haters, what do you need to just shake off?

I need to shake off using double spaces. Seriously, I think I had to backspace after at least every other sentence in this post.

My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer.  It's been 23 days since my last writer's block.
Today I wrote from 9:50-10:50pm.

Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 18

Hi.  My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer.  It's been 18 days since my last writer's block.
If you haven't already, please read Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 1.

I feel a desperate need today to point out that while it has been 18 days since the last day where I didn't write something, not all of those days involved writing anything GOOD.  I have also discovered that my chapter-a-week goal may be a little unrealistic.  Just a little.

Last week, I diligently made sure that Chapter 3 was written by my self-imposed deadline of Sunday night.  I really was never quite happy with it, though.  Things happened that were driven neither by events in the story nor the narrative process.  Characters acted completely out of character.  I had a girl in an all boys school.  It was a mess.  I hit all of the plot points I wanted to for the chapter, but I got there inelegantly.  And if there is one things I am not a fan of and will tear other authors apart for, it is inelegant plotting.  (Here's looking at you, J.J. Abrams's Star Trek reboot!)

Luckily (and I use this word hesitantly) for me, no one will ever read that chapter, because on a whim last night during my writing hour, I deleted every trace of the former Chapter 3 and started from scratch.  I knew that if I tried to use bits and pieces of it that I liked, I would end up forcing the same worthless plot upon myself, and I didn't want that to happen.

The new Chapter 3 is already much better.

There's another odd thing that I've found myself dealing with a lot lately.  People in my life are slowly either realizing or accepting that I am writing a book and am very serious about doing so.  Of course, the first question that anyone asks when they find out you're writing a book is either, "What kind of book?" or "What's it about?"

I find both questions hard to answer.

From a technical definition, I would file my book under the heading of 'low fantasy', but I think it would be almost as accurate to consider it 'high fantasy' or 'urban fantasy'.  (For explanations of what those terms actually mean, click on them and skim the Wikipedia articles.  If you're feeling really ambitious, actually read them.  I don't recommend it, though.  It's a dangerous and time-consuming habit to get into.)  Usually, I just say fantasy, but I feel like that leaves an unfortunate impression.  My book doesn't take place in a Dungeons and Dragons or LOTR sort of world, which I feel like is what most people expect when you say 'fantasy'.  It does, however, involve some weirdness and supernatural aspects.  Since I don't offer much explanation for the weirdness, I can't personally consider it sci-fi.

So, for now, my answer to "What kind of book?" is "Fantasy.  But probably not the kind you just thought of."

The other question is infinitely more difficult.

When I write, especially when I'm writing good stuff, I don't really know exactly what's going to happen.  I'm not sure of what plot points are important yet and I don't know if what I think the book is about is the same thing that you would think the book is about.  I'm not sure what's teaser material and what's spoilers.  Unfortunately, that means that at least for now, I have to stay very VERY vague.

Plot-wise (which I believe most people actually want to know about), my book is about a boy who gets someone in trouble and eventually finds out the world isn't quite what it seems.  So, you know, half the books on most people's shelves.  Is that vague enough for you?  Thematically (which is really kind of where this one all started), the book is about the power of words and the human imagination and how one person's decisions can affect other people.  That, however, makes the book sound WAY too high-minded for what it is.

Hopefully, one day I'll be able to tell people what it's is about without ruining it for them.

Hopefully.

In the meantime, I'll just continue to write it one day at a time.

The other day, I was thinking about people who do "Novel in November" or National Novel Writing Month or NaNoWriMo or whatever you want to call it.  The idea is that you are supposed to write 50,000 words between November 1st and November 30th.  That averages out to just under 1700 words a day.  Some people round it out to 2000 words a day for a total of 60,000 words by the end of the month.

From what I've read, most publishers would consider this a short novel.  Also, the movement focuses less on quality and more on quantity, believing that you can always go back and edit it later.  At least you have the first draft down.  For some, this is a good strategy.  For me, however, I don't think it would work.  Because of the way my fickle bitch of a muse works, I have to edit as I go.  If I just trudge forward telling myself that I'll do edits and rewrites later, they simply won't happen.

2000 words a day is pretty intense.  I've been shooting for around 2500 words for each of my chapters (No.  I don't know how many there will be.), so 2000 words a day would be about a chapter a day.

And I'm having trouble with a chapter a week!

I don't mean to scare people off of NaNoWriMo or suggest that it's a bad idea.  For some people, it could be a great starting point.  It's just not for me.

How could I write the entire book in a month when I can't even figure out what it's about?

My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer.  It has been 18 days since my last writer's block.
Today I wrote from 11:05pm-12:05.

A Friend Like Me

If for some strange reason, my blog is the only website on the internet that you visit that contains anything remotely related to news, you might want to make sure you're sitting down.  Today, the world lost a truly wonderful man.  Today, many people around the globe lost someone they didn't realize was important to them.  Today, the world is short one Robin Williams.

I have long claimed myself to be a cold-hearted monster.  I heard stories of presidents being assassinated and people crying and mourning their death, and I never understood.  Why would you mourn someone you never met?  Why would you cry over the death of someone that was basically a stranger to you?

Today, I understand.

I have never before been upset by hearing that a celebrity died, but today's news shocked me to my core.  Robin Williams has long been a sort of role-model for me.  He was goofy, charismatic, quick-witted, and fearless but simultaneously deep, emotional, and passionate.  He was probably the first actor I knew by name and has almost always been one of the first additions to any list I ever made of my favorite actors.

Many years back, I decided to cast the Greek gods using all A-List actors.  The first time I did this, I cast him as Dionysus.  At the time, my thoughts were that both were essentially big goofballs.  Things didn't stay that way.

As early as I can remember, my favorite movie was always Aladdin.  There are many fantastic characters in that movie including Jafar, one of the greatest villains of all time; Abu, probably the coolest pet anyone could own; Raja, animalkind's best hope of rivaling Abu for the title of coolest pet; and Jasmine, by far the most attractive Disney princess.  But all of that would still only add up to a really good movie.  Aladdin, however, is a GREAT movie because of one, simple, brilliant casting choice:  Robin Williams as Genie.

Genie was a fantastic character for the same reason that all of Robin Williams's characters were:  there was more to him than just a goofy demeanor.  When I was a kid, I loved watching and listening to Genie because he was rambunctious, wild, and fun.  As I've grown up, I love watching and listening to Genie because he's layered, emotional, and believable.  The same can be said for all the roles I knew him in as a child:  Mrs. Doubtfire, Professor Brainard, Peter Pan, Alan Parrish, and Patch Adams.  In all those roles, I feel in love with him as a kid because he related to me.  He was essentially a living cartoon character.  Then, as I grew up, I stayed in love with him because those roles continued to relate to me.  Those characters dealt with heartbreak, rejection, loneliness, and being held down by society's expectations.

It wasn't until many years later that I started to see Robin Williams as more than a goofball.  The first time it really stuck out at me was the movie Bicentennial Man.  That movie really isn't funny.  It is still one of the most beautiful movies I've ever seen, but it really isn't funny.  I was shocked, but it opened my eyes to a whole new world (yes, I meant to) of Robin Williams's talent.

I recently recast the Greek pantheon using actors that weren't necessarily A-List, but were definitely some of my favorites.  More importantly, they were actors I felt best fit the character I cast them as.  Robin Williams, of course, made the list once again.  This time, however, as I was looking through pictures trying to decide who to cast him as, I came across a shot of him from August Rush and immediately recognized who I wanted him cast as:  Apollo.

As time has progressed from my original casting, my interpretation of Dionysus (at least in the context of this dream casting) has gotten much darker and more malicious, and Robin Williams just didn't fit the part for me.  Apollo, on the other hand, is kind of an odd god.  He is, historically, one of the oldest gods in the Greek pantheon, but part of the second generation in the context of the mythology.  This leaves him with the odd position of being both an old and young god.  To me, that is Robin Williams.

When I was in High School, I was into competitive One-Act-Play pretty intensely.  It gave me an opportunity to shed my skin and be someone else for a little while.  My sophomore year, we did a play called The Day Room.  It is a very strange play about people that are most likely living in an insane asylum and living multiple lives.  It is, however, very confusing and I'm only mostly sure that that's what it's actually about.  We didn't advance with that play past the first level of competition, but, in a twist that I had never seen before and have never seen since, a cast member from our non-advancing play won one of the most coveted individual awards given at these competitions:  Best Actor.

Yes.  It was me.  I was awesome.

My part in The Day Room was, for the first half of the play, a guy at a hospital who is just there for a check-up, but turned out he was part of the psych ward (or something like that).  The second half of the play, however, took place in a collective delusion.  Everyone from the psych ward believed themselves to be at a hotel room, many of whom were planning on going to a play later.  I spent most of that half of the play sitting in a straight jacket in a rolly chair staring at a spot on the floor about three feet in front of me.  Every once in a while, someone else would point a remote at me, turn on the "TV" (me), and flip through the channels.

I was, so I'm told, rather hilarious, because I had a different voice for each channel that they flipped to and all our timing was perfect so that they clicked the button, I clicked on, changed channels, or turned off.  Our judge told us that she kept looking over at me expecting to see me moving during the interludes between channel surfs, but never caught me.

Then she gave me the single greatest compliment I ever received in my acting career.  She said that when she first read the play, she envisioned Robin Williams in that part and that he couldn't have done it any better.  That comment left me flabbergasted.  I didn't even know how to react to that.  Robin Williams was my idol and I had just been compared to him.  (Granted, my cynical self has analyzed the performance and maintains that he would have found a way to add more subtext, but oh well.)

For someone that grew up with as many (if not more) fictional friends as real ones, someone who could create as wonderfully entertaining, deep, and believable characters as Robin Williams is a godsend.  His characters were as much my friends as anyone I knew in real life.  As I said, I have never before felt much about the death of any celebrity, but I have also never had to deal with the death of someone I believe in so strongly.

It wasn't until this last year that I finally saw Dead Poet's Society (I know.  You can burn me at the stake later.), and to be perfectly honest, the reason I finally looked it up was because of an Apple commercial.  The passage that Robin Williams speaks over that commercial, however, touched me deeply, and his delivery of it was simply so powerful.  It was one of the things that pushed me deeper into me writing, because it sums up a piece of my philosophy on writing:

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute.  We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion.  Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love:  these are what we stay alive for.  To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?"  Answer: that you are here; that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.  That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

Robin Williams was my idol.

His characters were my friends.

And none of us will ever have a friend like him.

Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 7

Hi.  My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer.  It has been 7 days since my last writer's block.
If you haven't already, please read Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 1.

That's right, people.  Seven days!  No screw-ups!

As of today, I have officially written for one full hour every day for one week, and I am PUMPED!  Honestly, this is longest I've gone with consistent writing in well over a year (despite what I may have told some people).

Possibly even more exciting, I spent almost the entirety of that week on my book and . . . drumroll please . . . CHAPTER 2 IS DONE!!!  It still has to go to my primary editor to make sure it doesn't completely suck, but I really don't think it does.  I love it!  I had one little section that I got frustrated on, but I think that it could end up paying off.  Basically (without giving anything away) a character had to do something in order for the scene to progress, but that something was very vague.  Later on, the narrative process demanded that I reference that action again, but I didn't know why the action had taken place in the first place.  Thus, I was as confused then as you probably are trying to read the gibberish of the last couple sentences here.

Yesterday, we spent the entire day moving my sister into her new apartment, and carrying lots of heavy things up and down stairs when you're as out of shape as I am is exhausting.  By the time I got home and was in a place where I could do my writing for the day, I was so tired that I seriously considered not doing it.  I persevered, however, and maintained my streak.  I'm not saying it was a particularly productive hour, but dammit, I wrote!

I've found over the years that one of the most frustrating things about writing is that no one else ever seems as excited about it as I am.  I can't blame them.  I know I don't get as excited about certain things as other people.  I probably wouldn't be very excited if I were in their shoes, but that doesn't change how frustrating it is.  It's extremely disappointing and lonely to realize that you have no one in your life that you can talk to about something.

I'm not saying that I don't have anyone that I can go tell things to.  My editor and my accountabilibuddy are both huge supporters along with several other people, but I don't feel like any of them really understand.  There's no one that I can dance around with because I finished a chapter and it didn't suck.  There's no one that I can spoil the plot to who would understand why I don't know what my characters are doing.  I don't feel like there is really anybody in my life who understands what it's like to be both completely in control of someone and, simultaneously, be powerless to stop their actions.

I could be wrong.  Every single person reading this (you know, all four of you) might completely understand what I'm talking about, but if you do, let me know!  I need someone to get excited with me.

Having seen other people accomplish things, I know that once I have finished the book, there will be a line of supporters waiting to congratulate me and tell me how proud they are of me, but that doesn't help me right now.  It doesn't change the fact that I felt supremely alone when I finished chapter 2 and threw my hands in the air in triumph.  It doesn't make it any easier to celebrate by yourself.

So I now make this offer to you (Yes, you.  The person reading this right now.):  Tell me what you're celebrating.  Tell me what little thing you've accomplished that no one else seems to care about.  Tell me what you're proud of that others might not consider an accomplishment.  I will personally respond to every single person who tells me something, and we will celebrate together!  If you are close enough that we can celebrate in person, let's do it!  I will do my best to make it work.  If not, we'll celebrate electronically and still have a blast!

Just this once, don't celebrate alone.

My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer.  It has been a week since my last writer's block.
Today I wrote from 10:30pm to 11:30pm.

Writers Not-So-Anonymous: Day 1

Hi.  My name is Benjamin, and I'm a writer.  It has been 1 day since my last writer's block.

It started out as a passing thought:  Man, I really need to write more.
Which became a persistent theme:  Why am I not writing?
Which forced an introspective analysis:  Apparently, I am bad at self-motivation.
Which gave birth to an idea:  I need someone to keep me accountable.
Which led to a question:  Will someone be my accountabilibuddy?
Which yielded a volunteer.
Who made a half-joke:  It's like I'm his sponsor!
Which left me thinking . . . again.

It's really not a bad idea.  The whole idea, by my understanding, of things like Alcoholics Anonymous is that you find people who are dealing with the same thing as you.  Another part of it, someone once told me, was that it is a group of people (or at least one person (your sponsor (have I used enough parenthetical statements here?))) that you basically report to and turn to for support.  It's people to keep you accountable.

And it's brilliant.  It's something that I desperately need.

I want to write a novel.

There are not a whole lot of sentences that I can write out like that without lying.  I don't really know what I want to do with my life.  I have a few ideas of things to try, but I don't feel super passionate towards much else.

Apparently, I never did know what I wanted to do with my life.  I spent some time today thinking through what my responses were all those years that people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.

In early elementary (Forgive my impreciseness.  My autobiographical memory is pretty shoddy.  I'll explain later.) I remember there being an assignment where we drew a picture of what we wanted to be when we grew up.  I drew a person painting (and, of course, wearing the obligatory beret) and said I wanted to be a famous artist.  Not an artist.  A famous artist.  Let's be honest, I didn't really even know what that meant.

I remember at a camp that I went to, there was one night that they made a big deal of telling what you wanted to be when you grew up and I remember my answer very vividly:  I want to be a bio-genetic engineer.  Let's be honest, I didn't really even know what that meant.  Neither did anyone else, but they all thought it sounded impressive.  I told them it meant that I wanted to work with DNA, combining it from different creatures to create new species.  I'm still not sure what the actual term means (if anything).

The last time I really remember giving any kind of straight answer about what I wanted to do when I grew up was while I was filling out college applications.  Scholarship committees want to know what you plan on doing with the money they might be giving you, so I had an answer ready for them:  I was going to get my Ph.D. and become a college professor.  Let's be honest, I didn't really even know what that meant.  But it sounded nice, and that's what was important.

I've never settled on anything for very long that appealed to me as something to do when I grow up.  That is, except for this one solitary sentence:

I want to write a novel.

I'm not sure when I first started enjoying writing.  My family has had several times in the last month where we sat around talking about the past and memories from childhood.  I quickly realized that some of my most vivid memories were of me physically alone in my room, surrounded by a horde of my invisible . . . associates.  They weren't always friendly.  My memories of my adventures on the other side of my imagination are just as vivid as (more vivid in some cases) my memories of things that actually happened.

I've always made characters and stories.  I actually used to get frustrated when I tried to play with other kids, because they had no concept of character or story.  They just wanted to run around.  I wanted to get lost on the other side.

The first conscious memory I have of thinking that writing might be something I would be interested in doing was in my junior year of High School.  In my literature class, our teacher was having us write short stories.  Somewhere along the way, a joke was made about having an awards show when we were done writing them because it would be close to the time of year when the Oscars came on.  She took that joke and ran with it and the First Annual Lehman Awards were held.

The day of the awards, we all dressed up.  She had rolled out red butcher paper in the library to make a red carpet and there was a photographer there for the yearbook asking about what we were wearing.  There were hors d'oeuvres, a podium, and a table full of little trophies.

I was for more excited than I showed.  Or at least, I choose to believe I played it cool.

Our teacher presented the first award and that person got up, gave a little speech and presented the next award until everyone in the class had gotten one.  Some of the awards were silly, some were more serious.  Some were things like, "Best Love Story Since Twilight" or "Most Interesting Twist".  We laughed a lot that day at all the silliness.  I sat and listened to everyone else get their awards and laughed and clapped, all the while wondering what she had chosen to give me an award for.

I was the last person to win a category and it was drawing close to the end of class.  I looked around at some point and realized I was the only one who hadn't gotten an award yet and started getting excited.  Mine was definitely not what I expected.

I still have the certificate, and the trophy I got that day is sitting right in front of me right now.  But really, I don't need either to remember what my award was.  For the short story The Inevitable Future of the Avoidable Past, my award was "Winner of the First Annual Lehman Awards".  My pessimistic brain didn't understand this.  My immediate reaction was that there was simply nothing worth picking out of my story.  I assumed that that was the award simply because she couldn't think of anything else to give me.

She gave each of us a book with all of our short stories in it so that we could read each others' and I did so eagerly, hoping to figure out what was so much different about everyone else's that they got real awards and I didn't.  Again, I was surprised.

I preface my next statement with an apology:  I'm sorry to anyone else that might be reading this who had a story in that book.  I am sorry that what I am about to say is going to sound very conceited.  Truly, there were some good stories and some good prose in there.  I simply felt that mine, however, after reading them all as objectively as I could, was on a different level than all the others.  The story was more elegantly crafted, it moved better, the characters were more believable and it wasn't simply a rip-off of something that was already out there.  (Actually, the movie Eagle Eye came really close, but, in my defense, I didn't see that movie until last year.)

That was the first time I remember truly thinking that there might be something special in my writing.  Worlds, creatures, stories and characters had always come naturally to me.  That, however, was the first day that I truly came to respect my own writing abilities.

And so, we come full circle, to the only idea that has ever held any weight with regards to what I want to do when I grow up.

I want to write a novel.

Everyone who knows anything about this will tell you that the best way to learn how to write better is to read, write and accept critiques.  Observe, practice and get coaching.  Most people on the interwebs suggest setting out a particular place and time as your writing time.  A time when everything else is put on hold and you write.  Something.  What you write is supposedly not that important.

I have set a few goals for my writing:

• I will write for an hour every day.
• I will write at least one chapter in my novel every week.
• I will admit to someone if I fail at either of these goals.

The third goal is, for me, possibly the most important.  As the current state of my apartment will tell you, I am TERRIBLE at self-motivation.  I am almost tolerable with keeping stuff at least straightened if someone else will be using the area.  Over the summer, however, I have been living by myself and it has spent most of that time looking as if it had been ransacked.  (I promise I'll have it mostly cleaned up by the time you get home.)

That's where my accountabilibuddy, my sponsor, comes in.  She is going to contact me regularly and make sure that I am writing.  Knowing her, she won't let me off easy if I don't.

I can't promise you that I will write here every day.  I will promise you, however, that in my "Writers Not-So-Anonymous" entries, I will be completely honest about the writing that I am doing.  If you would like to join me on this adventure, you can read along.  I will try to post here a couple of times a week to give some updates.  Try here being the operative word.

You can also join me if you are struggling with the same thing.  If you would like to join Writers Not-So-Anonymous, feel free to leave comments or write your own blogs about it and send them to me.  We can link to each other!

My name is Benjamin and I'm a writer.  It has been 1 day since my last writer's block.
Today I wrote from 9:15pm to 10:15pm.