When You're "Up There..."

A while back my girlfriend and I went to see David Sedaris. If you don't know who he is, he's a writer of short stories and essays. He's been published in The New Yorker as well as numerous other magazines, has several collections of short stories, and has a very unique sense of humor and style. We loved seeing and hearing him.

The reason I mention him today is because, back when we saw him, as he was reading a piece to the audience, we noticed that he was making marks on it based on how the audience was reacting. He was marking it up AS he was performing it... revision on the fly.

 Flash forward to last night.

There's an open mike night, called "Musings," at the local bookstore, Books At Sunset, a half mile from my house. I was up in front reading a story I had written about typography class and one day in particular. As I was up there in front of maybe 35 people, I was able to read and feel their reactions as I read from my story. I sensed certain parts were slow and not as interesting, as well as the parts that they enjoyed. It was like my mind was in high speed because I thought in two completely separate streams. One was reading and saying the words, while simultaneously one was thinking, "Okay.. that part needs to be cut. It just didn't work. Hmmm.. I could change that to this. And that part was way too long before getting to the point. Why did I even think this story was funny? I should have used that other story I wrote last week. Why do I do this to myself anyway? I practically read a first draft in front of a crowd. That's just asking for disappontment. Never ever do that again. Dang. I hope they like the end. That's probably the best part."

And it was. The last paragraph was the funniest part. But I bet I could have shortened the piece by half and made the whole experience better for all of us.

Wow. What a lesson.

Something I read recently...

In one of the books I'm reading, "The Writer's Digest Handbook of Short Story Writing, Vol II", an article told of how one should start their story at the moment where the main character was teetering on the edge of something big. Where major change was imminent.

The author, Ray Sorrels, illustrated the concept with a table and a fragile teacup resting in the middle of it. He said that as long as the teacup sat in the middle of the table, it was safe. Nobody was worried about it, and there was nothing really worth talking about.

But, as the teacup was moved closer to the edge, tension mounted. Worry, suspense, anticipation all went up. People's heart rates increased. They moved a little closer to the edges of their seats and watched. They bit their nails, they had to have a cigarette, they paced.

And when the teacup was poised on the very brink of falling over and breaking, at that moment, frozen in time, everything was about to change. In a huge way. Especially for the teacup.

That's where the author of the article said to start your story.

He said to think of the teacup as your main character. Put him or her at the instant of that change, and go from there.


I thought about this. Especially being a relatively new writer and always looking for ways to motivate myself or make my task a little more doable.

And being a person with a lot of empathy, I put myself there too. I felt what the character was feeling.

This came really easy to me. I wondered why, and then it hit me: This very moment when my character is teetering on the brink of a huge change... I'm right there with him.

I'm on the brink of a major change too.

Considering all the work that goes into writing a novel or a story; all the time and energy and coffee and late nights and beautiful sunny days where I'm sitting inside racking my brains for just the right words... All the Ibuprofen I'm going to need. All the booze and all the cigarettes... all the missed soccer games and the dishes that never get washed...

It's a huge commitment.

If... and that's the big word.. IF... I make this decision and stick with it, not only is that teacup going to be changed... my character changed...

I'm going to be changed. I'll never be the same. Good or bad, I will have changed, permanently.


I thought about that too...

If there's going to be huge change inside of me, I can channel those feelings. If I look at what I'm going through and the flow of the story and the obstacles I need to overcome, I can pour those same feelings into my character. All the nervousness, the self doubt, the anticipation and excitement. All the frustration and struggle, and the successes and milestones. I can project through him or her what is happening inside of me.

And you know, I think this is what happens with all novelists and story writers. A part of themselves is channeled into the character, or characters, or story or setting or theme.

All of this is probably so obvious to you who are either professionals or have been doing this for some time. But for me, as new to this as I am to blogging, this realization is a revelation... an epiphany...

I see that I don't necessarily have to be alone on this journey. My character is there with me. We're travelers together. He or she follows along with every word I write and struggle over. And struggles with me to get it all said. And I'm sure we will have occasional disagreements. But, like in a real relationship, we're in it together. He or she gets to explore the unopened rooms and talk to the police and chase after the crook and climb the face of the cliff and crawl through the tunnels.

And I get to carry the sticky notes and scraps of paper and laptop and spiral notebook and pencils and follow where he or she goes and write down what matters.

I just have to be willing to jump off the edge with them.

The "Kas Wilton" Assignment..

Elgin Community College has a fiction class. It's taught by a woman who's written a novel and she runs it like a writing worshop, not a formal classroom.

One of her standard assignments is to write a story given the first line. In this case, "Kas Wilton went to the store..."

Some people's stories have gone on to be featured in the school's literary magazine published once a year. My story was written just for fun and a bit auto-biographical... and a bit not.

Here it is, just for fun:


Kas Wilton went to the Barnes and Noble. In the section where the writing books were he found a copy of Novel Writing for Dummies. He went up to the check out where a girl of about twenty stood chewing gum. He set the book down in front of her.
"Are you a member?"
"Huh?" Kas said. He had been staring through the window at three girls outside the store, the hoods of two cars were up and the girls were trying to connect the batteries with jumper cables.
"Are, you, a, mem - ber?" the girl behind the counter said.
"I heard you the first time, you..." He stopped himself, and pretended to cough. "Yes." He opened his wallet, took out his card and handed it to her.
"Ummm..," the girl said, and handed it back to him.
"Ummm, what? What now?" He felt himself sweating.
"We're Barnes and Noble here. Your card is for Borders. See... B, O, R, D, E, R, S" Holding the card towards him. She blew a bubble with her gum and popped it.
"Oh... " he took his card back. "Well, I guess I'm not a member here after all," he said, and chuckled.
The girl stared at him with no expression on her face. She rung up the book and said, "That'll be 17.53."
Kas searched for his credit card. He could have sworn it was here. He had used it last night at the restaurant to pay for dinner with his girlfriend Janey. Not a very good dinner either. Janey did nothing but nag at him about getting a higher paying job. She wanted to stay home and start an online jewelry company and wanted Kas to help finance it. He looked out the window past the girl to the parking lot. The three girls were still there. He'd have to stop and offer his assistance once he got out of here.
The girl saw where he was looking and moved into his way. "Hello?" she said.
Kas glared at her, but she was already looking at the ceiling and humming some tune to herself.
He checked the pockets of his jacket. Nothing. He pulled out a handful of loose bills, but there was no credit card. By now, several people behind him were gathered and waiting in line. Someone behind him coughed.
"We take cash." The girl said, pointing to the handful of bills.
"I know, I know... hang on, just a second."
The crowd behind him was larger now and he heard some people mumbling and groaning. The girl sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. Kas tried another pocket inside the jacket. Nothing there either. By now, Kas felt his hair getting damp and beads of sweat creeping down along the side of his face. Fine, he thought, just pay cash and get the heck out of here, "Uh, how much was that?"
"Se - ven - teen dol - lars and fif - ty three cents."
He handed her a twenty dollar bill wishing he had had a hundred so she would have to give him lots of change. She counted out his change and gave it to him slowly. She put the receipt and the book in a bag and handed it to him. Kas tried to maintain some dignity. "I'm a writer," he said.
The girl rolled her eyes again, popped her gum again and said to the crowd behind Kas, "I can help the next person."

Kas left the store, fuming, and glad to be away from that annoying girl. He'd have complained to the manager about her except he had a mission. He had decided earlier that week that he was going to write a novel. He headed for his car with his book and got inside. He thought there was something he wanted to do. What was it? Oh well. He started the engine and was just about to put it in gear when someone tapped on his window. It was one of the three girls he had seen earlier trying to connect the jumper cables. Kas rolled down his window.
"I'm sorry," she said. "But can you help us. We don't know how to jump start our car."
Kas found himself staring. If this girl wasn't a model, he was sure she would be some day. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Playboy, Or better yet, on the centerfold. His mind drifted, and he found he was smiling, really big and obviously.
"Uh... wha... er.. what did you say again?"
"We just need to know which wire to connect to.. or the battery or something." Kas got out of his car and smelled the girl’s perfume in the air. He imagined himself a photographer and these three girls in a photo shoot in his private studio. He thought maybe he should be a photographer instead of a writer.
He showed the girl where the battery was. The terminals were under a plastic cover. He released the cover and connected the jumper cables for her. "Okay, try it now," he said.
The girl inside the car tried it and the engine started right up. "Oh, thank you," the first girl said, and came over to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. The other two blew kisses at him and waved. He stood there smiling and watched as the three girls drove away. One in one car and two in the other.
He was about to get back in his car when he saw a girl in a blue Toyota staring at him... no... she was glaring. He'd seen her before somewhere, but where? He racked his mind, and as he did so, the girl glared even more like she was trying to shoot bolts of fire at him out of her eyes. As his brain, and other parts of him, returned to earth, he thought, Oh, shit. He remembered where he'd seen her before. It was Janey.
"Janey.. uh... hi... what are you doing here? I was just..." he said.
"You asshole," Janey said, and started to drive away.
Kas ran ahead and got in front of her car and stood there. "Janey, wait," he said, and when she came to a stop, he walked to the driver side window.
He was just about to lean into the window to talk to her when she pulled his ring off her finger, threw it at him. "Keep your cheap piece of plastic," she yelled , and when he scrambled after it to keep it from rolling into a sewer grating, she hit the gas and sped away.
Kas pocketed the ring and debated whether or not to follow her and finally decided if he was ever going to get some writing done, it was going to have to start today. He got into his car, picked up the book and thumbed through its pages breathing in the scent of fresh ink. "I know, I'll write about what just happened," he thought. "That will be a good place to start." Then he saw that the three girls who he had just helped were across the street at the Victoria’s Secret, and he decided then and there to take up photography too. He got out of his car and went back into the store.

What the...???

Ahhhh... the joys of being a homeowner...

I remember when I first moved in. I'd hear some sound in the night and wonder what the heck was that? I'd get up and hunt it down. And then it would be only the furnace or sump pump or twigs brushing against the side of the house or a branch rubbing against the phone wire.

Kind of like how mothers are huh?Ones with babies at least.When there's the slightest sound in the night, they're up.Was that the baby? What does he need? Is he okay?Stuff like that.

Well... today..There I was, laptop set up at the kitchen table, hot cup of sugary coffee there at my left hand, all set to start working on a part of a story when I hear what sounded like a jackhammer noise coming from the south side of the house.

Not a continuous jackhammering. Just a staccato. Like bursts of fire from a machine gunner. Like the guy is just warming up and getting a feel for the thing until the real busting apart of the concrete begins.

So I get up and look through the blinds and... hmmm... nothing happening across the street. Maybe there's something farther down. Like maybe a guy is busting up a driveway or a water main broke. But this IS Elgin.. and this IS the west side. Maybe it IS a machine gun.

So I'm looking out the window and then I hear it again.

Hey, that doesn't sound like it's outside. It's coming from my house!

First thing I thought was that it was the sump pump trying to run but maybe the bearing had, over the years, gone bad, and it had seized up.

So I go downstairs thinking, "Oh shit. I do not need this."

I jiggled the wires to the sump pump and... It started up.

Thank God that's not broken.

Oh, maybe the prongs of the power cord just weren't making contact. Maybe the vibration just worked them to a point where they weren't touching perfectly. I could fix that. At least the pump isn't seized. So I go back upstairs and sit back down at the computer.

Then the noise happens again.

And five seconds later again.

So now I look out the bedroom windows. Maybe the sound is coming from the front of the house and, like a cricket's chirp, is just bouncing off something else and appearing to come from the south.

Nope. Nothing out there. So then I go outside. And while I was standing on the back porch, I heard the sound again. This time it appeared to come from the west. So I go and look down the street.

Nothing. Some parked cars and maybe a couple of garbage cans that haven't been wheeled into their back yards, but other than that, nothing that could make a jack-hammer sound.

But hey, at least it's not something wrong with the house.

So I go back inside. Sit back down and...

rat-a-tat-a-tat-tat-a-rat-a-tat-a-tat....

I could swear that is coming from my house. Damn. I gotta find out what's going on.

Then I thought, I've been hearing raccoons on my roof, or large squirrels on steroids, or testosterone, romping around after 9:00PM. Maybe it's one of them up on the roof, doing I have no idea what. Trying to break in? Having wild squirrel sex? Wanting to get in on some of the ten pounds of almonds I just bought at the Fisher Nuts Outlet?

So, I go outside again and, right as I was about to go get the ladder and investigate, I hear the noise.

I look up at the top of the house and I see... perched atop the chimney like he's playing snare drum in a band and waiting for the conductor to point to him..

a woodpecker.

He's just sitting there, hanging on to the side of that grating kind of thing and using the top part as a drum.

I went to get my camera but when I came out again, he flew off into the neighbor's tree. But it was this guy. The Flicker.

What he wanted with my chimney, who knows. There's no wood up there to peck on.

Maybe it was the almonds...

Obstacles and Distractions...

When it comes to writing, I've always had a difficult time coming up with conflicts and obstacles to put in the way of my characters. I struggle with making things difficult for them. I think the difficulty springs out of my natural desire, in real life, for things NOT to be in conflict. Some people thrive in the midst of conflict, hassles, trouble, and catastrophes. These people would make good emergency workers or generals. They bloom, they prosper, they thrive, they get more creative.

Not me.

I work better when there's a sense of peace; physically and especially emotionally.

And so in the writing world in my head, there's a hesitancy to introduce problems.

But, here in real life, especially when it comes to writing and finding time to do it, obstacles pop up like crazy. Like boils.. like zits on a teenager.. like squirrels after my bird feeder. I don't even have to try. They're a whole self-replicating and constantly mutating species. Ever evolving to find quicker, more efficient ways to create distraction. When it comes to obstacles, they spontaneaously create themselves. As if they step out of some other dimension into mine. They materialize out of nothing. Neutrinos can't even pass through them. They would survive a nuclear war.

It's like as soon as my hands move towards a keyboard, a switch toggles. A light goes on that tells a whole army of distractions to line up at the door and come pouring through into my life.


Today...
I went to work early. Wooohooo.. 30 whole minutes of time to write before work started.

And in 30 minutes, I didn't get a single word written. I didn't even get to see the keybord.
I turned the computer on, and then they guy here who's been telling every living soul all about his Ebay buying hassles came along.

Next thing I knew, the clock had spun a half hour ahead and the boss showed to ask me for the drawings I was working on.


Same at home.

Sit down to write and the phone rings.
Get up to answer it, wrong number.
Sit back down and then realize I left the wheat thins box in the kitchen.
Get back up because I'm starving.
Sit back down and the smoke detector goes off.
Get back up to fix it.
Sit back down and for unknown reasons, the internet doesn't work.
Get back up and fiddle with the internet router.
Sit back down and damn, I forgot my coffee cup next to the internet router.
Get back up to go get it.
Sit back down and spill it.
Get back up to get some paper towels. Trip over power wire, knock laptop on floor.

It's endless.

Obstacles and conflicts are easy in real life. They happen automatically. It's like I'm the only one at the office with a bag of chocolate and everyone is coming to my desk.

But only when I'm trying to write.

Argh...

Hey, that's an idea... I know a way to give my character some conflicts.
I'll just write a story about a guy who sits down and tries to write a story.

Cool. That'll work.
I sit down... get all set to write it and...

Hmmm... My sweet tooth acts up. Now I need to have some chocolate...