2014: The Year of the Thick Skin

Happy New Year to you all!

I do love this. A fresh page in the new diary. A lovely stretch of unspoiled snow. A brand new year ahead, full of optimistic wonder.

Do you have a spare axe handy? There's a pedestal needing cut down.

The diary will soon go through the painful transition between neat writing and the kind of scrawling even a doctor would struggle to translate. The snow will be tarnished with clumpy footprints and angel wings, before it melts. And although I've made plenty of goals for the year, I know fine well I'll forget half of them come February.

When I was nine years old, I was given a flute. I learned the basics very quickly, and had an affinity for it, but my flute teacher despaired. 'You're looking too far ahead, Catherine, stay in the bar you're in.'

I daresay not much has changed. So I hereby drag myself back for a moment to look at some of the defining moments of my writerly life from 2013:

• I joined the Johnstone Writers Group, discovered my writing was shite, and was given (and continue to receive) great feedback.

• I submitted a short story to Pure Slush, and after many, many edits, it was finally accepted. Read The Futile Filcher here.

• I enrolled in a writing class at Glasgow University, found out my writing was still shite, and was given more feedback. A lot of it.

• I submitted a short story to the Scottish Book Trust New Writers Award (in which I was shortlisted last year), with my newfound wisdom and finesse, and received a generic rejection email.

None of that sounds particularly positive, does it? But it is. All of it is entirely necessary for me.

The writing class only finished last month, and on my last day I sat in a room full of people and listened to them slaughter the opening chapter of my novel for the best part of an hour. Don't get me wrong, they were entirely correct, and I scribbled away, thanking them profusely, but I was shattered. I drove home in a daze, wondering how I could still get it so utterly wrong after all this time; after all those hours in the library; after all the lunch breaks and morning pages? I showed up and put the work in, sake! So how could I still be so off the mark? 

I don't mind admitting this now, but when I got home from that class I threw my papers down, buried my face in Colin's neck and sobbed. I was a crushed wee petal.

I'm so glad it happened.

I have a copy of that critique, with all its glaring issues, and I use it when editing my work. I've been using it to polish the short stories that are lining up, waiting to be submitted to some of my favourite online literary journals.

All the feedback I've been given this year has shaped my writing in some way or another, but it's time to shut the door for a while. I can see the light, my flaws are exposed, and now I need to work on them. The novel needs a bit of an overhaul, and some of the scenes need rethinking. But I know the story is good. I know the ideas are good and I need to remember that.

You can show up at the writing table 24 x 7, but it's pointless if you don't have confidence in your own ability.

This time last year, I wrote about having to curb my impatience when it came to my writing accomplishments. I was obsessed with publication. But it has to be said, publication (for my novel, at least) is not my priority at the moment. I do want it, of course, but there are more pressing issues at hand. If publication is the Heaven, then writing well is the pearly gate I'm trying to unlock.

This quote by Ira Glass sums up everything for me. Everything!

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”

And so I wish you all a productive and confidence-filled 2014. I'd love to know: how has your writing been shaped? Would anyone like to share their critiquing horror stories?

Take care
Catherine x


P.S. Look what someone got for Xmas!

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2014: The Year of the Thick Skin

Patience is the art of concealing your impatience.

Guy Kawasaki

Impatience, in my view, is one of those painful appendages of any writer. Whether it spurs a writer on or thrusts them into an abyss of worthlessness and underachieving despair, it appears to be a very common attribute amongst us who covet The Novel with our name printed boldly on the spine.

In 2012, I followed the journeys of writers who churned out three, four, ten novels at eye-watering speed. Some have later voiced regret at their haste, wishing they'd taken more time to perfect their work. Perhaps their growth as a writer enabled them to look back at their earlier efforts with a more critical, vicious eye. A cruel punishment for personal progress, you could say, but still a step in the right direction in my mind. You wouldn't want to look back and say “I wish I could still write like that”, would you?

In contrast, I've followed writers who have visibly deteriorated in their expectations of themselves: who apologise profusely for not having blogged in a few days, or get defensive about their perceived lack of progress: who set unrealistic – not to mention public – deadlines, only to burn out when they fail to reach them. I've been partial to a bit of that myself in the past; some of my old posts can only be read through a gap in fingers that cover my eyes with the mortification of it all!

With the Internet making the lives and journeys of other writers more accessible, comes the inevitable unfair comparisons. Many a time I've found myself thinking “look at how much they've accomplished... I'll never be able to write three books in a year”. Never mind the fact that I have absolutely no desire to condense my projects in that way: I automatically see their accomplishment as THE accomplishment. THE path. The path to what is debatable, but it's a complete path nonetheless, whilst my path is still being laboriously paved, brick by brick. I have to make peace with that and be patient.

Another misery I've fallen victim to is when I read all about how much fun other writers have: when their characters leap out and take over, and how these writers are just along for the ride, documenting all their wonderful antics. I smart at these declarations, consumed by jealousy. It's like going for dinner with the couple who can't stop gazing into one another's eyes, whilst you and your man fizzle with hostility because you've been arguing about who's turn it was to do the dishes earlier.

Don't get me wrong, I find writing immensely gratifying, but I'm never sitting there with a big cheeser on my face, falling deeply in love with these characters I made two chapters ago. Even when I'm writing my first drafts (which I now know is much more fun than rewriting/editing), I can't bring myself to gush about them. I grow fond of them, yes, but I'm wise to all their traits, not just the ones that charm me. To really know them is to despise them at times, in the same way your nearest and dearest can piss you right off! I'm sure the feeling is mutual: at the moment, I'm editing my “Brothers” novel and the majority of my characters are being a pain in the arse, to be frank. They keep changing things and making things difficult. Perhaps they'd be more co-operative if I figured out what their great-grandmother's doctor's mother's maiden name was.

I'm tempted to list off a bunch of goals for 2013. I like reading other people's goals and I love making lists. But I can't. I can't even say I'm 20%, 40%, 60% or even 2% complete on any one of my five first-draft novels. I have a funny feeling I've made things difficult for myself in the way I'm going about it all, but I have to make peace with that and be patient. I'm putting in the time and commitment, as well as regularly contributing to my “To Do Better Next Time” document, so the more mistakes I make, the better. *said through gritted teeth*

I'm taking this opportunity to wish all other writers a productive 2013. If you're as impatient as me, and you feel that you don't really have a lot to show for 2012, then just tell yourself what I'm telling myself: Put the work in. It will all become significant one day, even if it doesn't seem like it now. Be patient.

This will be my last post for the Insecure Writers Support Group. Aside from the A to Z Blogging Challenge in April, I will most likely only be posting once a month from now on, and I don't want to bleat on about my insecurities in every post. I shall, however, continue to support and follow the terrific writers of the #IWSG and recommend any writer to do the same.

To end on a positive note, I'm thrilled to announce that I was shortlisted in the Scottish Book Trust's New Writers Award. I'm honoured to have made an impression as there were so many applicants, and it has given me a nice wee confidence boost to take into the new year!

Take care,

Catherine x

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Patience is the art of concealing your impatience.

#IWSG: 2012 round up.

Since this is the last #IWSG post for 2012, I thought I'd do an end-of-year round up. Filled with anguish, of course.

This year, I've written four novels (first drafts, I hasten to add!), each varying in length. If I add last year's NaNo novel, I now have five first drafts under my belt, and I love each of them dearly.

So, why didn't I just write one novel at a time, from first to final draft, like a normal writer?

Looking back, I was too insecure to take these first drafts further, so moved on to another project and put everything else on my "To Be Written Properly" shelf.

I guess 2012 was my year of learning how to write, voraciously and inexhaustibly.

Aside from the WIPs, I've filled several notepads with notes, ideas and observations. I keep a journal on my laptop (started on 1st Jan 2012), which is now on its 296th page (with size 8 font to keep prying eyes away!). I write two pages as soon as I get out of bed, before I get ready for work (it's disgustingly difficult, but always worth it). If I'm not writing, I'm thinking about writing. If I'm blogging less on here... it's because I'm writing instead of talking about writing.

It's fair to say I'm obsessed committed.

2013 will be my year of learning how to write well.

The end of NaNo left a big gap in my writerly life. I'm filling this month with writing craft exercises and extreme notepad entries, but I feel like I'm weaning myself off the high-volume output, ready to get set for... *drum roll* editing.

I'm happy with my structure, action and dialogue. I'd just prefer to articulate the words in a more... beautiful manner. I take great pleasure from reading a well-written book (such as The Blue Notebook by James A. Levine, or The Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford) and I hope to create that same enjoyment in anyone who reads my books.

I'm terrified I won't live up to my high expectations. But we'll see.

So... here's to a year of writing well.

What are your goals for 2013? How has your 2012 been? I'd love to know!

Please visit all the other lovely people on the Insecure Writer's Support Group. We all thrive on encouragement, we really do.

Take care,
Catherine x ◦

#IWSG: 2012 round up.

#IWSG: Self-Sabotage

(My second IWSG post. Yay!)

I'm almost embarrassed to ask this question, for fear of exposing myself as a psychopath, but does anyone else suffer from an overwhelming compulsion to sabotage their own efforts, in writing or anything else that's important to them?

I do. It's like there's a tiny monster in my head pretending to be my wee pal. Lets call him Bampot.

My lunch hour writing sessions have fast become the most productive of all my writing. Every time I go back to my desk, I'm brimming with a feeling of accomplishment.

So why, then, does little Bampot say to me in the mornings: "don't bother taking your laptop to work with you today, you might drop and break it. You'll just hurt your shoulder humphing it around anyway. You can freewrite at your desk..." and so on.

It's not the first time Bampot has reared his ugly head. He fast appears when I want to do something creative with my life. When I was thirteen, my music teacher invited me to join the Strathclyde Arts Jazz Group. I was terrified, but went along anyway. And I was so glad I did. I'd be up there, doing my flute solo (yes, Jazz Flute, just call me Ron Burgundy), being part of this amazing musical creation. There's nothing else like it, I tell ye.

So why, then, did Bampot convince me to "forget" to take my flute from the school's music cupboard the night before our practise sessions? "You can still go and watch," he'd say to me, "it just means you don't have to play. Don't put yourself under that pressure. You might mess up your solo and look like a fool."

So I'd turn up empty handed, making my excuses. But my music teacher, Mr. Gourlay, he knew the score. He'd bring my flute with him when I "forgot". I have a feeling he knew I was at it, and I'm grateful to him for that; for pushing me out of my comfort zone. It's one the best things you can do for someone, in my opinion. By the time I made my way back home, I was high with adrenaline, so happy to have been part of the magic again. That creative buzz is quite addictive, you know. Shame I'd always try to "forget" my flute the next week, and the next...

I think everyone has a little Bampot in their head. One that tells you: don't bother applying for that job, you won't get it. Give your boyfriend one more chance. He treats you like shit, but he's alright sometimes. He's more than you deserve anyway. What's the point in dieting? Would you rather eat rabbit food and be miserable for the rest of your life? Here, have a chip. You can't give up smoking, you enjoy it and it's good for your stress levels. You could get knocked down and killed by a bus tomorrow, for all you know. Life's too short.

Don't write that book. You don't know what you're doing. There are millions of books out there, all written better than yours. Look at these authors, spouting out three books a year and you're still working on your first. Never mind being an author. It's not what it used to be anyway; you have to be a PR mogul whilst you're at it these days. It's not what you write, it's who'll review your book. Just do yourself a favour and stick to reading books and writing the occasional journal. You'll save yourself a lot of pain and time. How wonderful would it be not to be plagued by feelings of inadequacy anymore? Just give it up. You tried your best. It wasn't meant to be.

Sometimes defying Bampot feels like you're going against your natural instincts. But from what I've experienced in life so far, he only pops up when you're on the cusp of improving yourself; at risk of becoming a better person. Don't let him win. See him as a test. Really good things don't come without a fight.

I shouldn't let Bampot wear me down with my writing. I've refused to surrender to him for many things in my life. And it's been more than worth it every time. He won't get me this time either, I'll make sure of it. And all my fellow #IWSG lovelies should fight against Bampot too!

How are you all getting on anyway? I've been away on a trip to Dublin, so it feels like forever since I immersed myself in the bloggy world. Do give me your gossip! I'll come visit you when I can :) x

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#IWSG: Self-Sabotage