Unfinished Business

Everyone makes a big deal out of New Year Resolutions. They're meaningless. Most people don't follow through on their January 1st declarations. More often than not, by January 2nd, the personal resolve fades. Really, if you were serious about what you said you wanted to do, you'd be doing it already.

That's why I purposely waited until now to blog in the New Year -- January 2nd --to talk about follow-through, both in writing and in life.

I have stored, on multiple hard-drives and in boxes, the beginnings of many fiction stories, both short and novel-length. All of them were abandoned, for one reason or another. With some, I just had no idea where to take the story. Others were left unfinished because other priorities took over -- be it my kids, my family, an editing or writing gig, blogging, or hanging out and talking with my friends. But really, they were excuses. I managed to write and edit other things -- jokes, essays, feature stories and blog posts -- but I always had a reason to not get back to my stories.

Honestly, I'd often struggle with the fiction once I got past my beginning. I got to the point where I hated what I was writing and found the story draining. I'm very good at deconstructing a fiction story, finding the problems and solutions for other people. But for some reason, constructing the fiction just ain't in me.

I used to promise myself that, one day, I'd buckle down, eliminate the distractions and finish those stories. And this is the point where most writers would declare their New Year's resolution to get those stories finished, write X number of pages per day, and complete their Great American Novel. But I'm not going to do that.

I'm leaving those stories abandoned. I'm letting them go.

Because really, if I was serious about what I said I wanted to do, I'd be doing it already.


Back in October, I read a post on the Advanced Riskology blog that really stuck with me, especially the opening section:

"Every decision you make is life or death. Every single one leads to one result or the other -- even the seemingly insignificant ones. When you decide to do something you love, you choose to live. When you decide to do something you don't, you choose to die, it really is that simple."

Personally, last year was -- for lack of a more poetic term -- a crap-tacular disaster for me. Among other things, my grand, years-in-the-making career plans to -- finally -- write fiction in a graduate school creative writing program went down in flames, and for a very long time after that happened, it felt like my dreams had died. I have been, to a certain extent, mourning that loss over the last six months.

The one bright spot has been launching my WordNerdGirl business, because I do love making things funny, writing essays and feature stories, writing this blog and editing stories and scripts for other people. LOVE IT. I've had a chance to work on projects I never would have tackled years ago.

Also, I've been taking improv classes (not -- it should be noted -- fiction writing classes, which I could have easily done). Initially, I did it to blow off steam and forget about my life aboard the Titanic. But learning how to perform and be funny on stage has done wonders for my writing. I'm exploring things I had always told myself I could never do. It's been challenging, but it also has been the thing that's made me feel alive, when so much else in my life has -- for lack of a more poetic term -- sucked.

It is January 2, 2011 and I am not a fiction writer. It is not something I love to do. It's something I always wanted to do. It is something I used to love to do, years ago, when I was a different person. And it's something I always thought I should be able to do. But I don't love it. So I'm letting it go.

I write almost every day. I am a funny writer, an essay writer, a script writer, a news and features writer, a kick-ass story editor and script doctor, and I am a WordNerdGirl blogger. But I am not a fiction writer.

Sometimes, I think, it takes coming face to face with what you are not to help you figure out what you are. It really is that simple.

If yesterday, you resolved to write more, submit your unpublished stories, or start a blog, it doesn't really matter. The real question is, what are you going to do today, January 2nd? And March 14th? And July 5th?  Writers write. If you are not writing on this day, or that day -- for whatever the reason -- then you are not a writer that day. And that's okay too.

My 2011 wish for everyone -- writers and not-writers alike -- is that you try new things, every day, figure out who you are not, and become who you are.

Happy New Year.

Referenced link: Advanced Riskology: Every Decision is Life or Death

'Mad Men' Explains Punctuation: How Semicolons are Like Joan Holloway

;Semicolons
Semicolons are like Joan Holloway in Mad Men; a sexy wink and a smile, semicolons got it goin' on – with the curve down there, stacked with the dot up there. When you see a semicolon in a sentence, if used the right way, you know that it must have something smart to say. Semicolons make sense out of large, messy sentences, usually created by misguided, scatterbrained commas. They're also a smart way to link two independent clauses -- sentences that can stay separated, but are always so much better when they hook up. You don't notice semicolons because they are flashy and overused, like the exclamation point! (Exclamation points are the Snooki of punctuation.) They don't demand attention; they command it. Semicolons know what you want to say and, if used correctly, help you say it with style and class.

, Commas

If semicolons are the Joan Holloway, commas are the secretarial pool. They're everywhere and used frequently. When they're where they're expected to be in a sentence, no one really notices. But when they don't show up, or show up at the wrong time, it causes big problems. They're overworked and, for everything they do, they're underappreciated. They're expected to set off dependent clauses, clarify parentheticals, support conjunctions and quotations, separate adjectives... and that's only a small sample of the demands placed on them.  Like a drunk secretary steering a lawn mower through the office, they can cause real damage to your writing. And, if in the wrong place at the wrong time, they create the kind of chaos that breaks apart subject-verb relationships.

...Ellipses
Ellipses are those three periods in a row that trail off a sentence, or appear in the middle of quotes. Ellipses always leave you wondering, "What was left out? What aren't they saying?" Ellipses are the Don Draper: they only like the beginnings of things. Sometimes, the ellipses is there to indicate that something was purposely omitted. It can also be used to let the reader to draw their own conclusions. You're following along with the sentence's thought when... what? Whether out of necessity or choice, when you use an ellipses, its presence almost always has an air of mystery.

.Periods
 Periods are the Burt Cooper, the president and patriarch of punctuation. All other punctuation marks work in service of the period. In very long sentences, periods rely on the employ of the other marks to keep things running smoothly. If they do their jobs right, the sentence works and makes the period look good. If they don't, you can wind up with a confusing, run-on sentence that leaves you wondering why the period didn't show up sooner. When you see a period, no matter how odd or strange the sentence may be, the discussion has closed and the final word has been spoken.

Keep It Simple, Say It Plainly.

I was talking to a friend earlier this week about how you can tell when a writer is trying too hard. The signs are usually obvious, even to an untrained eye:

• Strained similes and metaphors are in every other sentence.
• Every adjective sounds like it was the 5th entry in a thesaurus search.
• Most words have a three-syllable minimum.
• Ideas and events are told, then shown, then explained again, but with different words. And then there's the summary...

Every writer does this. All of 'em, me included, though I've found it's most common with people who are either inexperienced or trying to impress people. Most of the time, this is done with good intentions. When you care about what you're writing -- whether it's a grant proposal, a college essay, a screenplay, a speech or a magazine article -- you want it to be good. Memorable. Perhaps even unforgettable. You want to make a good impression, or get your point across. So you go the extra mile to make every sentence great, because you care about your work -- it's all about the work, dammit!

If this sounds like you, stop. You're not doing yourself, your readers or (if you're writing for publication) your editors any favors.

It's very easy to get so caught up in The Writing that you forget about The Reader. Your sentence could use the most original words and imagery ever written, but if the reader has to slog through large, long blocks of text, unfamiliar words and confusing comparisons, it won't matter, because they will stop reading. This point does warrant a repeat, and extra formatting:

They will stop reading.


Whether you're writing The Great American Novel, or an email to colleagues, you don't have work sentences into flowery prose, explain every minute detail, or use words that you've only ever heard on the National Spelling Bee. A little bit of the fancy stuff here and there is great -- it makes the writing interesting, both for you and the reader. But when it's too much, your story gets confusing, your message gets lost, and no one has heard that thing you labored so hard and so long to say.

More often, it is the short, straightforward words that are the most powerful. That's what people remember and respond to most.

Keep it simple. Say it plainly.

Yes, And...?

Disclaimer: This blog post will not be edited, reread or proofed in any way, shape or form (I'll explain why in a moment), and does not represent the usual high-quality standards of Your Friendly Neighborhood WordNerdGirl.

Whew, that was hard... I reread those sentences as I was writing them, at least six times before I moved onto this one. Okay, baby steps -- I'll go one paragraph at a time.

Anyway -- hey there and hi. I haven't been around much lately. Very, very busy, which is a good thing, mostly. I've been WordNerdGirling for SJ Magazine as their copyeditor, and was very excited to have the privilege of editing a book proposal, and I am wishing ZsaZsa Gapooch, Auntie Ness and Merka the best of luck now that their agent has the final document in hand. I also have my four kids, who are a fulltime job themselves. But since I've had to delay my grad school plans indefinitely, I've also been seeking out my Plan B, pursuing some other non-writing interests in hopes of kick-starting my very depleted creative juices: I'm planning some quilting projects -- but not the Amishy, grandma-quilting-bee kind. I'm talking about a bad-ass mixed media, kind of quilting. I am also in the midst of an improv comedy class, which is why I've decided to write this post without editing it (and torturing myself in the process -- I didn't realize how compulsively I reread and play with things I write until now. Agh - just caught myself rewriting that last sentence.)

 So, how does improv, which is all about making it up as you go (remember the TV show Whose Line Is It Anyway?) supposed to help with writing? Explaining needed...

In the first class, the instructor, who is (parent-alert) also the host of the Sprout channel's The Sunny Side Up Show, talked about the philosophy behind improv. (And I've learned something already: improv is a philosophy?) That philosophy is "Yes, And..." Basically, all that means is that you take whatever is thrown at you by your scene partners and build on it -- even if you have no clue what to do with it. If you screw it up, move on. If it doesn't come out quite the way you wanted, move on. But don't fight it, don't try to force it to be something it's not. Just add your own contribution and hope for the best and,  more often than not, you'll actually wind up getting the desired result -- in this case, a laugh.

One of my weaknesses as a writer (WordNerdGirl - you have a weakness? Say it ain't so!) is when I'm writing fiction, or poetry, or anything that requires imagination, I find it next-to-impossible to turn off my internal editor. The same thing that makes me a great, kick-ass editor (yeah, I said it -- great. And kick-ass.) makes it almost impossible for me to sit down and write all the stories I have rattling around up in my head. Because I know what result I want, I know exactly how it should work, but because it's creative, it is messy and -- especially in the first writing draft -- it is imperfect, much like this blog post is now, because these paragraphs are too long and I'm not explaining this as precisely as I want. It needs editing, and I all I can see are the flaws that need fixing. I get so caught up in fixing the flaws, the stories get lost.

I am finding that "Yes, And..." is a very useful way of looking at writing, as well as living. (Gee, I guess it really is a philosophy.) The last few months, I've been dealing with more plot twists than a daytime soap opera. It's been exhausting, trying to fix and repair everything. Part of the fallout has been delaying grad school, which I had hoped would put me in an environment where I could learn to turn off my editor and write more stories. That's not happening now, but maybe I can learn to write creatively just by saying, "Yes, And..." And maybe I can better deal with the unexpected, and get results that may not be the one I wanted, but is -- I hope -- better than I could have ever expected.

And this is usually the point where I go back and hammer at every word I've written and rearrange paragraphsandrereaditandbythatpointI'myellingatthekidsand -oh, wait! If I change the wording here it will shortentheparagraphandshortergraphsareeasiertoreadandI'mdoingitagain. Yes, I am. And?

Just click "Publish Post," please.

Referenced Links: ComedySportz Philadelphia, The Sunny Side Up Show, Quilting Arts Magazine, SJ Magazine