To commemorate National Day of Unplugging, turn off your phones, disconnect from the Internet and read that book you’ve been meaning to start or finish. Let us know what you’re reading.
Congratulations on finishing Write by Midnight 2021! We hope you established some solid routines that will carry your daily writing habit well into the rest of the year and beyond. We’d love to hear from you about how you did. Did you accomplish everything you set out to do? What practices or techniques helped you meet your goals? What distracted you from reaching them and how did you alter your routine to help you overcome those challenges? It always inspires us to hear how other writers work. In that same spirit, here’s how each of us fared during this year’s write-a-thon.
How Laura Fared
Yesterday, I read a tweet encouraging writers not to have high expectations for themselves when it came to setting goals for daily output. Why set the bar high and fail to get over it when you can aim low and surely succeed? I feel certain there are people who agree with the author’s reasoning, but I’m not one of them. To me, the point of setting goals is to push yourself to see what you’re capable of achieving if you work hard and remain open to learning. For this year’s Write by Midnight, I set big goals, vowing to write daily for more time than I usually do with the intention of revising eight chapters of my work-in-progress. I’m pleased to report that I wrote for my designated 90 minutes all but three of those days and logged more than 10,000 brand new words. While I only revised five of the eight chapters I challenged myself to revise in 28 days, the ones I finished are better now than when I started with them. I wrote entire scenes only to delete them later because I found more compelling ones waiting to be written. Most important, I’m discovering my voice as a writer through the process. Moving forward, I’ll keep sitting down each morning to write and I’ll keep revising scenes and writing new ones. Publishing my first novel is a big goal I have for myself, and I’m fired up to crush it.
How Stacey Fared
In November and December I made steady progress revising my manuscript and felt really good about my writing. Though I lost momentum in January, I figured I could turn things around during Write by Midnight if I pushed a little harder.
For the first two weeks of February, though, my writing stalled. I could not move past one scene. Every morning I would write and delete, write and delete for two hours or so, always feeling like I was just on the cusp of getting it right, but then didn’t. Usually, when my writing sputters to a halt like that, I can look back over the chapter I’ve been working on and, after some critical study, point my finger at a culprit—a plot flaw or character inconsistency that’s giving my subconscious fits, or a segue that turns the narrative down a dead end. But this time, I couldn’t spot the problem with the story and decided the problem might be with me. Maybe, my brain just needed a little writing vacation.
So, instead of beating my head on my keyboard, I decided to take the third week of February off and indulge in some non-writing activities in the hopes of recharging my creative well. I spent days drooling over plant catalogs, thinking about raised garden beds—clearly, I have a terrible case of spring fever—and making preliminary sketches for new paintings and sculptures.
Though I’d originally planned to dive back into my manuscript for the last week of WBM and try to finish the write-a-thon strong, the universe threw me a curve ball when someone stole our car. At that point, I just gave up on February.
But yesterday was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the temperature was balmy, twenty six of the thirty echinacea seeds I’d planted sprouted, the dog had a great time on the beach and I booked my husband’s first COVID-19 vaccination.
I see a light at the end of the tunnel, and that makes me think that, despite all the crazy in the world right now, March may be a better writing month.
How Megan Fared
The month of February did not go exactly as planned for me. I made excellent progress during the first half of the month and even worked through a significant world building concept that made my entire outline much stronger. However, the middle of February brought with it such snow and ice as my part of the country rarely sees. Since we don’t have the equipment or infrastructure to deal with that kind of winter weather, everything just shut down—including schools—and I spent a full week of Write by Midnight stuck at home with my restless family. I know the pandemic has marooned many of you in that same situation for a year now. I salute you, my fellow writers, because writing with children underfoot is hard. My situation was temporary, so I just bailed. No writing at all for the week of snow and little for the week of recovery that has followed. It was not a stellar showing for me. However, March is looking up. I think. Surely we won’t have another snowstorm. Or flood. Tornadoes? There’s still that pesky pandemic … Nope. I definitely have to get writing. The world won’t survive without a little fiction to escape into.
Be sure to check back in with us for our monthly Write by Midnight Pep Talks. Together, we can help each other achieve our writing dreams.
Yesterday, I was sitting down to finish up my February WBM blog post when my husband, who had just left the house to take the hound on her walk, came back in.
With a look of irritated bewilderment on his face he asked, “Where’s my car?”
Like an idiot, I said, “What?”
“My car’s gone. It’s not in the driveway.”
I had to go out and look which just shows that I was already in the grips of the first and perhaps nuttiest stage of grief—denial. I mean, it may be easy to misplace a set of car keys, but to lose track of an entire Honda? That’s not something that happens all that often. But Fred was right. There was no shiny, silver Accord next to my ancient, orange car, just a big, empty stretch of concrete and a sad, little wad of Kleenex by my car’s passenger door. Of course, we had to look in the garage even though we knew we hadn’t parked it in there. Then we looked up and down street, as if the car could have gotten restless in the middle of the night and gone walkabout on its own.
It wasn’t until I really looked at my car—Kleenex on the ground, passenger door ajar, glove-box hanging open with the bulk of its contents strewn on the passenger seat—that it donned on me that someone had rifled my car and stolen Fred’s! (It’s amazing what it takes to burst the little denial bubble.)
While I, ping-ponging between stunned disbelief and anger (note the second stage of grief kicking in here), took the hound for a perfunctory walk, in the rain—the girl still needed to potty, after all—Fred called the police.
Officer Martin arrived just as the Piebald Princess and I were coming back to the house. So, after toweling her off, I sat down at the dining table with Fred. Baffled and stunned, we answered the policeman’s questions.
After we’d gone through all of them—yes, the car was in the driveway when we went to bed; yes, the car was locked, but no, mine hadn’t been; no, the keys weren’t in it; yes, the car was paid off, etc.—I asked, “Can you give us an idea of how many stolen cars are ever recovered? Is it like twenty percent, thirty?” (Is this the bargaining stage?)
“Most of them. About ninety percent, actually.”
At my enthusiastic, “Really? That’s fantastic!” Officer Martin gave me a look that spoke volumes, and it said, Oh, you poor, pathetic, naïve, little bunny rabbit. You have no idea how trashed your car is going to be when we find it.
Until that moment, I had had hope. (Rounding third base and heading for home plate—depression. I mean really, we’d just finished paying the car off last year.)
But evidently, Officer Martin mistakenly thought I was heading back to stage two, because he cautioned us not to act on our own should we spot the car anywhere. If we saw it, we were to call the police right away and not confront anyone or attempt to recover the car ourselves. Of course, doing something like that never would have occurred to me—until Officer Martin mentioned it. The little seed was planted.
The seed germinated while I spent an hour and a half on the phone with the insurance company, and started to crack open as I set about alerting the neighbors. Since it was raining, I just sent emails instead of going door-to-door. Another couple of hours went by while Fred and I belatedly researched home security cameras (I’m not sure what stage this falls into), but by 4:00 p.m. the seed had sprouted, and I asked Fred if he wanted to go drive around with me and casually look for his car.
After disabling the garage door opener, because of course, one of the remotes had been in Fred’s car, and thoroughly locking up the house, we set out. Obviously, we didn’t find the car and soon realized the futility of even looking. (Acceptance setting in.)
Now, perhaps you’re wondering what all this has to do with the February Write by Midnight challenge, and the answer is absolutely nothing! Someone stole Fred’s car! (Uh-oh, a little backsliding into stage two there. Sorry about that.)
But now that I think about it, this post actually does have something to do with WBM. The whole point of WBM is to write every day, after all, and I did write today. I got down 795 words—just not on my manuscript. Instead, I wrote a mini-short story about the stages of grief and the loss of a beloved car—that was completely paid for!
Complete acceptance may take a while.
February is National Library Lover’s Month. While you may not be able to step inside your local library yet, there are still ways to love on these great community resources. Check out your library’s online resources, such as downloadable e-books or audio books and research databases. Take part in social media and online reading challenges or streamed lectures hosted by libraries. Some even allow members to peruse the catalog remotely and reserve books for safe pick-up at a later date. Share with us how your local library continues to support your community during #NationalLibraryLoversMonth.
At a certain point in working on a manuscript, it becomes impossible to tell if dramatic moments actually feel tense, if magical moments are saturated with wonder, if comedic moments are funny. All the words are on the page that should evoke those qualities, but do they? Do my characters have distinct voices and clearly differentiated characteristics? Or are they interchangeable? Is my world building clear and comprehensible, or is it confusing and filled with contradictions? I know what I want to accomplish, but I’ve spent so much time elbows-deep in the story that I’ve lost the perspective a fresh reader can bring.
I can ask beta readers those questions and let them think through their answers. They can make notes on my manuscript and discuss possibilities with me, and all of that is incredibly helpful. But the thing they can’t do is provide in-the-moment gut reactions to the story the way a listener can. So, while my primary Write by Midnight goal is to complete an outline for my next manuscript, I am also reading my current manuscript aloud to my very own beta listener.
I read every night to my kids before bedtime, so one night, without fanfare, I began reading my own manuscript—a middle grade novel—aloud. Kids are fantastic and expressive listeners, and I was delighted to see them squeal with worry in the tense moments and laugh out loud in the funny ones. They also asked specific questions that brought up problems with the story—and showed clearly how to address those same problems.
It has been fun to share this project that has consumed so much of my time with my own family. Now they know what I’m talking about when I say I need to write. But it has also been incredibly helpful for my writing process. I’ve gained that fresh perspective that shows me what works and what needs work. And when I’ve finished my Write by Midnight outlining, I’ll know just what to do to get my manuscript in tip-top shape.