I've been really into writing/author/publishing blogs lately. And I'm not saying that lightly, as in "oh yea  I've been checking out a few blogs here and there." No, I mean that in a "I'm literally searching high and low for great blogs that don't just talk about upcoming books, but what is going on in YA world and how to improve writing along with helpful tips to publishing. What do you mean I should be working on my essay that is due next Thursday? Sorry does not compute. Does not compute."

The thing that I love about these blogs is that, they're not simply giving you advice, but encouragement. They're giving you reasons to return to your draft when you're in a rut or to keep your head up when things aren't going your way in the publishing sphere. And my favorite thing of all is that, it makes me want to write, even when I'm not quite ready to write (sometimes you have a scene that you want to happen, but you haven't thought it through just yet).

And for me, personally, this newfound encouragement puts me in a place I need to be. If I could, I'd write a thousand words a day. That enough would be satisfying (and I'm positive I would write more if I was a full time writer). But sadly, I don't have that option and sometimes that knowledge that I can't sit down and go to my writing place daily is disheartening. Frustrating. But after readying a few posts, I find myself fighting the urge to write. 

It feels good. I feel good.

This week I wrote quite a bit. Friday (my day off from school and work when no one is home to bug me) alone I wrote just over two thousand words.

WORD COUNT: 3,247

Hopefully I can keep this up. Or at least keep it up on the weekends.

Making Time to Write

As a full time student who spends every free hour either reading for school, writing for school, thinking about school, writing (and reading) personally becomes more difficult each day. But I still find time to write, outline, work on some manuscript related project. But I found some awesome advice from debut author Amy Tintera when it comes to writing.

I was going to write out a long list about I managed my time, how I prioritized, how I made word count goals. But, honestly, making time to write, for me, all comes down to one thing:

Be honest with yourself.

I sat down and took a hard look at myself. I was in my twenties, childless, in excellent health. I had very few responsibilities outside myself. My time was my own.

 After reading this, suddenly I felt guilty for browsing more author/publishing blogs and putting off my draft.

So I'm off to write.

Just a Direction and Destination

You know what feels just as satisfying as writing? Outlining.

I'm a little proud of myself right now. I spent hours, HOURS, I say, hunched over my notebook with a pen and highlighter outlining character, plot and book arcs (I love highlighting things--you should see how I annotate. It's a problem). For months I've been hesitant about where my novel(s) were heading to. Yes, I had certain aspects laid out (character development/conflict) but other things (plot, cough, cough) were a bit foggy. And to tell you the truth, I hate writing not knowing exactly where I'm going. How nice would it be if people could actually jump in the car and drive without a second thought? Too bad people  don't do that (well, I'm sure some people have done it, then realized that they haven't a clue were they are and what they're doing and how much gas money they've wasted). You have to at least have some idea, direction where you're going. Eventually things become more definite along the drive and eventually, you know exactly where you're going and what you want to see.

Is that real? I hope not. I really hope not.

Now, of course there are those moments when you can't resist that huge "BIGGEST EAR OF CORN IN NORTH AMERICA" billboard and you and your friend share a single look and without a word spoken, you're turning off the next off ramp and on to some dirt road in the middle of nowhere. Now, that hadn't been planned, but there's nothing wrong with a little improving--as long as your destination remains the same. Where's the fun when everything is head forward, shoulders back, spine straight all the time? (That's a rhetorical question)

When I write my outlines--for books, class, chapters, characters, plots, you name it--I try to keep it as simple as possible, but include the importance of said point. If there's going to be an action (road trip!), it has to have a A) motivation (schools out!) and B) result (got in a car accident :[ ). Outlining also helps find flaws. For example: I wrote "Jane follows them down the 'rabbit hole'" for the action. I had the result (ends up on the other side) but the motivation "because she wants to?" is weak. It's true, she does want to--but it's not specific. It holds no power, no force. "Because she had no choice" or "Because her friend was kidnapped" are better choices, but there is still room for improvement.

This is where I acknowledge the flaw. Instead of banging my head against the wall, falling to the floor with frustration, I merely move on. Outlines are subjective. Your draft is subjective. They can change at will, unlike roads. There is always room for improvement, always room for change and best part of all, you decide what needs to change or improve. Outlines are meant to help you, not restrict you.

Now that I have more confidence in my overall arc plot, I want to write and finish my first book now. I'm excited and ready to go.

Let's do this.

I know I already posted a huge advisory update, but I found a great bit of knowledge that not only grabbed me but describes my insecurities when writing to a perfect T.

Your best writing will happen in the revision process.

 I kid you not, I struggle and worry and mope and complain about my words so much and I'm only on my first draft. Haven't even finished it. I've been telling myself similar advice -- the second draft is for change, first is for spillage -- but seeing a professional agent bolding and underlining this is very comforting.

I shall keep this in my pocket forever.

Feeling Down? Turn that Frown into Something Useful and Empowering!

Whenever I finish a good book, I look at my own draft and go, "You can do this." Then my fingers wisp across the keyboard, thoughts flowing and going. It's wonderful. Whenever I read a fantastic book that shocked me with how incredible it was, with everything I love and more -- I end up looking at my draft like it's a stinky pile of poo. No one wants to read poo. No matter how well that poo is that constructed. It's still poo. Poo is poo.

Poo.

These are the moments you have to hike up your skirts (because in this metaphor, we're all prissy, mopey ladies of he Victorian era) and find confidence. I know, easier said then done, but I've faced this crippling self depletion so many times now, I've found a few methods to use this emotion to gain the drive to finish my story.

1) Read a crappy book. 

If reading a well written book makes you want to write,while a superb book makes you want to crawl in a hole, then what do you think a "crappy" book does for you? That's right, it makes you feel good about your poo writing. We all have different definitions of crappy books (read my book reviews and you'll see my tastes and distastes alike), so I giving a list of CRAP is pointless. But do yourself a favor, go to the library or a book store. Look through all the shelves and find a book you've been seeing everywhere, yet you refuse to read. Or a book that you know isn't your type of genre or looks bad (in YOUR OPINION). Pick that book up, take it home (make sure you purchase it. I don't want people blaming me for stealing) and read it. If it falls under the CRAP category (hey, it might end up being  awesome) in your book, then by the end you'll be thinking your draft is gold.

But remember, one man's shit is another man's treasure.

2) Lurk author/publishing blogs.

I do this on a daily basis, but even more when I'm flat on the floor in my own puddle of pity. Here's some new interesting information: authors have been through the same experiences of writing a book! Hell, they still face them. They're just like us! Isn't that awesome? One particular author I love to lurk and read about is Veronica Roth. 24 and already a New York Times Best-Selling Author. Only two years older than me. Whenever I read about her success I pout a bit. At 22 her first book Divergent was published -- I have until August do to the same (this is a joke. Mostly). But when I visit her blog, I find that she's suffering in the same ways as I am. And not only does she talk about her struggles, but what she's learned as a writer (a young one, like me). The other day she posted a response to the hundreds of people always asking for advice for young writers. Not only did she give some very humbling steps, but references to help improve and shape writing. This one post easily makes things brighter, and this is one author's blog. There are hundreds, your favorites included with awesome blogs, with awesome, uplifting advice.

Publishing blogs are similar, but not similar. They too shed advice but on what agents, editors and publishers are looking for; currently or in the future. Sometimes I feel good ("Yes, I'm well aware of what editors like." "Yes, I'm doing that correctly") other times I feel like biting every nail off, including my toes ("Oh man, I think mine would fall under that." "Gah, does this mean I should change that?"). I try not let it effect my first draft -- it's only one of many. But I do take this time to research, to sharpen my focus once again.

3) Talk to someone about it

When you're feeling down about anything, the best solution is talking to someone about it. Feeling down about your writing, story telling skills is no different. If you have no friends that "understand" or are willing to "listen" to your writing woes, well there are other ways. The Internet I hear nowadays is big. You're not the only one who wants someone to talk to, looking for some comfort.

4) Write about it

The very reason I begun this blog was to keep my writing spirits up. I knew tough times were a comin' so I decided to do something about it. If you're wanting something to bounce your thoughts off of, start a blog, write a short poem or story (about a writer who can't find the motivation to keep writing). Write a detailed e-mail or letter to a family friend. Write! Writing is a form of expression, happy, sad, mad, down--express yourself. Let it all out. I guarantee you'll find something uplifting in your own writing. Maybe you'll start another book along the way...

Coffee Shop Conundrum

Why is that writers thrive at coffee shops? Of course not all of them, but ironically quite a few do. Is it the sugary coffee drinks? The crappy pastries? Maybe it's the free wifi. Why is this growing scenario proving more and more true?

The past five weeks I've been spending a lot of time at my Barnes and Noble Cafe (aka Starbucks). Sadly I rarely work in my draft here, but school-that's a different story.

I've written an entire paper while sippin' on my skinny iced caramel macchiato. And the best part, I wrote it in about four hours. At home I pace and pout. Distractions are impossible to dodge. Some I create to escape the enclosing pressure of the looming due date. But when I'm in the public sphere I have no choice but to behave. The only distractions are of my own fault and mostly involve a break from bashing the keyboard. Everyone around me is quietly studying, writing or reading. They too come here to escape the distractions of home. So not only is this a public sphere but a silent union. Even with the few people chatting, the expresso machine hissing, we keep doing our thang. It's become music to our ears. Comforting even.

As much as gush about my newfound companions who I've never spoken a single word to, this writer's paradise is old news. I know I've read personal diaries and letters expressing how they've spent hours watching the public traffic by looking for inspiration. What's that famous cafe in Edinburg? The one J.K. Rowling use to sit and write at? Stephen King? Yes, the public sphere is the writer's sphere. They are the one and the same. They have been since the first man to create art. The cafe makes perfect sense. It's meant for the private public. You can be alone yet be surrounded by people. You can witness, listen and taste without the trouble of interacting.

I write this now because I'm currently sitting at a window seat, staring out the window as people trot by (and pull at the door you're not suppose to use but people refuse to read the sign so they just stand there like idiots expecting me to open it for them from the inside). I just sucked the last dreads of my watered down ice coffee, with my homework in front of me (read pages 1-33 in Child-Loving: The Erotic Child and Victorian Culture), resisting the temptation to open my current self-indulging book (A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray). It's somewhat working.

(Also I wrote this all over my phone! Call me classy).

Up Late. Up Early.

The most difficult thing about writing, besides finding time, is putting an idea into words.

Oh wait.

These past few days, instead of stumbling forward, pushing through unpointed dialogue and hazy plot points--writing, I go back and clean, edit, revise. Writing when my mind is still foggy on the details is not so much as difficult, than it is torturous. Everything I put on paper feels wrong, out of place. I fear that my prose somehow changed when forced, that the narrator's voice suddenly is something different and foreign. The ideas aren't flowing through my fingers and it feels as if I'm slapping them on the page like some barbarian with a stick.

So instead, I go back and play with what already has been "written."

I've read from authors, agents, books, guides and so forth that revising while writing is a big "no no." Push and shove through the first draft, then suffer the sufferings of revising and editing. Makes perfect sense. Why waste time on playing around with old material when you could write, play with the new? You don't know where you're going until you've reach the end. Why bother trying to tweak things without fully knowing if it needed to be tweaked in the first place.

Great advice, right? Sounds like a plan.

Easier said then done.

Honestly, my issue at the moment has to do with involvement. I've been so busy with school, family, work--life--that when faced with my imagination, I can't quite grasp the same emotional drive that had overcame me before. Everything I type out feels lame compared to the paragraphs prior. Don't want to sound my age (woppin' 22) but, it sucks. It sucks hard. I know the technicalities of the plot, but I'm detached from the characters. How am I suppose to write well developed people when I don't even feel for them? How am I suppose to draw readers to these characters when I can't even draw them to myself?

These are the issues I face weekly, trying to dive back into my draft. These are the flickers of moments where I want to bang my head against my keyboard, praying something better will appear. Actually anything other than what I had written before is better.

But I march on. I have to believe that I'll find my groove once again, that I'll be like this with my protagonists and we'll be hand in hand--well, I'll be dragging them along, while they kick and scream. So, it's time to go and write.

I have this phobia of burdening others.

No really. I like to think of myself independent, but the joke is on me. I have not a stich in my name, nor am I capable of supporting myself economically. How can I keep a stable job if I can hardly get though school?

This past year has been the most difficult year...of my life, possibly. Not because school was hard (I neglected and hid from that). Not because I suffered an illness or injury that put me through hell (I didn't do enough to cause injury or catch an illness). And certainly not because I suffered some great tragedy (unless you count getting into a car accident). No, this past year I've suffered internally. Mentally. Emotionally. I doubted myself and instead of turning outward, reaching for help, I imploded.

Since I'm dependent on others, despite how much I hate it, I ended up hurting others.

Reality scares me, so I hide from it. Ironically, when I don't hide from reality--when I take the bull by the horns--I grasp it well. But it's work and lets be honest, I hate hard work. Hard work leads to stress, and stress leads to tears, and tears lead to doubts, doubts lead to thoughts I rather avoid.

I started this blog as part of a new beginning. A new beginning for my writing and for me.

Everything is out in the open now. Instead of feeling guilt for burdening--no, not burdening, asking for help from others, I'm trying to feel relief. That I'm not alone. That someone can put an arm around me or rub my back as I fail or succeed.

So what does this have to do with writing? Writing has always been my outlet. It's always been the one hobby, no matter how depressed I've become, that I continue to do (though at times I look at writing more as a "thing" rather than a "need"). But writing is a private thing (see!?). Blogs are not. Having a writing blog is putting my private thoughts and insecurities out there. Yes, I said private. Yes, I'm aware that no one actually reads this. But here's the truth: it's an illusion. I'm deceiving my feelings, tricking them into thinking they're being released.

It works. It does. I still need to talk to people outside the Internet of course, but written/typed words are my forte and love. It make sense to cope with my weakness with my strengths.

Anyway, on that note. I wrote like 56 words in the past two days. Obviously writing during the school week is not working out, but it's always there in my mind. My brain is always coming up with ideas and working out characters. I'm always taking notes and thinking about updating this blog. Because I said I would. SO I am.

The things you find on reddit--

The first rule of Write Club is that no one gives a shit about your desk. Your desk has nothing to do with your writing. Hemingway wrote in cafes. Stephen King started out at a child's desk that he could barely fit his gangly knees under. Grisham wrote on the subway on steno pads. Chee writes on trains in sleeper cars. Capote wrote in bed. Thomas Clayton Wolfe wrote on the top of a refrigerator.
Try finding pictures of this. With the exception of Capote (that flamboyant bastard) you won't. That's because these people were too busy writing to have their pictures taken.
The second rule of Write Club is that you don't spend more time talking about writing than you spend writing. Of course writers are going to talk about writing, it's inevitable. It's such a lonely job, we are all just solitary creatures of expression howling for some form of validation. But every minute you spend talking about writing is a minute you are spending not writing. And some day - maybe today, maybe one day soon, maybe years from now - you are going to die. So now is the moment you ask: do you want to be remembered as someone who talked about his unfinished novel a lot, or do you want to be remembered as a writer?
The third rule of Write Club is that if you stop, go limp, tap out, and/or give up, based on criticism or laziness or the general inability to effectively manage your lifespan, the writing is over. You can call yourself a writer if you sit around talking about notes and outlines and drinking and reading and musing, but writers do one thing: write. All the time. Short stories. Screenplays. Blogs. Articles. Stageplays. Novels. Writing prompts. Novellas. Books. No matter how shitty your writing is, if you are writing, then you are a writer. If you are not writing, then you are not.
The fourth rule of Write Club is that there are only two guys to a story: you against yourself.The fifth rule of Write Club: one story at a time. Finish it, beat it into submission or have your ass kicked by it, but do not start another story until your story is done.
Sixth rule of Write Club: Your tools don't matter. Pens, pencils, typewriters, cats, writing books, influential novels, highlighters, napkins, index cards, binders, notebooks, Macbooks, laptops, desktops, iPads, iPhones, none of it is worth a flying blue fuck if you're not actively writing on it.
Seventh rule: Submissions will go on as long as they have to. You can work on something for three hours or three years. But do not stop until you are finished with it, do not stop revising it until it is done, and do not stop sending it out (revised) until it is published. See the Fifth rule.
Eighth rule of Write Club - If this is your first night at Write Club, you have to write. 

Now, shut up and write.  

(SOURCE)

Today was less stressful, but still up to my ears with reading and papers and stress. It's relentless I tell you!

WORD COUNT: 0

Once I get my classes cleared up, then I'll feel comfortable sitting at the keyboard with Word open. But for now, I feel incredibly guilty just having it open in the background.

Sometimes it's Okay.

Classes started today.

Woke up at 6:30 am. Sat in about an hour of traffic (though it shouldn't have taken me nearly an hour. Damn you LA with your sporadic congestion). Spent all day at school. Got home around four. Did some e-mailing via professors and councilor. Worked out. Watched Hell on Wheels. Ate. Worked on Victorian Lit homework. Sighed for about ten minutes in self pity. Played on Photoshop for about five. Worked on blog.

And now I'm here.

What's missing from that paragraph?

If you guessed writing, then you've won a brand new metaphorical car! It will be sitting on your front lawn in about a week, give or take. Now go have fun! Be safe you crazy kids.

WORD COUNT: 0

But yea. As you can see, again, I failed to write. Honestly, I'm not too miffed over it. Things needed to be straightened out desperately before I could even sit down and play around with the Internet. Writing was not the priority here and that's okay.

It's okay.

Currently, my job--my career is school. Writing isn't the bread and butter of my life. At the moment it acts as an hobby, and in the event that I do get published (knock on wood) then I can panic about not writing my daily 1k. As of now, I must keep a calm head about it. And even if this entire week that big fat, yellow zero fills up the entire page, then so be it. But this weekend, I'll make up for it.

So help me God, I will make up for it.

And that's all that matters, right?

I know. Technically I'm a day late on my word count log, but give me a break. Today was the day of my Nana's birthday. We put together and ran a huge ass party. Time was definitely not on my side. I've been busy since ten and I didn't get home until 10 pm. Thankfully, I was in the writing spirit.

So I wrote.

But before I give you my daily update, I'd like to mention my least favorite thing about family parties: the what are you going to do after college question. If I had a quarter for every time blah blah blah (do I really need to finish the rest?). Seriously. The answer is so simple. It's common sense. How could you ask me that?

GET A JOB.

That's my plan. Get a job, a career after college. As a writer, selling my book, making a contract to write another book--that's a job, right? Even if I'm still struggling to have anything published, I still plan to find some form of work. What do they expect me to do?

To be fair, I could go back to school or spend time traveling the world (oh how much I would love to do that). But from experience and mouth to ear, these things happen more sporadically rather than in sequence. As of now, my life is a sequence with sparks of sporadic events. Nothing radical enough to shift my sails.

On the plus side, someone did ask if I still was writing and instead of prying into details she merely patted me on the shoulder with a smile and said, "Good!" Such a simple gesture can bring satisfaction. When people tend to ask about the details of my writing, I feel as if they're asking questions out of politeness rather than curiosity. They see writing as a hobby rather than a goal. When someone simply takes the time to make sure I'm still writing, it's a sign of belief. She actually believes I'm a writer, rather than another person with an unrealistic dream.

With that feeling I came home and wrote. It's 1:11 am and I still have some desire to write.

WORD COUNT: 691

I believe that number speaks for itself.

Those Things in Our Way

School's about to start. Am I ready? No. But I've never been entirely ready for school. Even if I had answered that question with a "yes" deep down it will always be a "no." A few days ago, my heart was singing "yes" pretty loud. Today, after I spoke with my academic advisor and finished buying the rest of my books, my heart ended up singing an entire different tune. It was more of a scream, really.

Besides the fact that school is such a drag, it's also a top priority. School comes before writing. No matter how much I try to deceive myself, school always outweighs everything else. Even my small tiny job. For the past few years I've stuck to this rule and in the end get either two results:

1. My draft gathers dust and cobwebs.
2. or I end up writing half a book while during the summer I could hardly get past two chapters.

It's strange how that works. Only the extremes respond to school. In general, when there's another upper priority we tend to either let things completely go or holdfast. We rather overdue it then face the loss. I don't know about you, but when I write 50k within two months things never go the way I want. In the end, I usually I run out of steam or track and the things I neglect catch up. All the time and effort I spent seems to go to waste after it sits there for a month or two after. By the time I pick it up again, all that excitement is lost. Along with the motivation.

Point is: rushing can be just as harmful as not doing anything.

That is why this semester I plan to write everyday. One sentence. One paragraph. Even jotting down character arcs or adjustments. As long as I'm progressing, I'll be happy. But I won't rush. Rushing has failed me numerous times. I'm aware that some days I won't be able to write, but as long as I'm aware and plan to write on the weekend or vacation. I'll be okay.

And then there's the whole school priority thing.

Which leads perfectly into my word count update. I had another top priority to take care of, besides school: work.

WORD COUNT: 148

There's still a possibility I'll pick it up later tonight, but my desire to read and finish The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer before I have to dive into three books simultaneously for school is very tempting.

I’ve written six books now, but instead of making it easier, it has complicated matters to the point of absurdity. I have no idea what I’m doing. All the decisions I appear to have made—about plots and characters and where to start and when to stop—are not decisions at all. They are compromises. A book is whittled down from hope, and when I start to cut my fingers I push it away from me to see what others make of it. And I wait in terror for the judgements of those others—judgements that seem, whether positive or negative, unjust, because they are about something that I didn’t really do. They are about something that happened to me. It’s a little like crawling from a car crash to be greeted by a panel of strangers holding up score cards.

Exactly. (source)

It's 11 am currently and I'm dead tired, but I'm here to log my word count for the day.

But, before I do that, let me list you a few sad escuses why it's such a pitiful amount.

1. Spent most of the morning working on this blog, figuring out my afternoon plans, plan a meeting with a school advisor and working out.
2. Lunch with co-workers (mmmm Armenian BBQ is the best).
3. Had to meet brother in Simi Valley and drop off bicycle parts.
4. Had to pick up my grandma's gift for her birthday party Saturday (this took longer than expected. Thanks Studio City. You suck).
5. By the time I arrived home it was dinner. A few packages arrived along with the USB drive I'd ordered to transfer all my music in one go from my old laptop to the new. That took some time and patience.

By the time I started working on my draft, my brain had already begun to turn to evening slop. Usually when I start early in the morning I can keep going through out the day, but it's rare for me to find any brain juice slurping around up there past 8 pm. Let alone, any useful brain juice.

Drum roll please.

WORD COUNT: 208 586

At least I tried, right?

EDIT (12:38 AM)

Well, would you look at what a little more effort, a little bit of pushing does. I doubled what I originally wrote. I believe it had to do with less distractions. My phone finally was able to work, no longer had to stop and keep attempting at fixing and playing with it. Plus, less stress. With a little relaxation, a lot can get done.

Still, I'm sure tomorrow when I look over what I've written down I'm sure I'll find some nice gems (was I drunk or something when I wrote this?)

Finding Purpose

Sometimes you wake up in the morning wearing this face. Duly noted that I don't do so well staying up past twelve am. Strange things like creating blogs happen...

No, but seriously. Looking upon last night, I gave a nice big ole simile (using the agony of finding a metaphor) to describe the contents of this blog. It's a bit misleading. The purpose of this blog is for me. Moi. For my very few good writing days and the many unproductive days. Sure, I'll throw around some meta on writing, reading, books, publishing, etc. But I am, oh, twenty two, and still quite the inexperienced everything. You know nothing, Caitlin Wannabe Writer.

Is this the appropriate time to mention I'm a huge A Song of Ice and Fire fan?

My purpose is to work on writing everyday and then update my word count or what progress I've made here. Technically, I should have a new post--thought provoking or heavy on the ugh--everyday whether I've pushed through the boundaries of my unceasing laziness or not. I say technically because school is merely days away, and if you've ever experienced college you know what it's like to set goals and watch them deflate into a worthless souffle (or morph into some completely different delicious concoction). Alas, my outlook on life this semester is a clean slate. Out with the old negativity, and in with the new positivity. This blog included.

Since it's still quite early--alright not that early--I'll be making another post later today with my word count. Because I said I would, so I shall. If Milton has taught me one thing, it's the power of shall.

Maybe this will be the kick in the rump that I need. Imagine that. Myself kicking my own ass. How original.