In a Writing State of Mind

I’ll admit, I’m a pantser. I don't plan ahead when I'm writing.  It's a discovery process.   I know what the first scene of my books look like and what I want my ending to feel like. Most times, I’m not even sure who the bad guy is.

That being said, I began this blog by typing it in my hotel room in Phoenix. My wife Cindy was still asleep, I had a cup of a coffee and a breakfast sandwich from the café downstairs, and the lights were dim. Later that day, I’d sit on two panels at the Poisoned Pen Mystery Conference. While in Arizona, I had a great time mingling with other novelists, and talking with readers and aspiring writers. And of course the highlight was spending some time with Ian Rankin and Hank Phillippi Ryan who are delightful individuals, as well as my Poisoned Pen family of wonderful writers. What was extra special was meeting fellow Type M for Murder contributor Donis Casey. It was so nice to meet you in person, Donis!

Even though I was in Phoenix, I did my best to work on my third Geneva Chase mystery. A couple of months ago, Annette (my editor) and Barbara (my publisher) signed off on the first hundred pages of Graveyard Bay. In the first chapter, two bodies are found chained to the forks of a mammoth forklift used in boatyard marinas. The tines of the giant machine are under the dark, gray surface of the icy bay leading to Long Island Sound.

Brrrrrr.

I’m thirty chapters into Graveyard Bay but in the back of my mind, I’d envisioned the ending and it was really messy. I was not satisfied, I hate messy. I’d wrestled with the ending for weeks and just hadn’t been able to envision an ending that both makes me happy and scares the bejesus out of me.

But it came at four o’clock that Phoenix morning. I got up out of bed, went into the hotel bathroom and wrote it all down in my notebook so that I wouldn’t forget it once the sun had come up over the Arizona landscape.

And guess what? It was the ending I’d been looking for.

What precipitated my epiphany? One, I was at a conference filled with mystery writers and readers. I was surrounded by creativity and those who appreciate it. That has an incredibly positive effect on the writing process.

In addition to that, however, my wife, who has a PhD in Psychology, and after she had her first cup of coffee, explained that it might have had something to do with time of night when the ideas came to me, that nether world between dream and reality. She says it’s called hypnagogia.

What?

When I Googled it, this is what I found: Hypnagogia is a well described neurological phenomenon that can occur when one is waking up (hypnapompic) or going to sleep (hypnagogic). It is an in-between state where one is neither fully awake nor fully asleep.

The term hypnagogia comes from the Greek words for “sleep” and “guide,” suggesting the period of being led into slumber. In this state, which lasts a few minutes at most, you’re essentially in limbo between two states of consciousness.

According to Carlolyn Gregnoire in an article for Huffington Post, surrealist artist Salvador Dali called hypnagogia “the slumber with a key,” and he used it as creative inspiration for many of his imaginative paintings.

“You must resolve the problem of ‘sleeping without sleeping,’ which is the essence of the dialectics of the dream, since it is a repose which walks in equilibrium on the taut and invisible wire which separates sleeping from waking,” Dali wrote in the book 50 Secrets of Magic Craftsmanship.

Mary Shelley, too, said she got the inspiration for Frankenstein from a “waking dream” in the wee hours of the morning, “I saw with eyes shut, but acute mental vision.”

To what extent, then I wonder, are we in a waking dream state while we’re writing, even in the cold light of day? At some point, don’t we find ourselves immersed in the scene we’re writing? When we’re driving to the grocery store, aren’t we listening to dialogue between characters in our head? During a particularly stressful point in our story, don’t we feel what our protagonist is feeling?

Stephen King once described his writing process in this way:
“There are certain things I do if I sit down to write…I have a glass of water or a cup of tea. There’s a certain time I sit down, from 8:00 to 8:30, somewhere within that half hour every morning…I have my vitamin pill and my music, sit in the same seat, and the papers are all arranged in the same places. The cumulative purpose of doing these things the same way every day seems to be a way of saying to the mind, you’re going to be dreaming soon.”

I guess ultimately, it’s difficult to be creative if you’re trying too hard. Sometimes you just have to let it flow, and, once every so often, it comes to you when you’re half awake.

Happy writing, happy dreaming.

It's Here!!!

I am truly a January Junkie. I love the beginning of a New Year. One would think at my age that the thrill would be gone. But no. I imagine myself capable of achieving all kinds of things. It's the hope that springs eternal.

Mainly my goals are financial (to keep better track of stuff) and to spend a lot more time writing.

I have spent most of my life in very small towns. One of the liabilities/assets of small communities is the consciousness that projects for the good of the whole depends on a lot of participation. So I end up doing my part in an awfully lot of groups.

 I need to pare down and concentrate on my writing.

As to the merits of resolutions--they do me a lot of good. Last year, one of my goals was to get more exercise and I did. There were a number of interruptions, but on the whole I can say that was a resolution kept. I go regularly now to Miramont and am stronger and have increased energy.

My greatest blessing this past year has been friends and family. The sister relationships among my three daughters have always been close. So are the cousin ties with their children. And I'm included in so many family festivities. It's wonderful.

Type M is still going great guns after twelve years.

Here's to a terrific 2018 to one and all.     

When Mary Met Raymond

Mary Tyler Moore died on Wednesday, and I cried. I was surprised that the death of a woman I had never met hurt so much. Maybe because although I never met her, I felt I knew her. Whether she was "Laura Petrie" -- professional dancer turned suburban housewife -- or "Mary Richards" -- making her way up the very short career ladder of her TV newsroom -- she was someone I liked. I was one of the many young women who could imagine having Mary as my downstairs neighbor and BFF.

When I heard she was dead, I ran through my memory bank of favorite episodes of  The Mary Tyler Show. I still watch them in re-run. If you've read my post, you know by now that I love television. In fact, I even managed to make TV relevant to my academic research. I study crime and popular culture. But ask any baby boomer, and many of us will be able to describe episodes of our favorite TV shows scene by scene, even quote favorite lines. We can go down the list, calling out the shows that were the visual sound-track of our childhoods and that taught us important life lessons. We're no snobs. Many of us also love the great sit-coms that came later -- but the classics helped to shape who we are.

The Mary Tyler Moore Show was special to a generation of women. Aside from what we learned from her about being single and pursuing a career, Mary taught us important lessons about grown up friendships with both women and men. Those friendships were messy and touching and complicated. We learned that it's okay if your best friend occasionally makes you crazy. Remember that episode when Rhoda, who was spending night at Mary's, left the dinner dishes in the sink "to soak" and Mary got up in the middle of the night to try to wash them without waking Rhoda. Mary and Rhoda always reminded me -- still do -- that friends don't have to be carbon copies. Friends can come from different worlds. The important thing about a good friend is that she is always there no matter where you are. She's the person who listens and understands, who you laugh with and cry with, and who always has your back.

And then there was what Mary Tyler Moore and Lou Grant, her boss in the newsroom, taught me about writing. When I was thinking about my favorite episodes of the show, I remembered when the one when Lou introduced Mary to Raymond Chandler. I found it again on YouTube. The title of the episode is "Mary the Writer." Mary persuades Lou to read a piece she is working on. It's a true story, but he thinks she's trying to write fiction. He opens his desk drawer -- where he also keeps his liquor -- and pulls out a book. In his gruff, tough-guy voice, he reads her the first paragraph of Chandler's "Red Wind." When he's done, he tells her that's great writing. Mary's response (that I appreciate even more now): "He writes well about the weather."

RIP Mary. Thanks for the laughs and the life lessons. And for sending me back to try Raymond Chandler again with Lou Grant's voice in my head.

Born to be

Barbara here. Rick has invited us all to put in our two cents on the question of talent and storytelling. Canada abolished its one cent coin a few years ago, so here's my plug nickels's worth. I have no idea whether the talent for storytelling is born into us or not, bit I do believe that most of us, if not all, are born with a creative urge and the path through which it is expressed. This path may be guided by early exposure, as in musicians or artists who follow in their parents' footsteps, but sometimes it has nothing to do with the culture and interests of our families.

I was born into a family of musicians and painters. They did other things with their lives, but my grandfather, as a surgeon in France during World War I, painted scenes of rural France as an outlet and counterpoint to the horrific demands of his job. His talent for painting predated the war; I have a painting of his hanging in my house, done when he was 16 years old. My mother was a high school science teacher but inherited that painter's passion, and many of the other walls in my house hold paintings done by her, inspired by the sight of a child playing or a spectacular play of light on mountains or sea.

I, however have never had the slightest urge to pick up a sketchpad or capture a scene on canvas. I have absolutely zero talent for drawing, painting, or otherwise interpreting the world in visual form. But from the age of six, when I first learned how to spell, I have been inventing stories. Story ideas spin in my head all the time. The question is not where do I get my ideas (for they are in the line at the coffee shop and in the sidebars of the newspaper), but how do I know whether an idea has the legs for a 300-page novel, or whether it deserves to be a scene or a subplot in a larger story. Experience and practice have taught me that.

Writing, particularly fiction writing, occupied no part of my family tree. I am the first in my whole extended family to be obsessed with creating stories. However, some of the prerequisites to good storytelling were present in my family home. My parents were avid readers and our home was filled with books. Filled. Every kind of book from biography to history to great literature and poetry. I had free rein of the shelves and picked up books at random, reading William Faulkner and Alexander Solzhenitzyn at whim From them I learned the secrets of great drama and absorbed, without lectures or lessons, the techniques of story arc, characterization, and imagery.

I wrote all through my childhood and throughout adulthood, mostly dreadful sap that fortunately did not see the light of day but that helped me to learn my craft. My late husband, however, was a painter. He saw the world not in terms of story bites like me but in terms of images and framed scenes to be captured on canvas. Not in terms of characters and conflicts but in terms of colour, shapes. shadows, and contrasting light. Yet our children, with their DNA packed on both sides with a painter's genes and on one side with a storyteller's, followed neither path. Like me, they show no talent or inclination for visual art. One has some interest in writing song lyrics and another in writing scripts, so some of that has past on through the DNA. But their creativity has found its primary outlet in other forms -- in music and acting.

It is a strange, human beast, this creative urge. Who knows where it comes from, but I believe we all have it. Perhaps we are all born with our own primary outlet, whether it's writing, art, acting, music, dance, crafts, woodworking, photography, or even software design. It may be the random re-alligning of the DNA but it comes from the core of who who are. The rest -- the talent, training, and practice it takes to do it well -- are secondary, because if it's not your passion, you won't put yourself at the artist's easel or the writer's desk long enough to get anything done.

A lesson from the one-handed man

I've decided to focus these posts on writing. I'm doing so for mercenary reasons, mainly that I want to draw more views to this blog and in particular to my postings. I've resisted discussing writing before for several reasons. One, a lot of writing advice is what's been lapped up somewhere else and simply regurgitated. Two, giving advice is easy. I felt that no matter what I offered, readers would ask, "Okay, Mr. Smarty-pants, why aren't you sitting on top of a big pile of writer money?" Yes, indeed. Well, I'm still at it and I ain't done yet. Plus, I didn't want to sound like a pompous gasbag. God knows we have plenty of them already. And I didn't want to be regarded as a Yoda-like hermit living in a swamp, dispensing crapisms like, "Do or do not. There is no try." "Write not mind but heart."

But writing can be a trek through a bitter desert, and it's good to return to the well and refresh ourselves. We can feel lost, and sound advice and positive examples help us stay on track. As firm as the journey might be in our mind, the path is never smooth. Life happens. We adjust to shifting priorities. Things don't work out like we planned. As writers, we face rejection, in fact we seek it. We pretend to show a stoic face, but the "NO" always burns. Disappointment lies in wait. We garner great reviews but sales remain lackluster. When we do manage decent sales, we learn they're not good enough and it's sayonara from the publisher. Or the publisher folds. Our agent quits, or we quit them. Tires go flat. Our dog dies. On and on.

I pay my bills as a freelance writer and one of my projects is ghostwriting a line of inspirational books, sort of like the Chicken Soup for the Soul series but--considering I am at heart a mystery writer--with an emphasis on hard-boiled drama. One of the stories was about Jim Abbott, the  baseball pitcher who--despite being born without a right hand--made it to the major leagues. At one point his career was floundering and he received a harsh rebuke from a sports critic. Abbott obsessed with what the critic wrote, and he sought him out. When confronting the critic Abbott said that his performance was pretty good considering he only had one hand. The critic replied, "That's no excuse. You have to rise above your circumstances. You're more than a one-handed ball player, you're a professional. We expect more." Abbott reflected upon those hard words and realized the critic was right. To prevail you must rise above your circumstances. Abbott decided there was much about his circumstances he had to accept, but the two most important factors that determined his success were absolutely in his control: Attitude, and level of effort.

What about us writers? What's your attitude? What's your level of effort?

No time to write? Take a look at your schedule and carve out the time. Rise early if you have to or forgo some social life to spend time on the keyboard. Or find writer friends and writer time then becomes social time.

Lacking motivation? Then ask yourself tough questions about why you're writing and why it's important to you. From there, set goals and hold yourself to them.

The green-eyed monster got you? Jealousy is not worth your energy. I've met successful writers with so many flaws that I pitied instead of envied them.

There you have it, this month's advice: Rise above your circumstances. You alone control your attitude and level of effort.

The Church of the Writer

Last Sunday I was drinking beers with some buddies and one of them asked if I had read the Ernest Hemingway book on writing. I said that I had, and we talked about the letters Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald shared about writing. Our conversation turned to discuss my writing process since I was the only one at the table who has been published. Another asked where my ideas came from. I'm afraid I disappointed my fellow beer drinkers when my answers turned flip. I don't like to talk about the writing process because it's easier to talk about writing than it is to write. When asked how do I write, meaning how do I approach the daunting task of writing, I replied that I sit at the keyboard and start writing. I don't regard where I write as a sacred space; I tend to think of it as a sausage machine. There's a lot of work to be done, and unless you turn the crank relentlessly, nothing comes out. I think people who don't write--or try to write--want me to say how the Muse kisses my forehead and the words magically flow. They don't feel the Muse's kiss and therefore, they don't write.

I get a similar impression at conferences when new writers crowd around us published authors like we're the chosen anointed, holders of the secret key that will unlock the hearts of agents and editors. The truth is that if I had such a key, I'd be at the top of all the bestseller lists, winner of every freakin' literary prize, and so rich I'd hire Stephen King and E L James to entertain me with pie fights. But there is no such key. And even more irksome, the path for every writer's success is different. After Hugh Howey, author of the mega-hit Wool, punched the sweet spot with a Reddit Q&A, untold other writers have since tried to leverage that venue for similar results...and zilch. Using a different tactic, one writer used Instagram to gather an army of followers. Others have Tweeted their way to stardom. Countless others have tried to follow their examples and their efforts became exercises in futility. So what works? Who the hell knows? You have to blaze your own trail.

On social media, it's an echo chamber of advice for writers. Lots of scribes post all kinds of aphorisms and you-gotta-dos. Most of them are trite or vague. Once in a while someone twists the obvious into something that sounds profound and other writers pile on with the Hallelujahs. It's like church, and we behave like backsliding, guilt-ridden Baptists turning to the Holy Scriptures for comfort. And like church, we seek the company of fellow believers, those with the precise kind of faith. Ever notice that shopping for a critique group is much like looking for a congregation? In either case, we want a close-knit community who understands us, who welcomes us, who shares our parochial view of the world. Within the sanctuary of that group we make ourselves vulnerable to criticism in the struggle to improve our souls.

But don't think that I'm cynical about the need to gird yourself. Writing is an intense, intellectual process. It's easy to quit out of frustration. It's easy to stare at the screen and feel like your head is an empty balloon. It's easy to pour yourself onto the page only to see your writing appear like a confused mess.

What's the best writing advice? First, gain command of writer craft and understand storytelling. Read. Read. Read. If you're serious about writing, then it's got to be a priority in your life. And lastly, because writing--as much as we say we love it--the act can be a pain in the ass. With that in mind I share these powerful, illuminating words from Steven Pressfield:

"Our enemy is not lack of preparation; it's not the difficulty of the project, or the state of the marketplace, or the emptiness of our bank account. The enemy is resistance. The enemy is our chattering brain, which, if we give it so much as a nanosecond, will start producing excuses, alibis, transparent self-justifications, and a million reasons why he can't/shouldn't/won't do what we need to do."

New beginnings

Barbara here. What an interesting, meandering examination of gender, identity, and character creation we have been having over here at Type M in the past couple of weeks. Several of us have also talked about changing hats and writing a new style, or creating a new series, and how that has enriched and invigorated their writing.

Writers face three challenges in continuing to write a long-running series. Firstly that they start to repeat themselves and fail to grow as writers, which most of us dread. Series allow us to stay with old friends we know so well that it takes little effort to get into their heads. It allows us to stay in comforting surroundings, using the neighbourhoods and background colour that has become as familiar as our own back yards. These two advantages are also the greatest pitfalls. Comfortable and familiar does not encourage risk, growth, or leaps of imagination.

The second challenge is that the series dictates the kind of story that can be told. My Inspector Green novels are police procedurals, and no matter what curves I throw at Green nor what detours my stories take, a police procedural has the particular flow of a police investigation. Moreover, all the stories have to take place in Ottawa (well, I cheat a little) because that is where Green has jurisdiction.

The third challenge derives from reader expectations. Both Rick and Vicki had alluded to this notion that a reader buys a book expecting a particular kind of story, and may rebel if they don't get it. The Green stories are gritty and realistic, but with a heavier emphasis on psychology than on blood and gore. If the next book turned out cozy (or serial-killer horror), I would likely get a slew of complaining emails. Writers, and their publishers, deviate from the winning "formula" at their peril.

But writers get all kinds of story ideas involving different heroes and places, and those stories can't be shoehorned into a police investigation in Ottawa. Writers of long-standing series sometimes solve this feeling of straitjacket by writing occasional standalones. Or by writing a second series, which is sufficiently different in tone, form, and setting that they can explore new vistas and experiment with new styles.

This is why the start of 2015 marks a new beginning for me as well, as I embark on a new three-book contract for a completely different series. There are ten books in the Green series, and it seemed like a solid place to take a break and explore something new. Green will be back, and I suspect I will be delighted to reconnect with him when I am ready. But for now, I am deep in the world of a very different character.

First off, my main character is a woman. I always thought it amusing that authors were often mistaken for their main character, or that the lines between author and character blurred, because Green was quite clearly distinct from me. Although as any author knows, not as distinct as one might think.

My new character is also not me. Amanda Doucette is a lot younger than me, the age of my daughters in fact, and is still searching for her place and her path, which allows her to have adventures and experiences which I get to share vicariously. Always fun for a writer. But she shares many of my passions and my values, and is in some ways who I might have been had I been young in today's world. I became a psychologist to help people; she became an international aid worker. She is resourceful and smart, determined and action-oriented, yet she struggles with what she has seen. She is a powerful and interesting person for me as a writer to spend time with, and I hope readers will think so too.

The setting of my new series is a wholly different concept as well. Each book will take place in a different setting across Canada, the first one in Newfoundland and the second in Quebec's Laurentian Mountains. I hope to explore wonderful locales across the country, taking myself on adventures and never growing tired of one place. Some of these adventures I will take in person, as on last fall's Newfoundland trip, but some of it will be within my own living room, as these photos attest.