So today I have the amazing Siobhan Kinkade with us to talk about writing. So let's see what she has to say.
Literary Escapism
That doesn’t mean what you think it means. I’m nottalking about using books to escape from real life, as I am always wont to do.No, in this case, it means the literary part of being a writer tends to escapewhenever it has a chance. There’s a reason for this madness, I promise.
Anyone who says that writing fiction for publication is always fun is fullof hooey. Either that person is demented, or she's not doing somethingright. To be a writer, you have to REALLY love your work. You haveaccept that sometimes it’s awful, and further you have to understand that therewards are worth the war.
Writing is hard work. It isn't always easy. It isn't alwaysfun. And more often than not, the process sucks. The writing partis great, when the words are flowing. If writer's block scares you, thenhoney...you are in HUGE trouble.
But even that isn't the worst part. The behind-the-scenesbrain-to-shelf part is what truly sucks.After the initial story is on paper, there's the first round of self-editingand revising. Then the round of "here read this" to everyoneyou know. Then there's the submission process.Query letters suck, too.
Then there's the waiting, which is probably the worst part. You haveto sit there and try not to go completely insane while someone else judges yourwork as "saleable" or "trash". (NOW WAIT JUST AMINUTE... WHO THE… DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO TELL ME IF I'M GOOD ENOUGH ORNOT??? Oh yeah, the editor... I'm sorry, please continue.) Thenafter those long weeks (and sometimes months) of waiting comes the formrejection letter - or if you're extremely lucky, the congratulatory note with acontract attached.
Then the editor gets her grimy little hands on your precious manuscript andhacks it to bits. And all the while, you're supposed to stand there andsmile and say okay as she looks you in the eyes and tells you that you're asubstandard writer who needs to just give up and go work at McDonald's (okay,she isn't really saying that, but when you're on the receiving end of thatmarked-up document, that's what it feels like).Once that crying, screaming fit is over, you edit, return, and wait somemore. Sometimes there are more edits. Then there's coverart...which you're supposed to have a say in but it doesn't always work likethat. Then after long months of battle, your book goes live and you cansit back with a smile and say "I did it."I did it with all of my short stories and novellas. And then I did it with Loki’s Game. I wrote and revised andchanged and hacked and wrote some more. Then I submitted (more than once), andit finally got picked up. And here we are today. Small cheer for Siobhan,right?
It’s lovely, but isn’t the end of the process. The ideas keep coming, thewriting keeps happening, and the suckage goes on.
I have ideas all day long. Things float through my head on littleclouds of genius, but by the time I can get my fingers around a pen or to akeyboard to get them out, that little cloud has puttered to nothing and theidea has drowned in a sea of blather. At first, I thought it was because I wastrying to type and I needed to be hand-writing. Then even the pen...mytrusty blue sidekick for the last three years... revolted and said "nope,I ain't doin' it."
Sometimes the ideas come all at once. Other times they don’t come at all. Itjust goes with the territory. Right now I’m stuck for ideas, but I'm spreading out flypaper on the floor of mybrain as I write this. My notebook and pen are at one hand, my laptop atthe other, and the computer I'm currently typing this on is directly in frontof me. Whatever medium it requires to get those evil, elusive words outof my head, I'm going to use.
I need to get some refills for this pen, too. She needs some new ammoif I'm to win this war. It used to be that the only way I could get wordsout was to sit down with a notebook and pen, but I'm moving past that, trainingmy brain to adapt and accept new modes of warfare. Yes, I lose battles all thetime. But if I will hunt down the words that leave, capture them, and committhem to paper.
I will win this war. I promise.
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