HollyRobinson

Writer & Red Dirt Rambler

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Why We Write: Desk Ecstasy

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I recently cleaned out the basket where I toss magazines I don’t have time to read. Naturally, in the process of valiantly trying to cull through old issues, I found several I couldn’t put down and spent more time reading than cleaning.

During this episode, I stumbled on a terrific profile by Alexandra Schwartz in the February 3, 2020 issue of The New Yorker. (Side note: Why didn’t I read this one? I mean, shouldn’t a pandemic be the best possible reason to read every magazine you’ve been hoarding?)

Schwartz’s profile is of literary critic and memoir author Vivian Gornick. One line in particular would have brought me to my knees if I hadn’t already been kneeling by the basket. In describing Gornick’s desire to become a writer, Schwartz says:

“She had known desk ecstasy, the feeling of the world disappearing as you till your mind for the page, and once you experience that it’s hard to do anything else with your life.”

Could there be any better description of why we write, even when we doubt our ability to put words on the page or convince other people to read them?

I first experienced desk ecstasy as a teenager. Convinced I could make good money writing romances, I submitted stories to a romance magazine despite the fact that I’d never even been kissed. I never sold a single story, but it didn’t matter. I wrote those stories while on lunch breaks at a furniture factory where my job was to staple plywood backs onto wooden dressers. (My apologies to anyone out there who bought one. I’m certain your neatly folded clothes went straight through the dresser when the back fell off.)

So what if the factory was hot and loud? I had created a magic portal I could escape through.

Still, I tried hard not to be a writer when I went to college a couple of years later. My obsessive reading led me to plow through nearly every book in our tiny town library by the time I was sixteen, but I majored in biology, determined to have a “real” career. Medicine, maybe.

However, during a single elective course in creative writing, I once again experienced desk ecstasy. This time I couldn’t give up writing. I have never once looked back at this decision with regret.

I have known publishing rejections—too many to count—and successes. Ultimately, though, that score sheet fades in the face of what matters most: the ability to make the world disappear by creating new worlds of my own.

The Art of Revising a Book

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Recently, I stayed in an Airbnb where someone had tied the top tissues of all of the Kleenex boxes into bows. My first instinct was to laugh because they looked so comical.

Then I thought, “Good for you, taking so much pride in your work.”

Writing well is the same as doing anything else well: whether it’s yoga, cleaning, running, doing your taxes or the dishes, the beauty is in the details. You must take the time to write your book with care and attention. That means revising it, sometimes many times.

“How long does it take to write a book?” my students often ask, and of course there’s no easy answer.

Self-published authors, especially those who write genre fiction like fantasy, romance, or crime, turn out two or even four books a year. Literary writers—i.e., people who generally are up for prizes like the Booker or National Book Award—often take many years to write and publish only one book. Most of us are somewhere in between.

When I sent my latest work-in-progress (a thriller set in Spain) to my agent, her response was “Do it again.” I picked my ego up off the floor and used her (detailed!) editorial letter to revise the book, making changes to every chapter and almost every sentence. It had taken me a year to write the book. It took nearly another year to revise it.

After that, I had to twiddle my thumbs for four months before the agent sent it back to me with notes on THIS draft. Her editorial letter this time was easier to swallow, since she said it was “85 percent there.” (Naturally I was hoping she’d say it was 100 percent there, she already had an auction going, and soon there’s be a Netflix series. A person can dream, right?)

I spent another six weeks on the next revision, reworking a key plot element and fleshing out one of the characters by adding some backstory. Then I went through every page again, often reading them aloud to tighten sentences, scout out awkward or repetitive words, and catch inconsistencies. Many of the pages, like that bow on the tissue box, had only one or two changes, but those changes made the novel shine.

So, whatever draft you’re on, take your time. There’s no rush. Agents and editors at traditional publishing houses are basically looking for ways to say “no,” so you must submit your best, most polished work. And, if you’re self-publishing, remember that your book is representing YOU. Readers won’t come back for more of your writing if they’re disappointed in your first book.

Bottom line: A book takes as long as it takes to make it the best it can be.

3 Key Writing Lessons from Vertigo

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I was doing an online yoga class at home when the mat came up to meet me. Literally, one minute I was in forward fold, head dangling, and the next I was feeling the mat smack me in the forehead. When I looked up from the floor, I thought the ceiling fan was on full-tilt. Nausea kicked in.

It was like the worst college bender I’d ever been on, only I hadn’t been drinking. What the heck was going on? Was I having a stroke?

The dizziness passed after an eternity. But, when I turned over, the whole thing started again. I hoped it was only a bad flu.

It wasn’t a stroke or the flu, but vertigo, which affects about 40 percent of adults in the U.S., according to the University of California San Francisco. The condition is defined as an “illusion of motion,” and has many causes, from migraines to inner ear infections. Even certain medications can cause it. If the condition persists or worsens, you need to see a doctor to make sure there isn’t some potentially fatal underlying cause, like a tumor.

In my case, the vertigo was caused by benign paroxysmal positional vertigo (BPPV), brought on when tiny calcium carbonate crystals break loose in your inner ear. It’s called “positional” vertigo because that’s what triggers it: certain changes in position. I learned that the hard way when I bent down to shave my legs in the shower and fell, nearly plunging through the glass door.

Some exercises can throw the crystals back into place and stop the vertigo; a particular favorite among physical therapists is the Epley maneuver, which involves moving the head in a series of precise positions. You can also tame the condition with OTC drugs like Bonine or meclizine.

About a year after the first vertigo attack, I had another. This time I was quicker to accept my limitations, like no speedy staircase descents. And, although vertigo is the opposite of fun, I also embraced the lessons it taught me about writing:

1. Being Quiet Helps You Think

I’m the sort of person who multitasks nonstop. With vertigo, sometimes all I can do is sit still in a dark room. While it should be obvious to writers that being quiet helps you think, I never fully realized the importance of doing this until it was enforced. During my last vertigo episode, the idea for a new novel came to me in a flood of images. I’m now 50 pages into it and going strong.

2. Moving Slowly Sharpens Your Writing

Lots of writers (including me) set stern word count deadlines. But the best books take time, sometimes lots of time, for you to revise scenes and even sentences. Slowing down can make your writing shine.

3. Being Afraid Never Solves Anything

The first time I had vertigo, I was terrified that I was having a stroke. Being scared never solved anything, though, so I saw my doctor, even though I was terrified she’d find something was horribly wrong with me. The same goes for writing. You will start out on your project with great enthusiasm, but at some point you’ll be afraid. Maybe you’re afraid the plot isn’t working, or you’re scared to publish because you hate the idea of negative reviews. Push through the fear. It takes courage and persistence and hope to live a healthy life, and the same is true of writing.

What about you? Have you gone through any life changes or health scares that have helped your writing?

On Dogs and Writing

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It’s raining again. This is the third day in a row where I’ve had to take the dogs outside beneath wind-lashed trees, my supposedly waterproof jacket soaking up water like I’m wearing a newspaper cape. I’ve tried to get the dogs to use the yard to do their business, but they’re having none of it. So around the block we go.

The truth? Owning dogs has taught me a lot about consistency, accountability, and, well, sheer doggedness–all good qualities if you want to be a writer. Just as dogs need to be walked every day, those manuscripts won’t walk themselves.

It’s a chore, walking the dogs in bad weather, and even sometimes when the weather is fine. There is all of that stupid fiddling around with harnesses and leashes and poop bags and treats, for starters. Then there’s the sheer tedium of seeing the same sights on the same blocks where I live, unless I drive the creatures somewhere so they can run off-leash, chasing squirrels and rabbits, barking to let me know they’ve almost caught their own dinner for once.

Likewise, sitting down to write is a chore. Other, seemingly more important tasks call to me as I’m walking over to my laptop. We’ve run out of milk again. There’s a Himalayan range of laundry to be done, and my car needs an oil change.

But, as the rain soaks my shoulders, I walk the dogs past the house next door and marvel at the new Halloween decorations. I spot a flock (Or is it a gaggle? A murder?) of wild turkeys strutting across the street, the male spreading his tail like a fan big enough to power a shrimp boat. And then I run into a neighbor with his dogs, and as the dogs nose about, tails wagging and happy to be part of a pack, we exchange town gossip. I return home wet and chilled, but happy and ready to start the day. Awake.

Likewise, the writing can be a slog fest. There’s that chapter that doesn’t move the narrative forward, and the dialogue sounds as wooden as that grade-C science fiction movie my husband insisted on watching last night. There’s a dumb but possibly essential flashback that’s weighing down a scene.

But, if I sit here long enough, I’ll toss the dull chapter and shine up the dialogue. I’ll tighten the flashback or jettison it altogether. And, by the time I look up, with hair in my eyes and shoulders aching, it’ll be four hours later and I’ll feel better. I might not get all of it done, but every sentence written or edited means progress. I feel happy. Awake.

After dinner, I’d rather sip wine and watch Netflix, but the dogs want to play. They eye me expectantly, tails going like metronomes, toys between their paws. And so I slide off the dining room chair and sit on the floor to toss a stuffed sheep across the room for one dog to fetch while I play tug-of-war with the other, whose favorite toy is a stuffed dog with a grin just like his. Eventually the dogs slide onto my lap, press close and warm, and we rest.

Then it’s time to take the dogs out again. We watch the moon rise between the pine trees and listen to the barred owl call. Tomorrow, with luck, we’ll get up and do it all again.

Why Do You Want to Write a Book?

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A few nights ago, a new neighbor dropped by. She came late in the evening and stayed so long that I figured she must want to ask me something, but didn’t know how.

Sure enough, she finally said, “So, I’ve been meaning to ask. How do you write a book? And how long does it take?”

There are no easy answers to those questions. Every writer approaches the task of putting words on the page differently. Some authors churn out three or four books a year. Then there are those who spend a decade crafting a single manuscript.

I told her this, then added, “A better question to ask is why do you want to write a book?”

She looked startled. “I don’t know. I guess because I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I used to love writing in college.”

“Right, but why do you want to write a book? And why this book, in particular?”

“I don’t know,” she repeated, and swallowed the rest of her wine. “It just seems like writing would be a fun thing to do.” She stood up. “Anyway, it’s getting late. I’d better go.”

Obviously, she wasn’t finding the conversation helpful. I wondered later if there was something I could have said to satisfy her, but didn’t come up with anything.

The question of “how” to write a book has a million answers. It basically comes down to doing whatever works for you. All books are created by putting one word down and then another and another.

But you can’t successfully write a book until you’ve figured out why you’re writing it. It helps to picture your ideal readers. Who do you think will read this book, and what do you hope they’ll get out of it? Come up with a simple, straightforward answer to that, and you’ll have an easier time clarifying your goal and writing toward that end. For instance:

  • I want to write a book for my family so they understand our family’s history better
  • I want to write a book to show that people who have been through hardships can still be successful entrepreneurs
  • I want to write a horror story that will give my reader goosebumps
  • I want to write a novel that will make women laugh and know they can move on from their mistakes

And so forth. The more specific your answer to “why I’m writing this book,” the easier it’ll be for you to write and revise your manuscript, because because you’ll know where you’re headed.

If you’re still not certain, check out the reader reviews on Goodreads of some of your favorite books that are similar in genre to the book you’re writing. Many readers say what they’ve loved about particular books—and what they don’t like. Choose some of the reviewers whose opinions line up with your own, imagine them reading your book, and tell them why they’ll love it.

Now go write!

CAPE DISAPPOINTMENT: SHOULD YOU GIVE UP ON YOUR NOVEL?

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Last month, I flew to Oregon to visit my daughter. Our mission, in part, was to find her a wedding dress, but because neither of us is much of a shopper, we spent more time blissfully hiking than pawing through racks of sequins and tulle.

One of our best hikes took us through Cape Disappointment State Park in Washington. The trees were cathedral-size, the lush ferns were waist-high, and every rock and branch was softened by moss. Hiking is always a walking meditation for me, and this was no different. Maybe it was the name of this place–Cape Disappointment!–but the darkest, most closeted rooms in my brain were suddenly lit up and I found myself facing the question I’d been avoiding: Should I give up on the novel I’m writing?

The thing about writing books is that they’re a bit like putting together Ikea shelves, as debut novelist Virginia Hume noted when we appeared on a panel together at the recent Newburyport Literary Festival: even with a plan in front of you, you don’t know if a particular piece will hold together until you actually build it. This can be a frustrating, time-consuming process.

In a span of fifteen years, I published a memoir and six novels of contemporary fiction (along with many other ghostwritten books). Then I had the bright idea to spend four years researching and writing an historical novel that still hasn’t sold.

While I wait (im)patiently for the right editor for that manuscript, I’m working on a new book. This one is a novel of psychological suspense set in Spain. I love it, but when I showed it to my agent, she sent me back a detailed editorial letter that basically said, “Do it again.” (Her notes were spot on, btw.)

Hiking in Oregon, I pondered this novel and what it might take to whip it into shape. It seemed fitting to be on Cape Disappointment, pushing my old mom legs to keep pace with my daughter’s ultra marathoner’s muscular limbs, wondering if I should give up.

A Quick History and Geography Lesson

Cape Disappointment is a headland located at the southwest corner of Washington. Here, the powerful Columbia River meets the Pacific Ocean. The enormous amount of sediment carried by the river creates the Columbia River Bar, one of the world’s most dangerous maritime channels. Since 1792, the bar has been responsible for sinking some 2,000 ships.

The first non-native person to discover the Cape was Spanish explorer Bruno de Heceta in 1775. In 1788, the English Captain John Meares tried to find the Columbia, but because he thought he’d only found a bay and not the river’s mouth, he dubbed the area Cape Disappointment. A few years later, Lewis and Clark navigated their way here by land.

Bottom Line: When Should You Quit on a Novel?

How do you know when to quit on a novel?

I’ve written various manuscripts that have ended up in drawers or filing cabinets. I’ve even written books that I literally threw into fireplaces. It isn’t ever doubts about myself or the fickle publishing marketplace that lead me to give up on a particular book project. Rather, it’s a lack of interest. I get bored.

So, when do you quit on a book?

Here’s the simple answer: When you can’t stomach another revision or have an idea for a better book.

Ignore the market. Follow your own vision and go where your passion leads you.

On Cape Disappointment, I admired the view and thought about this new book of mine, and found myself eager to get back to it as I descended the trail. Always a good sign.

Do You Need an MFA to Be a Successful Writer? 3 Things an MFA Won’t Do for You

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This weekend is the Newburyport Literary Festival, and I’m thrilled to be moderating a panel called “Inspiration to Publication: The Journey of a Debut Author,” with editor Sarah Cantin, agent Susanna Einstein, debut novelist Virginia Hume and publicist Jennifer Romanello.

This event will attract mostly aspiring writers who are curious about the life cycle of a novel, and one of the questions they’ll probably ask is whether you need an MFA (Master of Fine Arts) in creative writing to succeed. Many authors take that path, and I’m one of them.

My own reasons for earning an MFA were unusual. Most graduate students enter MFA programs hoping the degree will lead to college-level teaching jobs, an agent, or a publishing deal. I went because I earned an undergraduate degree in biology and wanted to study literature. My MFA gave me time to write, deadlines to produce new work, and an audience who could critique my manuscripts. One of my professors even referred me to his agent.

So, was it worth it for me to get an MFA? Absolutely—but with one important caveat: I didn’t have to pay for my degree because I landed research and teaching fellowships. If I had to pay for the degree today, I might not do it, especially if I had to take out loans. Here are three reasons why:

1. An MFA Won’t Guarantee a Teaching Job

Many people enter MFA programs under the illusion that, because it’s a “terminal” degree like a PhD, they’ll be able to teach at the college level, but these days teaching jobs are in short supply. Even if you do get a college-level teaching gig, it’ll probably be as a lowly adjunct faculty member with no job security. You’ll earn less money than most bartenders.

2. An MFA Won’t Help You Earn Money with Your Writing

I’ve been a freelance writer for over 25 years now. And guess what? It’s not because I have an MFA. My first paid writing assignments were thanks to my biology degree, because editors were willing to take a chance on me for science and health articles when they saw that credential. Later, I wrote mostly for women’s magazines, not because I had an MFA, but because I was married with children and could turn out funny essays and parenting articles. More recently, most of my income is from ghostwriting books for celebrities, business executives, doctors, etc.–and I land those jobs because of my journalism experience. Have I earned even one paid writing gig because of my MFA? Nope.

3. An MFA Won’t Get You Published

While it’s true that some of your MFA professors might have agents who are willing to read your work because there’s a personal connection, they won’t take your manuscript because you have an MFA. It’ll still have to be a commercial manuscript, one they can pitch and sell to publishing houses. And guess what? If you write commercial fiction, your MFA professors and classmates will probably tell you it’s not “literary” enough.

The bottom line? MFA programs will give you deadlines, writing mentors and peers, and the kind of intense focus on craft that can certainly make you a better writer. However, you can also become a better writer for a lot less money by attending writers’ conferences and writing workshops, taking courses on social media and digital publishing, and joining community writers’ groups that will give you feedback on your manuscripts.

Vaccine Angels

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(photo by Sandy Millar, courtesy of Unsplash)

“So You Think You Can Get a Vaccine,” Saturday Night Live’s final skit in February, was a slam dunk. Hosted by Kate McKinnon as Dr. Anthony Faucci, the game show featured contestants vying for a vaccine. The winner was a grandfather who hoped to get the shot right there.

“Oh, no, you have to make an appointment online,” he was told. The judges advised him to find a young person to help him. Somebody who had three days to keep hitting “refresh.”

I can relate.

My husband and I both qualify for the vaccine. We used the state’s limping beast of a website, which crashed. When we did discover open appointments, our fingers weren’t fast enough to nab them.

Next I tried calling the 211 emergency line, though I felt guilty. We’re both tech savvy and have college degrees. Why couldn’t we figure this out?

“Well,” said the lovely woman who answered my 211 call, “I’ll put you on a waiting list for a call back, but we’re using the same website. The same thing happens to us.”

I reminded myself to be patient. As Governor Baker keeps reminding us, more vaccine doses and sites will become available. I sat with my browser window open while I worked, watching my time in the waiting room go from 17 minutes to 198 minutes to 167,000 minutes and then, finally, to a window that said it would be more than a day.

I hit refresh anyway. We live in hope.

“We’re like Vladimir and Estragon in Waiting for Godot,” I muttered when my husband asked how it was going.

An hour later, my mom called. She’s 89, lives in senior housing, and just had her second dose of the vaccine in a relatively smooth process, thanks to our local Board of Health, which leads me to wonder why shots weren’t being offered to more people locally. Who wants to drive to a mass vaccination site at Fenway or Gillette Stadium?

“I’m sure it’s a scam,” I said. “That woman’s probably using people’s information to hack their bank accounts.”

“Message her,” my mother insisted.

I did, figuring I could sniff out the scam and warn others.

The woman got back to me instantly and told me to call her. Michelle said she lived in our town and was married to a firefighter. “I’m helping people with appointments because that’s a way of protecting our community,” she said.

Her story, and the warmth in her voice, convinced me to give her my personal information. Two hours later, she called, saying, “Check your email.”

And there it was, my golden ticket: a vaccine appointment in March, at a place I didn’t even know was offering them because it wasn’t posted on the state’s website. A day later, Michelle sent my husband an email saying he had an appointment, too.

“You are the patron saint of vaccines,” I said. “How can I ever thank you?”

“By texting me after you get your shot,” she said, “and letting me know it went well.”

I cried. Out of relief, partly, but mostly from gratitude for vaccine angels like Michelle.

It shouldn’t be this hard to protect ourselves. If my husband and I can’t navigate the online appointment system, what hope to people have without computers, or with jobs that don’t let them sit on the computer for hours on end, of securing appointments?

With the new Johnson & Johnson vaccine added to those by Moderna and Pfeizer, and with the hard work of governors and healthcare workers trying to smooth the vaccine roll out in the coming weeks, I’m trying to live in hope that we can do better than this. We must.

How to Write a Memoir, Part 4: Kill Your Darlings in 7 Easy Steps

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In his brilliant book about the writer’s craft, On Writing, Stephen King offers this handy nugget of editing advice:

“kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler’s heart, kill your darlings.”

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In other words, no matter how much you adore a certain scene, or even a particular sentence, that’s not reason enough to keep it. Here are seven simple strategies to help you edit your memoir:

1. Let Your Book Grow Up First.

Every manuscript, like every human being, has three stages of development: childhood, adolescence, and adulthood. “In your early drafts, give yourself permission to play,” a writing professor once told me. “Don’t be strict about manners until your manuscript is old enough.” Why? Because if you worry about editing too soon, you might give up writing. Let your first draft be bad. Let it be the worst thing you’ve ever written! Nobody will see it but you, and you can’t shape a narrative until you’ve written enough of your book to see its shape.

2. Write the book jacket copy.

Create your “elevator pitch,” the summary you’ll use to hook an agent or editor. Envision this as the marketing copy on your book jacket and write it first. Then do a summary of that marketing copy. Finally, boil your theme down to a single sentence that will hook readers. For instance: “My inner city upbringing posed challenges that taught me how to be a creative, resilient entrepreneur.”

3. Tackle Big Picture Edits First.

If you haven’t done an outline yet, do one now. Once you’ve outlined the book, check each chapter and scene to see if they advance your narrative and support your single-sentence theme. Toss anything that doesn’t.

4. Read Your Manuscript Aloud.

By reading your book aloud, or by listening to someone else read it to you, you’ll easily catch clumsy sentences and flawed grammar.

5. Edit the Book Backwards.

It’s tough to do line editing—that’s why publishing houses hire copy editors—but you’ll focus better on the language if you read your book backwards, sentence by sentence. Eliminate passive sentences and empty, overused words like “nice” and “pretty.”

6. Leave It Alone.

Once you’ve edited your book, put it away for at least a month, then come back to edit it again with fresh eyes.

7. Call on Your Beta Readers.

When you’ve done all you can, call in your trusted Beta readers—people who will offer you honest, constructive feedback on your book.

What about you? Any editing tips you find helpful? I’d love to hear them!

How to Write a Memoir Part 3: Five Easy Ways to Research Your Own Life

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In my previous post, I talked about how to structure your memoir. I also promised that Part 3 of this series on writing memoir would highlight editing techniques.

I lied.

Before we get to editing, there’s another essential step in the process of writing memoir: research.

“Research?” you ask. “Why should I need to research my own life?”

Because humans have faulty memories.

Don’t believe me? ask a sibling or a friend to describe one of your shared childhood memories, and I guarantee that the two of you will remember different things.

Memoirs are subjective accounts, but researching your own life story will spark new memories and vivid descriptive details. Having facts on your side also gives you more credibility with your readers.

Here are five easy strategies for researching your memoir:

1. Interview siblings, friends, and anyone else involved in the anecdotes you’re putting on the page. When I wrote my own memoir, The Gerbil Farmer’s Daughter, I interviewed not only my mother, brothers, and extended family, but also childhood friends and my father’s employees and coworkers.

2. Read through childhood diaries, family journals, and letters. If you don’t keep a journal, start one now. In fact, start several: have one in your car, one next to the bed, and one at your desk to capture memories and thoughts as they arise. Read the journals of other family members, too: my own grandmother’s five-year diary, written when my father was a child, provided valuable insights into my father’s character.

3. Look through photograph albums. Seeing the people, houses, cars, and outfits from the past will spark new ideas, anecdotes, and descriptions.

4. Read magazines and newspapers to gather facts about the time periods your manuscript covers. Archived articles can be a goldmine for not only news events, but dialogue, clothing, and the general atmosphere of the time. One terrific resource is Newspapers.com, an online archive of local, national, and international news sources.

5. Browse the library’s history room. Many libraries have rooms devoted to the history of their cities and towns; you will find town and city documents here, and primary source materials like journals and letters that will give you more background on the time period your manuscript covers.

You may not use all of the facts you uncover, but background research will enrich your story by helping you recover new memories and write with more accuracy, detail, and depth.

Is there anything I forgot to list here? Let me know what you’ve found helpful. I’d love to hear about it. Happy writing!

Next up: How to Write a Memoir, Part 4: Deciding on What Stays and What Goes. I promise.

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