Author: beckylevine

When my son was young, I heard a child-development professional talk about kids who are “slow to warm up.” I can’t even come close to remembering her exact words, but the gist of what she was saying was that, basically, some kids have to master a skill or task before they can attempt it.

Yeah. Not exactly an easy thing to do. But as both my son and I got older, I think I reached a different understanding of what “mastering” means. It doesn’t, for a child, mean they have to somehow be perfect at a very specific task before they can take it on. It means, I think, that they have to build up to that task, by taking on smaller bits and pieces of it. Or by doing something similar, but, somehow, easier. They need to have some experience they can refer back to, a path they can follow to move forward–at least a partial path. Something that helps them believe they can take on what’s coming.

I think this is what plot does for me. Okay, I know, plot as a path: obvious. Bit it’s more of that master-before-you-do thing. I have talked here before about my inability to write without an idea of what I need to be writing about. I’ve gotten impatient with how long it takes to plot, and I’ve given up and just “had at it.” I’ve watched friends, of whom I’m terribly jealous, write random scenes as those scenes occur to them, or just start writing at “Once Upon a Time,” and speed through to the Living Happily After, all without putting a single point of an outline onto paper. And I’ve though, “Surely I can do this, too.”  Nope. Every time I’ve tried, I’ve ended up flailing around like someone who doesn’t even know how to tread water, let alone swim.

I think I need to know my story before I write it. Yeah, Duh! moment. Do I stick to the plot I write. Well, in the past couple of weeks, I have turned seven plotted scenes into three written ones. I have opened the binder in which I keep my scene notes, but half the time I’ve forgotten to even read those notes before opening up the new file and writing dialogue, action, setting. Just today, I wrote a scene, realized I’d pretty much left one character out of it, came up with her goal, and wove her and her problem into the already-drafted pages. All without looking back at my notes to see if the new goal matched the one I gave her while plotting. (Just took a peek: I didn’t even HAVE a goal for this character in my notes. Got one now!)

So, no, I don’t follow the plot, not step-by-step for sure, and sometimes, not at all. BUT…I apparently need it.

For me, when I plot and then sit down to write, the story is already part of me, the same way–I think–that a child who has gone to a birthday party and spent the whole time on its mother’s lap has still, in some way, incorporated birthday party into their being. The next time, they may get through the party by simply holding Mom’s hand, and the time after that, they will let go and clap while the other kids play Pin the Tail on the Donkey. The next time, they’ll close their eyes and pin on their own tail and then, finally, they’ll wear the blindfold and do the whole thing. They’ll even laugh when their tail lands on top of the donkey’s ear.

Was I a slow-to-warm-up kid? Let me take a few minutes to laugh hysterically at the question, and then I’ll give you my mom’s telephone number so you can call and hear her sigh. Oh, yeah. Beyond slow.

I like to think I’ve gotten a little more speedy. Yes, the plot took me For.Ever. to get onto paper. But I worked on it steadily and with determination. Why? Because I’ve plotted before, and it’s worked. These scenes I’ve written in the past couple of weeks? They’re flowing out of me like seriously watered-down ketchup. Are they good? Who knows? Will I revise them? More hysterical laughter. Oh, yeah. But I can write them, I can write each one and know that when I’ve finished it, I’ll be able to write the next one. Because, even if I haven’t mastered either plotting or writing, I’ve succeeded at both.  And I can do it again.

So much better than flailing.

Every hero has a flaw, and so does every writer with goals to get their hero onto the page. At least that’s what I tell myself when I look back at the week and wonder at all the moments when the writing didn’t happen. The one thing I know about myself and my writing patterns is that I do best with getting to the fiction when my life is running on an even keel, when the patterns of my days are consistent and predictable.

Yeah, I know. Because life is SO often like that.

Still, know oneself, right? I try not to beat myself up about a lag, and I try to give myself a little shake and remind myself that it’s gone on long enough. And I do try to give myself credit for the things, however small, that came along to shake up the routine and that, in their own way, demanded attention and time.

Hence this week’s Friday Five post.

1. Son is playing bass in the high school’s punk-rock production of Julius Caesar. It’s tech week, which means, in general, practice from the time school gets out until 10:00 at night. With a few modifications for the band itself (a bass, a guitar, and drums) which, of course, fluctuate on any given day. But pretty much mean that yours truly is VERY much up past her bedtime.

2. I’m driving the other car this week, seeing that my car is in pieces in the garage after breaking its timing belt. While it waits for donor organs (the new head parts husband will install), I’m driving around town in our old Vanagon. Which I love and which you can see from a mile away, although it takes more time than usual for me to drive that mile and get close enough for you to see that, yes, it’s really me. It’s kind of like riding in the shopping cart that you’ve stuck on the conveyor belt at the department store. It’s also a little like PARKING that shopping cart. But still, fun. Until you know, the brake light comes on and you have to call husband and start your conversation with the line, “Please don’t shoot the messenger.” More parts on order. I’m sure there’s a metaphor in here somewhere.

3. At work, I turned around a last-minute grant application that popped up out of nowhere and was a must. I tell you, it’s like those funders don’t know that I’m trying to keep a nice, neat grant calendar going! I also shifted hours a bit, because–hey, if you didn’t need to finish your work day in synch with that 3:30 school pick-up time, would YOU get up at 5:30 a.m. to go in early? I think not.

4. I did some of that non-writing writing work we all have. I took the plunge and started researching slush piles, having tested the agent waters with my picture book, getting some very positive response, but pretty much verifying my gut feel that one completed picture book is not the best route to agent representation. The picture book is now resting on one editor’s virtual desk, and I have several picture books published by another editor in my on-the-way-from-the-library pile. Another path along which I can only see to the first curve, with some fog along the way, but it goes in a direction that seems right for now.

5. I started physical therapy for my back. Just a minor strain or pull or something from not listening to my yoga teacher about props a few months ago, but it’s not going away, and it’s time to grow up and do something about it. Luckily, the PT place is two doors down from the high school, five minutes from home, five minutes from work. And also luckily, I really like the physical therapist herself. I mean, if you have to listen to things like “stability” and “flexibility” and “you’re trashing your back because you can’t bend,” you’d better be hearing them from someone nice. And I am being a very good client and actually DOING the exercises…TWO DAYS RUNNING! I can’t say they’re pleasant, and I’m still not sure I’m doing ANY of them right, they’re manageable and relatively uncomplicated and, like I said, part of being a responsible adult who’s trying to be supportive of the body she needs to use for several more decades.

Okay, there you have it: the things that came along new this week and said, “Hey! Fit us in! Schedule? We don’t need no stinkin’ schedule!” This weekend probably entails some moral support in the auto shop garage and, hopefully, the first Xmas shopping trip of the year. But now that I’ve recognized that my non-fatal flaw has reared its ugly head again, I’m hoping to tell it to shush and spend SOME time with the YA.

How’s your week been?

When I was nine, we moved to a new house. The house we’d been living in was a basic tract home, in which I shared a bedroom with one of my sisters. It was pretty much a nice-sized box, with some remodels my dad had one and a smallish backyard with a swing-set for us. Nothing super fancy. The house we moved into was one my parents had designed by an architect to their vision, it was on top of a hill with an awesome view of the ocean, and it had a huge yard (already being filled with the fruit trees I would have to weed around for the next 9 years, but we won’t go there…). It had bedrooms for all of us, for which we each got to pick a new bedspread and hanging lamp (It was the seventies, barely, so I won’t go into the gruesome details of my choices). Three stories, big rooms, you name it.

I liked the old house better.

I can’t remember how long it actually took between the time my parents bought the lot and when we moved into the completed house. It had to have been at least a year, right? Plenty of time to adjust. But to me, at the time (okay, possibly still a little), the change felt sudden, dramatic, and even traumatic. I can remember walking along the framed-in rooms, everybody else excited and happy, and me thinking nothing but, “I’m going to have to move here.” I may have pouted. A lot.

Obviously, I didn’t do change well, as a child. I’m pretty sure my sisters did it a lot better, at least that time. I pretty much hated change–I always felt things were okay, fine, safe, happy–whatever, the way they were, and then…boom! Someone or something would come along, and I’d have to step out of my comfort zone and take risks.

I’m not a child anymore. Obviously, I know change still happens out of nowhere–unfortunately, it’s usually the bad things. And I think I’ve probably been lucky in the last couple of decades, just about all the changes in my life (although not all) have been of my choice, of my making, and with all the lead-up time I needed to feel right and, if not always happy, at least accepting of them. Still…things also feel, I don’t know, as if they  have more context. This week, a very good friend is moving out-of-state. As much as I’ll miss her, I think this change has been coming for a while. THINGS have led up to it, and the things she’ll be doing in her new place are, I think, building on the person she’s been becoming. Also, while there are going to be losses and nervousnesses, I can see (and I know she can) the good things that will be coming to her from this change she’s making.

Is it just that, as an adult, the changes are more often in my own court? I don’t (completely) blame my parents for making the move without consulting me. But, obviously, every time I’ve moved as an adult, I’ve been–if not in charge–definitely one of the active participators in the decision. Or is it that, when things do change, I have more of a life to set them against–more past to reassure me that change can be okay, even good, and maybe even a longer view into the future to know there may be some excitement and even fun coming from this change? Was I, as a child and teen, less able to step out of the moment when change hit and less able to experience it as anything but a shock?

Either way, I think it’s a place of difference for me, now, and for the teen characters I’m writing about. Yes, obviously, change has to happen more dramatically in adult novels or we’d put them all down and just read MG and YA (Oh, wait…). But I wonder if this construct of fiction isn’t even more so in writing for and about teens. It may be why I so love the genre–because change at that age is so much more…more extreme, more sudden, more impacting. I always feel, when I’m reading a really good book for teens, that this hero is on the edge of something, of a moment that has the capacity for awakening, decisiveness, transformation. As much as I believe that I, at my age, am still very capable of growing and changing, it’s all based on a history of having done it before. It’s part of a continuum. Perhaps change, to teens, feels much more like a first. And perhaps that’s why the books are so engaging to readers. To me.

What do you think? How do you see change in your life versus change in the books you’re writing? Do you have to find a way to consciously shift from your older point of view, back to the time when you didn’t want your own bedroom, thank you very much, or does it come naturally when you sit down at the keyboard? It’s not a matter of vocabulary or sentence length, I don’t think, but an entire perspective/feel. A challenge to achieve, yes, but worth it.

Wow, when I said I’d be posting less, I didn’t expect that to send me into a “Blog? What’s a blog?” state of mind. But it’s been a while, that’s for sure.

Here’s what I’ve been up to.

Digging deeper into the new job. Working on balance out accomplishing specific tasks and putting out daily fires with seeing the big, long-term picture and pulling things together into some form of organization. Getting good news, even about the bad news, as I learn more about how to do this development thing. Stopping off at The Mmoon on the way from one museum to the other to pick up empanadas for myself and whoever else wants to text me their order. I know it’s not traditional, but I can highly recommend the macaroni, ham, and cheese empanada.

Outside those hours, I’ve been very productive in letting the house stay messier, the laundry stay unfolded, and saying yes when the guys suggest a dessert run to Trader Joes–and then sneaking in a short list of other stuff we need, hence eliminating one of my own grocery runs for the week. Yep.

I’ve also been making serious progress on the YA plot. I’m telling you, if I thought I could balance the new schedule with my first-ever NaNoWriMo, I’d be signing up right now. I’m pretty sure, though, that I’d also be signing up for a slightly insane breakdown, so I’m just shooting for getting the plot done by our next critique session, which we’ve all decided will be a writing session, so we can GET some stuff out to critique! I think I’m that close. It’s still slow, but I’m finding that the concentrated time on my days off and weekends really makes me push myself to figure things out. I hit stalls, and then I force myself back to the laptop to THINK about that gap or that block or that imbalance. And I’m finding solutions. Oh, I know I’ll still face questions and make big changes when I start writing, but the links are starting to click closed on each other, and the characters are starting to say yes to the storylines I’m offering.

And I’m mentally prepping myself to add one more thing to my life in November. I may not be up for NaNo, but I will totally be doing PiBoIdMo. This, too, intimidates me a bit. Last year was INSANE, with my son being hospitalized for pneumonia that month, and me and husband getting the bug that was going to turn into bronchitis (me-TWICE) and pneumonia (him-ONCE!) in the next month. Still, I persisted, and I’ve told them both they canNOT get sick this year. I did get my 30 ideas (more), and while I only developed two of them fully this year, I now have two in-some-revision-stage picture book manuscripts that I am in love with. The intimidation comes mostly from the idea that I still want to finish up THESE books at the same time as I run as-much-full-blast-as-possible on the YA, and YOU tell ME where all the time to do these things plus MORE picture-books is going to come from!

Not a reason to avoid getting the ideas, though. *stifles mad giggle*

So there you go. That’s what’s new with me, and it’s all good and all a little crazy, and maybe those are the same things, right? What’s keeping you (happily) busy these days? Drop a comment in and share!

And Happy Autumn–my favorite season!