ieva melgalve

Things I’ve done:
- worked quite a bit on Vega revision (although the real value of this is still unknown; ie I have very little idea whether I will be able to put that thing in shape and how long it will take),
- worked a bit on Newil planning,
- worked a bit on Flowers.

Tomorrow afternoon, I’m going away to Tricon 2010, and I have very little idea whether I’ll have Internet access there, so posts may be scarce. I have very little idea on when I’ll be able to pack and where I’ll sleep and I have a zillion other concerns and uncertainties, but I’m trying to see it as an Adventure.

Today, I started planning NaNoWriMo. It seems that I’m going with Newil after all–a decision that surprised me both because it came so easily and because it seems WAY too hard to pull off. I started with a sentence for the plot, and three sentences for the three sons of God. (Yes, capital G, since he’s the only god in the Galaxy. And he dies in the first scene or so.) I have very little about what will actually happen–I think that I can envision three of four important meetings between people, but that’s about it.
I think that I’ll start plotting this thing from what I surely know what will happen–what must happen–and work my way back and forth, fitting the pieces in. From that, the characters and the worldbuilding would arise. I know it’s a haphazard way to go about it, but the actual plot has always been the weakest link, so I guess it makes sense to start with it and support it with the stronger parts of my writing.
Anyhow, this feels like something breathtakingly cool, and I’m very glad I chose it for Nano… because I surely wouldn’t have the guts to do this on any other occasion.

So I’ve done 130 pages right now and it’s clear that instead of 5 chapters (150 pages) as I planned, this will take 6 chapters (180 pages).
And yes, I’m back in my productive mood, sort of. I am, as always, dissatisfied with how little I actually do, and I’m quite sure I could be doing more, managing my time more efficiently etc. etc.. I’m tossing various ideas around, so my brain is constantly buzzing–and I have little idea how much of this buzz is useful. This is fun, of course, way more fun than doing nothing. Actually, even “doing nothing” and killing my time with computer games has become better, because now I don’t play them just to avoid thinking about other things. I’m playing to enjoy the game, because I have awarded myself with the gift of “game time”. (This is actually a good idea: to treat my normal do-nothing pastimes as gifts to myself, not self-sabotage.)

Oh, and on September, I’m helping out a friend to tutor a class of Latvian (wannabe) writers. This is going to be harsh, on all of us, but I hope I will learn something, if only not to volunteer for such things Ever Again. (OK, I actually hope that what I’m going to say will be useful to those people as well… But that remains to be seen.)

Yesterday, I realized that constant, successful writing takes two things: freedom and discipline.
Discipline, not “forcing yourself to write and punishing yourself for not doing so”, but “allotting time to write and sticking to it, sitting down, writing and enjoying the thing, too”. It’s possible. Just yesterday, I re-read the beginning of Flowers, and I found out where are the parts when I really, really enjoyed my writing. Funnily, these are not the parts that I’d expected to enjoy, and some of them were written while stressed-out and hurt. I guess it’s really impossible to tell beforehand, whether you’ll enjoy writing or not.
About the second part. Freedom. This realization came after reading “168 Hours” manifesto: there are many hours every day, every week that I reserve for tasks and people who never really take that time. For example, family wants me to be home and available even when they don’t really need me, “just in case”, but they never say “hey, don’t you want to have an hour by yourself, so you can write or do whatever you wish?”
That’s understandable. That’s how the world works, from tiny things (like five minutes of my time) to world wars: freedom is something you have to fight for. It’s not given to you for being nice and docile, it’s not a thank-you gift for giving yourself away. It’s nobody else’s responsibility that you have your freedom; it’s yours to fight for and yours to take.

The funny thing is that I used to do this for a while, and it worked fine. It worked fine for so long that I got used to it and thought that I don’t have to fight any more. That was when I lost my freedom, and with it, my discipline, and with it, my will to do anything.
Now, I can take it back. Because that’s the other funny thing about time: while people can claim it, nobody can take it away. I still have my 168 hours a week, and, no matter how I’ve wasted my time in the past, nobody is taking away my future.

Today, I finally put the end to the chapter 4 of Flowers. All the main players are in the key location (except for the dark horse, Daniel, who’s about to make his move very, very soon). And it’s fun. I don’t know at what point had I decided that everything I write has to be profound and deeply connected with myself, but that was surely around the time of my last writer’s block. I mean depth and stuff is nice if you can get it but if you can’t, just doing a decent job is good. And if you can’t do a decent job, fooling around and having fun is good as well. After all, the best thing about a good book is that it feels effortless–as if it wasn’t hard to write at all–and the easiest way to get that feeling of effortlessness is to approach the material lightly as a feather, not dumping all the heavy stuff in it.

The depths of your experience isn’t something that you have to express. If you can throw it out, throw it out. If you cannot, carry it with you. That’s it.

So I’ve had a weekend that really reset my stress-counter to zero (not that I feel obliged to run myself down again). And I’ve added a couple of pages to the Flowers. This is good.
I’ll be going by tram to work again, starting tomorrow–but my son will come with me, so I don’t know how that’ll influence my writing.

The best thing is that I’m slowly backtracking to the feeling I used to have when I was very productive. I don’t know how or why. Probably it’s because this is a spell of good things in my life, even if they’re overwhelming me a bit. Probably it’s one of those pendulum things, swinging in and out of feeling good and at the top of things.
I hope that if I stay in this mood for longer, it will help me to become more productive, not just feel like it. But for now, all I’m interested in is… well, it’s turning Moleskine cashiers into small personalized notebooks. What? Christmas is already round the corner, isn’t it?

I managed to create three more pages for Flowers today, and thus the morning has started brilliantly. All in all, it seems that in those days when I can find some time for writing, I feel much better in the mornings. On the other hand, I’ve got my old anxiety back, and can’t figure out whether it’s because of burn-out at work or because of what I’m writing. Probably I should do some research, keep notes of my mental state vs what I’m doing. Or find a study on the subject. I can’t believe that British scientists research whether penguins trip backwards whenever a plane is going over them, but spare no similarly weird study for writers.

Be as it may, this week is approaching end, and I’ll probably have a totally free Sunday. (Saturday’s reserved for a job party, that counts as semi-free.) Probably it will be enough to sleep and rest and get myself back together. I certainly hope so.

I added several pages on All Flowers Must Live today, perking up a little sagging plot twist today. I am profoundly surprised at how easy it is to write comixes when I definitely don’t have enough in me to write something even a bit more substantial. The short dialogues and sketchy description is what I’m good at (that probably means I’m not very good at writing… but oh well, I’ll let that pass).

Anyhow, the story is gaining some eerie, sad and tortured shape that I like very much. And besides, a short writing session before a loooong day at work (long not as “boring” but as “overworked”) is better than coffee in regard of self-assurance and well-being.

(Also, my English is slipping gently away, eluding me eternally; and it seems that the same thing happens to my Latvian. That, too, can be remedied by having a weekend off.)

It seems that all I need to start writing is:
1. a couple of good, productive days at work to boost my confidence,
2. a morning tram to work,
3. a constant notice in the blog that I am writing, yes, I am.
So here I go.
It’s nothing much, just two pages on that comic, but, considering that I had to jump back on a long-abandoned train, I guess it’s not that bad. When I figure out what I wanted to do plot-wise (I’m so happy right now that I was actually writing down at least some of what I planned to do!), I think I will be fine.

Lessons learned:
1. Writing the plot down, even if it’s very approximate, or very “obvious”, is a good idea.
2. Abandoning writing for a while is not that bad, as long as you try to get back to it from time to time.
3. If you find a writing discipline that works, it’s not necessary to change it to get “more disciplined”. The goal is writing, not perfect discipline, so don’t fix it if it’s not broken.

Lately, I have been so busy at work, that I barely have the time to breathe, let alone blog.
However, there is something I can’t forego sharing.
A couple of days ago, I suggested my co-worker would love to read “The City & The City” (a book I’m switch-reading simultaneously with “Fool’s Errand” by Robin Hobb). He said that he’d love to but he has so many books in his to-read list that he simply can’t squeeze it in.
On an impulse, I said: “Oh, come on. Just read the interesting books.”
Don’t get me wrong, he is a natural born reader, and I am sure his taste in literature is way better than mine. I mean he is only reading good books, and books that are worth reading, if not for their quality then for their value as Educational Materials in Latvian Modern Literature. I think he’d be embarrassed to admit that he’d ever read light literature, you know, mystery or thrillers or, God forbid, romance. Even if he does, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t.
Me, I’m reading things that are an easy read. I read books with an engaging plot, and books that are the top picks in fantasy. I read “Soulless”, which, for all of its qualities, is not exactly a thought-provoking Literary Read. I read “Monsters” by J.M.Greer, and all my skeptic friends (including my husband) would cock an eyebrow on that. I read–well, basically I read everything that I can gobble up fast, and I don’t care if it’s something profound (like Crichton’s “Sphere”) or something merely curious. And I read a lot I don’t have a “to-read” list. I have a “books-to-buy-when-I-have-almost-finished-what-I’m-reading” list.
Well, all right. I have books that are in my “to-read” list, books that I realistically won’t touch any time soon. There are such books in every reader’s list: the ones that you “have” or “need to” read but never really get around to reading them. It’s good. Sometimes, after all, you do open that sort of books.
But what I think is paramount to constant reading is: don’t just read what you have to read. Read worthless books as well, read books that probably won’t give much to you but that will keep you entertained. It’s way better than not reading at all because you can’t make yourself to open another hard-cover, hard-content book.
Allow yourself the pleasure of reading. Just like you sometimes cook even if you’re not creating a culinary masterpiece, or hang out with a friend even if it’s not your best, or most valued friend.
Literature is not just about improving yourself. It’s about improving your everyday as well, it’s about bringing a new highlight, even if it’s just a tiny sunbeam, in your life.
If you read out of obligation only, you won’t be reading much, nor enjoying the process overly.
If you read for fun, well, some of your friends will smirk at you for reading, say, “Twilight”, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you had your fun; and you had new insights, even if the insights weren’t particularly profound.
Read what you love. And then, at some point, you will learn to love what you need to read–provided you really do need it.