1. Resist editing as you write.
One thing I have had to learn is to not stress about what I am writing while I am writing it. When I just let the words come, they flow and develop much more easily than if I stop and reword something at the end of every sentence. It's ok to edit typos, but don't agonise over every nuanace of every sentence. Remember, you can't edit words you don't have.
2. Participate in word wars
I'm amazed that I have only just discovered this wonderful little writing tool. It's literally revolutionised my writing practice and my word count has increased expontentially.
The beauty is in the simplicity. All you do is get together, either online or in person, with a writerly friend or two, set a time limit and then write like a maniac with extraordinarily fast arms until the time is up. I can get up to about 600 words per fifteen minutes when word warring.
If you don't have any writerly friends, you can still just set a timer and write until it pings. The word war just adds that extra incentive to crack your PB (personal best) and gives you more of those lovely words to edit into something worthy of a publishers time.
3. Switch off the TV
How many times have you sat down to watch a half an hour show and found yourself still staring at the telly two hours later? It's time to get strict. Pick a handful of "must watch" shows, shows you would record if you couldn't be there to watch, and switch the TV off the minutes the credits start rolling. Then leave the room to avoid the temptation to switch it back on again.
Along those lines, don't keep a TV in the same room that you write. If anything even remotely entertaining is on, you'll keep turning around to watch it. Keep the visually and auditorily distracting television out of the way. You're probably not missing anything, anyway.
4. Have babywearer, will write
I cannot tell you how useful a babywearer is. It allows you to keep your baby close, all snuggled up next to you, while your hands remain free. This means you can pretty much get anything you need to done, save for showering and bathing. As an added bonus, babies seem to love them, especially when they are old enough to face forwards and watch the world around them.
You know what this means don't you? Get yourself a wearer, pop baby in said wearer and get to writing. You and baby will love it.
5. Use parenting as a springboard to creativity.
Something about giving birth, whether or not you gave birth naturally or had interventions, seems to stimulate something inside. The ultimate act of creation seems to stimulate all these little creations inside you that bubble and boil inside you.
The key is to tap into that creativity. One day, your child or children will do something extremely cute, profoundly touching or incresibly stupid that is going set that bubble a'boilin'. When you feel that rumbling, grab a pen and let that bubble burst.
These little stories can turn into bigger stories or become the basis for characters later on.
6. Find what works for you.
For me, writing in the late morning when Finn is having his second nap works the best for me. I also find that writing around 7:30pm - 9:30pm a great time to tap into the muses, since Finn is in bed then and I'm usually still awake enough to make sense.
Meanwhile, some writerly friends of mine love getting up at 6:00am, writing like mad for an hour before bub gets up. Still more are up in the wee hours of the night, sipping a cup of tea while the hum of the computer keeps them company.
The point I'm trying to make, in an unnecessarily roundabout kind of way, is that you need to find the rhythm that works for you and your family. There's no use trying to get up at 6;)0am if you're not a morning person. Likewise, why force yourself to stay awake until midnight if all you want is your bed at that hour? Find your rhythm and you'll find your words.
7. Write.
Writers write. So write. Everyday. About anything. On any surface. For any length of time. For five minutes or five hours. Just write.
8. No really. Write. Stop reading this list of tips on writing and write.
It amazes me how many so-called writers spend more time reading about writing than they do actually writing. Do you think a cop would put on his uniform, pop the hat on his head and then cosy down to a nice book about being a cop, then call himself a cop? I doubt it.
Likewise, you cannot call yourself a writer if you get out your laptop, open a new Word file and then sit down and read a blog about writing. So stop reading this one and get writing. Go on, go. I can see you. Go. Click that little cross in the corner (or the red circle for Mac user). Go.
Get used to the idea that reading about writing is an aid to the actual writing and not a supplement.
9. Be kind to yourself.
Despite following all the tips above, you will find yourself not being able to write sometimes. If you didn't get to write today or this week or this fortnight, don't give yourself a hard time. Just sit down and write again this second you have a chance. Also, if you've got the flu, the baby is screaming and the dog wants to be let out, let yourself not write for the day. Take care of yourself the way you take care of your family and you will be able to keep writing for much longer and find more satisfaction in your work.
10. Don't ever let anyone tell you that you can't do it, ever.
You will encounter naysayers when you say that you want to write. They'll remind you of your toddler or the housework or the low pay scales. Don't listen to them. They don't know what they are talking about. When you encounter a naysayers just smile politely and let whatever they're saying go in one ear and out the other. Unless they're telling you that while you were writing your toddler set the house on fire with a pile of money, don't listen.
Listen to me when I say you can do it. You will do it. If you listened to me back at Tip 8, you'd be doing it right now. Keep people around you who tell you that you can do it and listen to them as often as they're willing to tell you.
As for the money, as any writer or parent knows, we get rewarded by something much more valuable than money.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
The Birth of His Royal Higness Finn Aleister the 1st (concluded)
It was not to last for long, though, because I was whipped away and placed in the arms of a different, harder body. This person had a familiar scent to them as well but I couldn't place it and I recognised his voice. I let him hold me while I waited for that giant to come back so I could go home. I tried to think of ways to find my way back into my warm cosy apartment and refill it. Where would I get enough water? I wondered.
Eventually I was moved around and found my nose tickled by a scent. I found myself being placed on someone's chest and instantly recognised her as the giant woman who'd kept my apartment inside of her. I cuddled up to her, enjoying the smell of home, wondering if I was going to be allowed back in or if I'd have to make a new home out here.
I heard more voices telling me that this was Mother and that the male giant was Father. "They're going to look after you,” they said. I started crying from exhaustion and found myself being cuddled and soothed. I somehow fell into a dreamless sleep and woke up still being cuddled warmly.
It was then it dawned on me. I was here as their new ruler. Every whim I had, every desire, they would fulfil. Mother was a giant but she was at my beck and call day and night. Perhaps I was needed for some special reason? Perhaps they needed a strong leader to direct their days?
Well, I could do that. I am smart person, I thought. I will be such a ruler that all the other kings in the world will look to me for inspiration, I will be firm but fair and command respect. It also occurred to me that Mother and Father may become tired in their never-ending quest to please their sovereign, so I decided that here and there, I would allow them two, maybe three hours rest, before attending to my needs again. I believed in charity, after all. A leader need not be cruel to be effective!
And I since that day, I have been a charitable yet demanding King. Mother and Father seem happy in doting on me hand and foot.
Mother is currently typing away at Father's "computer." Every so often she turns to look at me and make a funny face or silly voice at me. I find it all very undignified but I indulge her with a smile because I know it amuses her so and, after all, I am a benevolent ruler.
Eventually I was moved around and found my nose tickled by a scent. I found myself being placed on someone's chest and instantly recognised her as the giant woman who'd kept my apartment inside of her. I cuddled up to her, enjoying the smell of home, wondering if I was going to be allowed back in or if I'd have to make a new home out here.
I heard more voices telling me that this was Mother and that the male giant was Father. "They're going to look after you,” they said. I started crying from exhaustion and found myself being cuddled and soothed. I somehow fell into a dreamless sleep and woke up still being cuddled warmly.
It was then it dawned on me. I was here as their new ruler. Every whim I had, every desire, they would fulfil. Mother was a giant but she was at my beck and call day and night. Perhaps I was needed for some special reason? Perhaps they needed a strong leader to direct their days?
Well, I could do that. I am smart person, I thought. I will be such a ruler that all the other kings in the world will look to me for inspiration, I will be firm but fair and command respect. It also occurred to me that Mother and Father may become tired in their never-ending quest to please their sovereign, so I decided that here and there, I would allow them two, maybe three hours rest, before attending to my needs again. I believed in charity, after all. A leader need not be cruel to be effective!
And I since that day, I have been a charitable yet demanding King. Mother and Father seem happy in doting on me hand and foot.
Mother is currently typing away at Father's "computer." Every so often she turns to look at me and make a funny face or silly voice at me. I find it all very undignified but I indulge her with a smile because I know it amuses her so and, after all, I am a benevolent ruler.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
The Birth of His Royal Highness Finn Aleister the 1st
I have decided it was time to impart my memories of the day I was "born."
It had been a pleasant morning. I'd woken up, rolled over, had a nap. I was quite hungry, though, I must admit and the bellpull I'd been tugging on since before I could remember seemed to be out of order. It was most frustrating.
I remember murmured voices but that was nothing unusual. In my cosy one bedroom apartment, complete with daily hot bath, I often heard the murmur of voices and muffled sounds. I never considered them part of the outside world, they were just part of my world.
On this particular day, though, there were new sounds. Three voices I didn't recognise, deep voices. I could feel my little home compressing oddly and the hot water slushing around more than usual. It was a most odd sensation.
At one point, I felt myself being tumbled, like I was often, in a backwards falling motion. To my abject horror, though, something new happened. I felt a cold sensation on my rear end, as though a hole had been torn in my cosy home. I looked around and saw with terror that there was, in fact, a hole and not only that, but a pair of giant hands were coming toward me.
Well, I did what any sensible young man would do. I scooted out of the way! The more I tried t escape these hands, though, the more the pursued me. On top of that, the warm water that had held me all these days was trickling away, accompanied by a sucking noise.
I was, to say the least, most unimpressed.
All of a sudden, I felt myself being enclosed by these hands and lifted upward until I suddenly broke into this blindingly light room, full of strange blue giants and beeping noises. Like the sensible young man I am, I screamed.
I was carried through the air, wrapped in some warm soft substance and placed on someone's head. It was a warm, female someone with an incredibly familiar scent. Don't tell me I’ve been living inside a giant woman, I thought.
Her scent was comforting to me though, as it reminded me of home, and I calmed down.
It had been a pleasant morning. I'd woken up, rolled over, had a nap. I was quite hungry, though, I must admit and the bellpull I'd been tugging on since before I could remember seemed to be out of order. It was most frustrating.
I remember murmured voices but that was nothing unusual. In my cosy one bedroom apartment, complete with daily hot bath, I often heard the murmur of voices and muffled sounds. I never considered them part of the outside world, they were just part of my world.
On this particular day, though, there were new sounds. Three voices I didn't recognise, deep voices. I could feel my little home compressing oddly and the hot water slushing around more than usual. It was a most odd sensation.
At one point, I felt myself being tumbled, like I was often, in a backwards falling motion. To my abject horror, though, something new happened. I felt a cold sensation on my rear end, as though a hole had been torn in my cosy home. I looked around and saw with terror that there was, in fact, a hole and not only that, but a pair of giant hands were coming toward me.
Well, I did what any sensible young man would do. I scooted out of the way! The more I tried t escape these hands, though, the more the pursued me. On top of that, the warm water that had held me all these days was trickling away, accompanied by a sucking noise.
I was, to say the least, most unimpressed.
All of a sudden, I felt myself being enclosed by these hands and lifted upward until I suddenly broke into this blindingly light room, full of strange blue giants and beeping noises. Like the sensible young man I am, I screamed.
I was carried through the air, wrapped in some warm soft substance and placed on someone's head. It was a warm, female someone with an incredibly familiar scent. Don't tell me I’ve been living inside a giant woman, I thought.
Her scent was comforting to me though, as it reminded me of home, and I calmed down.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The azure-coloured thumb of doom or What happened to the talented children's writers of yore?
Let it be known that I hate In the Night Garden with a passion. Let's go past the bit with the weird brown people with the bulging eyes that look a bit like stoned potatoes. Let's go straight to the really, super creepy giant blue thumb. That bloody thing just bounces around like a nauseating azure limb, waving around that red blankie like it's about to go bullfighting. Not only that, it follows me to the ABC store, to Dymocks, anywhere there are children or books it's there! I turn around and there it is, watching me from that creepy blue Gumby-like thumb head.
It isn't just In the Night Garden that bothers me (though it is the main culprit). There's also Boobah, which is just a bunch of giant blobs with eyes dancing for five minutes. Yesterday I found myself watching a particularly crass show, Mr Maker, that was obviously a poor man's version of Art Attack. The host was so condescending I could feel my IQ dropping.
The thing that offends me the most about these programs is not that they are nauseating or that I feel compelled to check under my bed for dancing blobs or thumb sucking, well, thumbs. No, what I am offended at is they treat children as though they are idiots. Yes, small children do have a fair way to go with regards to cognitive development. That doesn't make them stupid. Instead of providing blobs and silly voices for entertainment, why not include something that might actually help them to develop their cognitive abilities? Something that helps them think? I know that babies love bright colours and people making funny voices at them. But babies quickly become toddlers who become children and they need more than dancing blobs.
In the good old days of my own childhood I watched Mysterious Cities of Gold, Superted, Play School, Spellbinder, Sesame Street, Maid Marian and her Merry Men and a bunch of other quality kids' shows. Sure, they were aimed at children but when I sit down to watch them now, I don't feel spoken down to, nor do I feel compelled to take to my TV with a mallet.
Where did the writers of said shows go? Did they not pass down their knowledge to suitably talented protégés? Didn't they at least think to say "Hey, children are not dumb." In the Night Garden plays out like it was written by a stoned potato who'd just hammered his thumb.
I know there are many sound arguments against children watching TV at all. I certainly agree that babies would be much better served by mobiles and Mama making funny faces at them. However, not all parents ban their kids from the TV and since so many studies have shown how TV influences children, I think it would behove the writers to remember that their audience comprises of young people whose minds are quite malleable and able to take in and learn a surprising amount.
I know there has always been and will always be crappy TV shows out there. In the Night Garden is one of many. However, it seems Australian TV is currently overwhelmed by insultingly dumb programming for its younger audience and until the day someone writes something worth watching, my son’s viewing will be strictly monitored.
If only to stop the nightmares of that dancing thumb. . .
It isn't just In the Night Garden that bothers me (though it is the main culprit). There's also Boobah, which is just a bunch of giant blobs with eyes dancing for five minutes. Yesterday I found myself watching a particularly crass show, Mr Maker, that was obviously a poor man's version of Art Attack. The host was so condescending I could feel my IQ dropping.
The thing that offends me the most about these programs is not that they are nauseating or that I feel compelled to check under my bed for dancing blobs or thumb sucking, well, thumbs. No, what I am offended at is they treat children as though they are idiots. Yes, small children do have a fair way to go with regards to cognitive development. That doesn't make them stupid. Instead of providing blobs and silly voices for entertainment, why not include something that might actually help them to develop their cognitive abilities? Something that helps them think? I know that babies love bright colours and people making funny voices at them. But babies quickly become toddlers who become children and they need more than dancing blobs.
In the good old days of my own childhood I watched Mysterious Cities of Gold, Superted, Play School, Spellbinder, Sesame Street, Maid Marian and her Merry Men and a bunch of other quality kids' shows. Sure, they were aimed at children but when I sit down to watch them now, I don't feel spoken down to, nor do I feel compelled to take to my TV with a mallet.
Where did the writers of said shows go? Did they not pass down their knowledge to suitably talented protégés? Didn't they at least think to say "Hey, children are not dumb." In the Night Garden plays out like it was written by a stoned potato who'd just hammered his thumb.
I know there are many sound arguments against children watching TV at all. I certainly agree that babies would be much better served by mobiles and Mama making funny faces at them. However, not all parents ban their kids from the TV and since so many studies have shown how TV influences children, I think it would behove the writers to remember that their audience comprises of young people whose minds are quite malleable and able to take in and learn a surprising amount.
I know there has always been and will always be crappy TV shows out there. In the Night Garden is one of many. However, it seems Australian TV is currently overwhelmed by insultingly dumb programming for its younger audience and until the day someone writes something worth watching, my son’s viewing will be strictly monitored.
If only to stop the nightmares of that dancing thumb. . .
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