Travel

Boredom and the Working Writer

I’ve been a writer since before I can remember. My mum recently found a speech I wrote in year six in which I announced that when I grew up I was going to be an author or a poet or a journalist — I didn’t mind which, as long as I got to write. Even before year six I was writing. It was the first thing I remember being good at. It was the second thing I remember really lighting my mind on fire. The first, of course, was reading.

I have dozens of notebooks and computer files full of stories written while I was still a kid. Well, dozens of beginnings of stories. I’d start a story and the same thing would happen every time. My real life would suddenly get interesting and I would find myself less interested in living a pretend life. Because writing, for me, has always been that, first and foremost: A way to stave off boredom. A way to entertain myself when I run out of books.

The problem with this is there are always other things to keep me entertained, especially in a world of internet and Netflix and ebooks. It’s so easy to crowd your mind out with all that other stuff, and forget to fill it with your own marvelous imaginings. Of course, if you’re a writer, other people’s imaginings will never be as satisfying as your own. Eventually you will rediscover The Itch. But think of all the wasted time you spend being entertained when you could be entertaining yourself!

We recently went on holidays (that’s what we Aussies call vacation) to Queensland (which is kind of the Florida of Australia). We spent our days riding rollercoasters, or at our retreat playing with puppies, or watching movies, or playing boardgames. It was wonderful and it was exhausting and there wasn’t a moment I wasn’t entertained. I didn’t do any writing.

By the time I got home I was Itching like crazy to write again, but of course at home there are other timesucks that are less entertaining, such as work.

Lately I’ve been spending a lot of time fantasizing about working part time, or quitting altogether. I don’t have enough time to write! I say with frustration. Of course this is a great lie, but more than that, it ignores one of the most essential parts of my process: Boredom. I need boredom in order to write. As exhausting as full-time work can be, and as creatively unsatisfying as my current role is, it provides a huge chunk of grey time in the middle of my day. Time for ideas to percolate. Time to make me want to dream of another world, another life.

That’s why so many writers find inspiration while in the shower or while driving. It’s why some writers position their desks to face a blank wall. Creativity emerges to fill a void.

Travel is one of my favourite things in the world. I love it. I get so many ideas when I travel. My life and my stories are so much richer because of the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen. But when I’m traveling I can’t write. I’m too entertained. The writing comes later.

I’m still dreaming of a few extra hours in the day, but I’m learning to value my grey cubicle walls and my time without internet. I’m learning to nurture my own boredom in order to nurture my creativity. And if one day I do get to quit my job in order to write? MacFreedom will be my very best friend.

The view from our cabin. That's the ocean in the distance.

The view from our cabin. That’s the ocean in the distance.

Categories: Life, Travel, Writing Life | Leave a comment

How Baby Writers Become Big Writers

I’m a firm believer that the best way to grow as a writer, other than writing itself, is by living life. For one thing, how can we hope to adequately write about love and loss if we haven’t experienced it ourselves? But also, the world is full of stories. Every person is a storyteller. To learn to tell a good story, you need to immerse yourself in stories of all kinds. This is one of the reasons I don’t understand writers who say they don’t watch television or movies. My medium is always the written word, but I appreciate stories in all forms. I think watching good television can do just as much for your storytelling skills as reading a book.

There have been three things in recent years that have fundamentally changed who I am as a writer. I mean, there have been many more than three, but there are three I want to talk about.

The first is travel.

My first research trip

A few years ago, 2010 I think, I decided I was enough of a ‘real’ writer to go on a research trip. I wanted to write something creepy, so I picked the creepiest place I could think of to visit, my grandparent’s old place in Wiseman’s Ferry. I gathered my husband and a couple of friends and looked at a map. The Sydney Blue Mountains were kind of (not really) on the way and I’d never been so we decided to head there first.

The Blue Mountains took my breath away. The natural beauty is astounding, and the history, combined with the fog that blankets the place every night, gave the area a tremendous amount of atmosphere and mystery.

The next day we drove on to Wiseman’s Ferry, but it was Katoomba and the Blue Mountains that really stole my heart.

It was this trip that helped me understand one of my biggest drives as a writer and a reader. I’m not satisfied with a story unless it has a firm sense of place. Atmosphere and setting are often the first thing I know about my stories, and until I have that element, I can’t start. To me, setting is so much apart of the tone of the novel. I mean, think of Stephen King’s stories. The forests and towns and people of Maine are fundamental to all his novels. All my favorite stories have a tremendous sense of place.

Until I traveled to the Blue Mountains I really didn’t understand how much setting could affect my stories. Every trip I’ve taken since then has been about gathering ideas, getting a feel for places, understanding what makes places stand out. And now when I start a story I don’t have to waste time wondering why it just doesn’t feel right. I know it all comes down to setting.

The second thing that changed me as a writer is all because of my lovely husband, who introduced me to the world of video games.

My favorite game

The way I feel about video games is pretty similar to how I feel about TV. A story is a story and it’s all helpful to your development as a storyteller. But video games are different in that you are just that much more immersed in the world of the story. Watching TV is a passive activity, and yes, so is reading, but I think as writers we should strive for that video game-like immersion for the reader.

Laini Taylor referred to it as the fictional dream in reference to Stephanie Perkin’s Anna and the French Kiss (which I just read and HOLY MOLY).

I know I haven’t mastered it yet, but video games have helped me understand that feeling a little more. And the more I play games, watch TV and read books, the more I see what works and doesn’t work for me as a consumer of stories.

Lastly, I’ve spoken of my love of Veronica Mars. A lot. Well, that show taught me something that has fundamentally affected my writing.

Girl detective!

There’s this oft-told tale about the first season of Veronica Mars. All the way along, the writers were setting the scene for Veronica and her ex-boyfriend Duncan to get back together. But then Logan Echolls came along. Logan is not a nice guy. He has serious problems and he’s incredibly unlikeable. Veronica and Logan had serious chemistry.

What’s a writer to do? Follow the chemistry, of course.

When you’ve written something big it can be really hard to see past the words on the page. Even when you know something isn’t working, it’s so darn hard to press delete. But you need to follow the chemistry. Take an honest look at what you’ve written, get rid of what isn’t working and figure out how to make what DOES work just that much more awesome.

With this novel in particular, I’ve had to make some hard decisions. I’ve gotten rid of characters I loved because they didn’t work in the story (this would be an example of killing your darlings). I’m currently changing from dual perspective to single. In fact, the main character and concept I originally devised on that first trip to the Blue Mountains are completely different now.

Interestingly enough, the two things that have stayed the same are the setting and tone.

Veronica Mars taught me to follow the chemistry.

So, I’d love to know, what has televisions, games, books or living taught you about your writing?

 

 

Categories: Restless, Revision, Travel, Writing tools | 2 Comments

Waiting for Snow

I have never seen snow.

Oh, I’ve seen slush on the side of the road. The deposits of a Zamboni after cleaning the ice. The far off glimmer of white on a mountain. But I’ve never seen flakes falling from the sky.

When we went on our Big Overseas Adventure to the US last year, we really hoped to see snow. It does snow in Australia. Just nowhere near me. But we were traveling in Autumn and we knew our chances would be slim.

Toronto was our big hope. They hadn’t received their first snow of the year yet, and while we heard reports of small flurries, we didn’t see any while we were there. We still had three weeks of our trip left, but we were heading south, away from the cold.

One day we stopped in Portland, Maine, on our way to Boston. We checked into a small B&B, each couple in a separate room, which was a treat for us as we’d spent most of our trip in a cramped RV. We spent the afternoon on a mail boat, visiting all the small islands, and I remember thinking everyone we saw could be a character in a Stephen King novel.

It was cold, really cold. My husband Michael kept checking the weather on his phone and lo! It reported the possibility of snow!

Once back to shore we went in search of warmth and food and stumbled into a bar called Three Dollar Deweys. It was campy and fun. The food was good, the beer cheap and we were all in a good mood. It’s funny how some of my best travel memories were made in pubs and bars, drinking microbrews and eating really hearty food.

I remember leaving the pub and walking through old Portland. There was something magical about that night. I don’t know if I can explain it. Maybe it was the glow of the lampposts in the fog. Maybe the cobblestones of the streets. Maybe just my husband’s hand in mine as we explored another world, our friends not far behind.

I remember looking up at a digital clock on a building that showed the temperature as it inched slowly downward. Even after we returned to our rooms, I kept creeping out of bed to look out the window. Waiting for magic. Waiting for snow.

I keep thinking about that night. More so lately. Because that’s what life feels like for me at the moment. I’ve done what I can. I’m where I’m supposed to be. And now I’m just hoping.

Watching.

Waiting for snow.

Snow on a mountain near Yosemite. The closest we came to snow.

Categories: Life, Travel | 6 Comments

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