Hi, kids. Y’all gather ‘round. Mama wants to talk to you about writing despair today.
Everybody got a juice box, a snack, and a lovey to hold on to? Everybody found a comfy chair? Got your laminated list of “Inspirational quotes from writers!” which you culled from the Internet?
Well, Look. At. You.
Okay, let’s get started.
First topic: NONE OF THAT IS GOING TO HELP YOU, SUCKERS! YOU ARE LIVING IN A FOOL’S PARADISE! WE ARE DOOMED! DOOOOMED!!!!
Sorry. Mama’s a little hair-trigger today, kids. Sip your juice box. Doom goes better with juice.
Oh, lambs. I try to laugh at life. I do. When the cat pooped all over the white bedspread, did I fall apart or make a cat-fur purse as a warning to the other one? No. I did not. I said, “Hahaha! How very Geoffrey Rush in ‘Quills’ of you, Little Squeak. Your protest is noted.” And then I burned the bedding. When the basement flooded and the ShopVac became my best friend, did I curse the rainy skies and crumbling New York City infrastructure? Well, yes. Yes, I did. But I did it with a laugh and a twinkle and online shopping. Because I’m a survivor.
But sometimes, kids? (Sigh.) Sometimes, a girl just needs to eat buttercream frosting right out the can on her front stoop wearing the same pajamas she’s had on for three days straight while shouting, “Whaddayoo looking at? You never seen a serious writer at work before? I’M ON A DEADLINE HERE! MOVE IT ALONG, SPARKY! And your little dog, too.”
The writer’s life is so misunderstood.
But let’s talk for a moment about despair. That’s what you came for, right? (Unless it’s the cursing, in which case, stick around.)
For the past several months, I’ve been hard at work on DIVINERS #2. Every morning, I wake up and say, “Today, it will start to make sense. Today, I will make the story bend to my will.” And then I dance to “Cool” from West Side Story. As one does.
But you know what, my little doves? Sometimes the writing does not want to play your little reindeer games. Sometimes, the writing is for shit. And no matter what you do, no matter how hard you go at it, no matter how many different times you rewrite or wholesale reimagine scenes, you just can’t crack the code of your book. It’s like trying to predict what toddlers will do. Still, you keep trying, because this is the gig. As I always say, if you’re swimming and you get tired, nobody says, “Well, just stop swimming then.” That would be bad advice.
When Them Old, I-Can’t-Write-This-Novel Blues have their claws in me, I tend to think it’s because I haven’t learned the magic writing solution yet. If only I could change my process, I think, this madness would all go away and I could watch something cheesy on Netflix, like “Satan’s Reform Driving School” or the Paducah Dinner Theatre’s musical production of Beckett’s “Happy Days” using finger puppets.
I can sense some of you out there nodding along, giving up the chuckles: “Riiiight. The ‘Just Change Your Process, Luke’ Solution. We’ve all been there. I give you five minutes before you cry and try to alphabetize your spice cabinet.” *
Talk to five different writers and you’ll probably get five different answers about how the writing process goes down for them. There are “pantsers” and “plotters” and everything in between.
Me? My brain seems to work in a chaotic, symphonic fashion. I swear to you that I am incapable of linear thought. This is the bane of my existence, y’all—like I’m an IKEA chair missing the little L wrench that puts it all together. I just know that I don’t instinctively say, “Hat goes on last.” No. Left to my own devices I say, “I’m supposed to remember something about hats here. Hats remind me of Victorian gentlemen, which makes me think about the struggles between the English and the Welsh, which makes me think about that amazing John Cale song, Buffalo Ballet, which makes me think about the American West and America as a concept and also trains and smoke and the insubstantiality of both smoke and the American Dream and dammit, I’m not wearing any pants, am I?”
While it may be interesting to think about all of those things, it’s not particularly helpful if what you want to do is write a fairly coherent book and deliver it on time. Or leave the house wearing pants.
{Pour Mama some of that apple juice, will ya? And hand over that Hostess Sno*Ball so nobody gets hurt.}
For me, writing a book is ugly-messy, with lots of off-road driving, dead ends, false plot lines, crazy ideas that go nowhere, and many scenes that just have to be thrown away as I revise. I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a generous amount of self-loathing attached to my method that no self-help book seems to address. Like my process is the filthy, shit-covered kid holding road kill by the tail while everyone else is clean and pressed and lined up neatly for the class photo. My method is an ass, frankly, and I’m thinking of not inviting it to Thanksgiving dinner this year.
I know what you’re thinking: Why don’t you just outline?
Oh, you. You are a clever one. Come on over here and let me SLAP THAT CLEVER RIGHT OUT OF YOU!
Why don’t I “just” outline? Because I can’t.
Oh, believe me, I’ve tried.
Many, many, many times.
No. Zip it. Put your hand down. Put. Your. Hand. Down.
Don’t make me turn this blog around because I will.
You want to hear about outlining? People, let me tell you a never-give-up story as meaningful as Jesus turning water into wine even though not one of those sorry-assed Cana wedding feasters put a little something-something in the Lord’s tip jar…
Despite knowing that I DO NOT HAVE the outlining gene, that I am a hands-on, dive-deep, I-will-find-the-story-as-I-go writer, I still foolishly think an outline will solve all of my problems just the way I thought if my mom let me buy Love’s Baby Soft cologne from the drugstore back in eighth grade, it would take care of my dateless problem.** When I hear other writers I admire talk about their outlining, I sit slack-jawed as if they are demi-gods bringing fire back from the mountain. I want to be them. Desperately. I want to sit at that hip table in the cafeteria and soak up their organizational, linear cool. I want to believe that I am a writer different from the writer I actually am. Like I want to believe that I can wear skinny jeans. And so I make the attempt with every single book I write.
{Who’s got a hanky? Mama needs a hanky. This part’s sad, kids. For Chrissakes, look away. Give a woman her dignity.}
Here’s the ugly truth, y’all: For DIVINERS #2, I have ten different outlines dated at points throughout the last year. There is one called “Microplot” done at Holly Black’s house in July 2012. There’s one called “Big Bad” which is, predictably, the scary supernatural storyline. It’s mostly a series of questions like an elaborate game of Who Knew?: “Can the ghost cross water?” “Is there more than one spirit?” “What happens if X meets Y?” “What are the rules of this supernatural world?” “What’s something that’s as creepy as dolls? Answer: Nothing. Well, maybe Ted Cruz.” There’s an outline called “Character Threads” and one called “Alternate Threads” and one called “Backstories” and one called “Series overview.” There’s an outline called “New Outline” and one called “Yet Another Outline” and one called “Help Me, Baby Jesus” that makes it all the way to Chapter 29 before it devolves into scribbles down the page—thoughts and snatches of random dialogue and notes like, “Need to make up some cool ghost hunting equipment here.”
All of the outlines end this way, abandoned in some terrifying, Guillermo Del Toro-style orphanage of incomplete organizational tools where bad things will come out of the closet to gobble them up. War is hell; so is outlining.
I cannot outline because at some point, my mind rebels. It smokes a cigarette and looks all Bruce Willis and says, “You know what, Sport-o? This whole thing will work better if you just let me play it my way. Don’t make me paint the lines on the road. Let me find the road, ya dig? Let me decide if this is really the road I’m driving or not. Yippee-Ki-Yi-Yay, Mofos.” And then my mind puts on a leather jacket and fist pumps the sky in a vaguely 80’s-era Judd Nelson gesture. My mind’s got some issues.
{More juice! Gimme the whole box, kid, and stop your sniveling. There’s no sniveling in writing. We go straight to existential dread and body-wracking sobs. Go big or go home.}
So, after six novels, five plays, and many short stories, I know this about myself. And yet, I can’t accept it.
Inherently, I feel that I must be dumb and wrong. That if I were just better at this writing thing, it would be easier. It is my fault. I am a fraud. Real writers don’t struggle this much and they don’t blow through deadlines. This is the bad song playing in my head. Thom Yorke sings it with XL falsetto pain.
So I try again. Because I’m a goddamned optimist, kids. And don’t you forget it.
I write the same scene ten different ways, trying to find the way that works best. Often, I go back and rewrite an existing scene because I’ve come at it from the wrong emotional angle or because I’ve come to know more about the characters and the choices they would make or the words they would speak or the feelings they would have. Sometimes I find what I’m after. Sometimes I don’t and that scene is thrown out like acid-washed jeans after a ‘90s theme party.
To date, I’ve thrown out thirty-nine scenes in DIVINERS #2. THIRTY-NINE SCENES! People, I can’t even count that high! Somebody had to count it for me!
Some of those scenes are only a few paragraphs long, sketches begun that I realized weren’t quite right: “Huh. Now that I’ve got the supernatural llamas on the ship, I’m not quite sure what to do with them after the demonic limbo contest.” But quite a few are many, many pages long. They’re complete scenes crafted with blood, sweat, and tears over time. Precious, precious time. But still, they are wrong, and they must die. Like my dreams.
{Here, squirt the cheese right into my mouth, like this. Listen, kid, you just worry about the cheese. I’ll worry about my cholesterol. Yeah, I know I smell like your grandpa smelled when the catheter broke. Can we not mention that?}
Can I tell you a story? A sad one? Okay. Snuggle up. About two months ago, I realized that maybe I was maybe a little too close to the novel to see it clearly. Sometimes I tell myself little fibs to get by: “You deserve a Frappuccino.” “Fox is bringing back ‘Firefly.’” “They never made ‘Jaws 3.’” “Maybe the novel doesn’t suck; maybe you’re just too close to it.”
It passes the time between leg waxes.
So I asked two of my good writer buddies, writers I trust implicitly, to read the first three hundred pages. As delicately, but honestly, as possible, they confirmed what I felt in my gut: The novel was a stone-cold mess. Kids, I don’t think there’s anything more disheartening than working your everloving ass off on a book that you just know in your gut isn’t working. It’s like trying to find a taffeta bridesmaid’s dress you can wear again.
I thanked them, then I went for a walk, blasting Green Day on my iPod. I hit the drums very, very hard. It’s possible I might have drawn a mustache on a few of my author photos. But then—then I sat down and started in again. Because you can’t stop swimming, right? Right.
{I love it when you agree with me. You know, you really are very nice people. I feel like I could talk to you about anything. Here, have some squeezy cheese. Open wide—Mama’s sharing mood may not last.}
My Spidey senses began a-tinglin’ like that time I accidentally sat on the electric blanket with the short in it at my Aunt Esther’s house. Maybe I’d finally found my answer! I pursued this new idea, crafting a brand-new opening, threading it through additional scenes. Then I watched in soul-sucking horror as that fell apart, too.
This happened six more times.
I don’t like to tell you bad stories like this. But pain is how we learn.
In the solitude of my writer’s cave, which has all the charm of an Eastern Bloc apartment building circa 1971, I sat with my laptop, some index cards, two blank sheets of paper, and a water bottle. {Hydration: It’s important.}
I tried organizing scenes on notecards.
I wrote out emotional arcs on paper.
I tried writing scenes that come later in the book, hoping that the deeper emotional wounds of those scenes would lead me in a circuitous route back to what was wrong with the first three hundred pages.
When that didn’t work, I went back to the beginning and wrote my sixth new opening chapter, carefully crafting it to set up the reworked plot so that it could segue seamlessly into the new, restructured second chapter, which had previously been the tenth chapter. (I have shuffled chapters like someone running a shell game on 42nd Street.) I snapped the new chapter in place, read it over and felt my stomach knot up as I realized it simply wasn’t going to work. I tried shifting Chapter Two into Chapter One’s position. I tried rethinking the rules of my world in such a way that it would allow me to try yet a third way to open the book. I rewrote the old Chapter Two (now Chapter One) without its related follow-up scene to see if splitting the action made more sense. It didn’t. In fact, I’m not even sure this paragraph makes sense. It makes my head ache, that’s for sure. You know what? I’m going to look at videos of Stevie Nicks to make myself feel better.
{Stevie doesn’t care if I finish this book or how hard it is. She wrote “Landslide” which is awesome. She can coast and do the witch dance forever. I wish I were Stevie. “Oh mirror in the sky…what is love…can the child within my heart be sacrificed to the goat gods in exchange for a working plot…”}
Despite all that effort, my book was still nowhere. I was stuck. Hopelessly stuck. Forlornly, impossibly, despairingly stuck. Trying-to-explain-evolution-at-the-Creationist Museum stuck. I could feel that awful ballooning in my throat that signals the onset of an ugly cry, and as I have some modicum of public restraint (shocking though that may be to some of you…), I decided to bid goodbye to the writing cave and head home.
So that’s where I am—lost, frustrated, terrified, and still facing a countdown clock whose every tick-tock reverberates inside my head like the drums coming for The Master.
One of the wonderful parts of writing a series is that you really get to immerse yourself in the world you’re creating. You get to spend a great deal of time digging into your characters, getting to know their wounds and strengths, reaching greater understanding over time. As someone who really enjoys the serial as a form, this is terribly exciting and addictive.
The negative aspect is that series, by their very nature, require stringent scheduling. Anyone who has ever waited five years for the next installment of a beloved series can understand how that feels. We want it NOW. (I know I do.) But sometimes, the novel isn’t cooperative with your time frame. And then the panic starts.
To date, I have blown through two deadlines. This does not make me feel good. I am a punctual person, and the thought that I am holding up other people makes me feel really awful. And when your reason is that you simply can’t seem to “fix” your story, somehow, that feels doubly awful. Because then the bad thoughts creep in: What if I can’t write it? What if I’m just not good enough/smart enough/fast enough/clever enough? Dumb. Messy. Wrong. Slow. Fraud. Hack.
The bad thoughts are paralyzing. They lock up your thinking. And so much of writing is thinking. Thinking takes TIME. Thinking forces you to question everything you take for granted, to get past what feels too easy, too pat in order to get down to what feels real and right and true for your story. They don’t tell you this on the Internet, and I think that is just mean. {You’re mean, Internet! Go away until I need to Google weird shit again.}
They don’t tell you just how much time you’ll spend with your palms pressed against your head screwing up a perfectly good hair day as you mentally spin out a series of chess moves. They don’t tell you that you’ll be sitting in a restaurant smiling politely at your dinner companions nodding along as you pretend to listen while secretly asking yourself, “Does that thing I’m doing with the dog in Chapter Three really work?”
I don’t know, kids. I don’t know.
Well, peeps. Sun’s getting low in the sky. Or else that glaucoma’s come for me at last. This has been real. I’m so glad we had this time together to talk despair. Thanks for the juice and the cheese. And, uh, yeah. Novel writing is hard. Deadlines suck but are necessary. Tip your waitress. Stay in school….stop looking at me with those big, baby animal eyes. What else ya want from me?
Oh. Right.
I think this is the part where I’m supposed to buck up and tell you something inspiring, like, “Hey, at least I’m not digging ditches,” or, “Somehow it’ll work out. It always does.” And it’s true: I’m not digging ditches. And it probably will work out. Or I’ll ask Barry Lyga to bring me the cyanide caplet as part of that blood pact we swore to each other during the dark days writing our last books.
But I can’t tell you how or when this will happen. I can’t tell you why I can’t seem to break through to the other side of this story, why it’s so elusive right now. I can only try to be patient with myself, to remember how much I love writing and all the reasons why this particular series is so meaningful to me and to remind myself that I am working on something that’s really challenging me and forcing me to push into unfamiliar territory as a writer, to adapt and grow and learn new skills. And that it feels really scary because it IS scary.
I only know not to stop swimming.
Now, pick up your damn juice boxes and get back to work. Mama’s got an idea for that demonic llama cruise ship…
* This actually happened during a bad writing spell. But at least afterwards, I knew where to find the cinnamon. Next to the cardamom but before the cumin.
** It didn’t. Not even a little bit.
My dear, dear, dear, dear woman. I have an idea. How about I send you MY current “I CAN’T DO THIS!!!” book,and you send me mine. Maybe different brains can see things inside these stories that we poor story creators simply cannot.
I’m serious. Any time. Before I pull out what’s left of my hair would be good. And no, Virginia, this li’l writer over here doesn’t do outlines either. So I hear you, SO loudly…
(PS there’s no reason at all that you would remember, but we sat side by side at a group book signing at Books of Wonder in NYC some little while ago. I well remember the size of your queue, and how absolutely wonderful you were to all the people waiting in it when their turn came at the signing table. ALL those people are probably waiting impatiently right now for your next book…)
Hang in there! And thank you for the brutally honest, well-written post.
I laughed out loud and teared up at the truth of it all. Swim on! (Avoid sharks and jellyfish…)
And thank you so much for writing this. You are not alone.
Shelley
Sing it sister! My inner critic is high-fiving your inner critic….the bitches.
I wish I could give you a hug in that come-hug-mama-she-don’t-care-if-you’re-covered-in-spew-way… Good luck and you will get there with you’re own process.
So. freaken. funny. !!!!
Okay, we also need a stuffed toy to cuddle while reading this. My favorite one happens to be a shark, but that’s irrelevant. While I am an eternal cynic and it pains me to say this, try to focus on the fact that you have a strong support system who will help you manage the crazy and that eventually your book will tell you how it’s all supposed to go down. Then you can slap it around a little because it worried you so much, ground it for a couple of weeks, then move on. Why don’t you grab your own juice box right now, add a little vodka, then mount all of your versions of the book on the wall, close your eyes, and just toss a dart for the “winning” plot line. It may prove surprisingly cathartic.
I’m not a writer; I can’t say I know what you’re going through. But I am a READER. And the thing about readers is-we can wait. We are damn good at waiting, actually. So take as much time as you need, because we’ll probably just be reading and rereading all of your lovely (quite long and time consuming) books to pass the time.
A great comment, Taylor!!! I want you to read one of mine someday too!!
This is the funniest and saddest post I’ve read in weeks. This is so like my process I could swear we were twins separated at birth.
Reading this, nodding along (Jekyll-and-Hyding between “Thank God I’m not alone” to “Holy Hell, this can happen beyond the sophomore book?”), I just want to offer a fist bump in writer hell solidarity.
I’ve been first-drafting my second book for a year and a half, at least. I’ve got stacks of outlines, because I, too, try to cling to debris when treading water gets tiring. It’s felt like being in the writing hole more than the writing cave. But my deadline is soft and largely self-imposed, so I feel like I should shyly hand you my lovely and juicebox, because you need them more than me right now. I can’t offer wisdom, but I can offer solidarity.
I hope you have a really good writing day soon. And then another. And then a string of them. I hope that sometime down the road our paths will cross again and we can share a drink and say, “Wasn’t that awful?” and trade talk about how our processes are really ridiculous.
In the meantime. Here’s my lovey. I’m in the midst of a good stretch of “I can do this days” and while I’m in this place, my lovey can keep you company. (I might need her back, soon, though…). Keep swimming.
IT SHOWS YOUR FRUSTRATION, IMAGINATION, DETERMINATION, AND YES I BELIEVE ITS WORKING KEEP SWIMMING KID… 🙂
Hilarious. And…a clown doll is WAY scarier than a plain ol’ doll. 😉 You’ll get it. I have complete faith!
Oh, Libba. (hugging you) I’m sorry–it sounds so hard at the moment. BUT you will write through it, and find your way. I know that, I believe it. And you are not dumb, or a fraud, or any of the things you said. What you are is a very creative, intelligent, fantastic writer! Creative people–we have our own processes. What helps one person doesn’t always help the other. I hope you trust your gut, trust your process–it’s gotten you through writing some pretty powerful novels that readers LOVE. Write the way you need to. It’ll come. Maybe…there’s an emotional block in all this, something you’re afraid of, something you don’t want to look at yet? Just a possibility. How about not outlining, not worrying about being the way you think a writer should be, and just writing your way? You will get there. (hugging you more)
Wow! Just yesterday, I reached the point you write about here–but I couldn’t verbalize about it as you have, and I thought I’d just lay down my pen and go try something else. The first book wrote itself, and the second book seemed to be doing that, too. But I got to the end of it last week and almost gagged when I realized how bad it was. I started rewriting in the middle, got through 3 or 4 chapters and almost gagged again. Yesterday, I realized I could leave the first chapter (2 pages) alone, but all the rest of it had to go (345 pages). And, with no lovey, no juicebox, no you, I thought that was the end.
But then my friend sent me your blog. And I realize it’s just part of the process. I have to get back on the horse what just kicked me off and start all over again. My deadline, too, is soft and self-imposed. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee you that of the 600 or so people who have read the first book, only about 6 are hanging by their fingernails waiting on my second one. And those six people are either related to me or owe me money, so. . . .
Thanks, Libba Bray, and I hope someday to be sitting next to you at a book signing–where I’m sure the queue for your book will be out the door and around the block.
I’ve kept my spice cabinet alphabetized since the day I got more than one spice.
Here’s my go-to inspirational quote:
“A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.”
~Thomas Mann
You win the Internet today.
Gotta say, hearing you say this makes me feel ten thousand times better about my own feelings about writing. Though if I’m going to sit on my porch in very old pajamas (possible) I’m more likely to be eating a bag of chocolate chips, and probably a bag of Fritos too. Or I might not bother with my porch. I may hole up in my bedroom and start browsing some amazing author’s blog when what I really need to be doing is finishing up my edits on the book I have due in like six days. *headdesk*
Best of luck to you. I’m sure I won’t be the first to tell you that you’ll churn out something completely amazing in the end. You always do.
This is priceless. My wife is an author (Patricia Briggs) and she’s tried to explain her process to people several times. Today, she and her assistant were having hysterics reading your piece. It’s beautifully written, and perfectly captures the chaos, desperation and personal invective that goes along with this crazy career. For what it’s worth, you are absolutely not alone in your process, or your feelings about it. Thank you for doing such an outstanding job explaining it. You rock!!!
And yet Libba, I adore your writing. I wish your process didn’t bring you agony, but I probably love your books so thoroughly in part because you pour so much of yourself into them.
Wow. Thank you. I am deeply struggling with the book I’m currently writing, and this hit the nail on the head. Made me feel all the feels. Made me glad I’m not flying solo here.
So…yeah. Thanks for the honesty. Greatly appreciated.
Love your writing, love this post. Yes. I do not know why some books seem to write themselves while others are like wrestling with demon crocodiles from hell, but alas, like you say, there’s nothing to do but keep at it. Like others commenting here, this blog is a giant bucket of refreshing water to me too while in the middle of wrestling with my own difficult book. You rock.
Reblogged this on Write It Down.
Pardon me if this is old news or unwelcome, but a lot of what you say sounds like how people with ADD work. What stood out for me is your description of how your mind is not linear. People with ADD organize facts in their mind differently. They store things in piles, not lists. And your description of trying over and over and feeling like a failure but trying so hard anyway is absolutely classic for adults with ADD.
Now, I’m not trying to tell you that you have ADD. What I’m trying to tell you is, a lot of other people have ADD, and their problems are similar to yours. Solutions that work for adults with ADD might work for you too! If you got a book on adult ADD, you might find that it has suggestions or solutions that really help you a lot. (Not just medication.)
If you think it’s worth a shot, you might start with Additude’s website and/or the book Driven To Distraction.
I hope that is helpful and not just adding fuel to the fire!
Source: Married to a guy with intense ADHD, had to learn about it so I could help him instead of murdering him.
Read ‘Driven to Distraction’, consulted with counselor at my junior high where I teach, and figured out that mild adult ADD is no different than an excess of passion and intent that transcends the ‘whatever’ of so many people today. I too outline and actually lay the pages down and forget where I left them. Then I write 3-4 opening scenes so I can consciously, a few days later, rip one up and throw it away……and a week or so late, the same, until I am forced to go on with the story because there is no opening scene anymore. This linear thinking and planning allows me to get along the trail, albeit slowly. I love this blog. I love this entry. Libba, you’re not ADD. Writers who can do Victorian so flawlessly aren’t ADD. They’re simply smothering in runaway talent for storytelling. You’re being corralled by format – try throwing that out the window and write a long conversation with nothing in between for 20 pages. Let the characters take you for a long walk.
We believe in you, Mama. (But it’s nice to know that you feel the same way.)
More squeezy cheese, please.
I want to thank you for writing such a personal blog & sharing it so publicly.
As a huge fan of every book you’ve ever written, I can say it’s always well worth to wait to read one of your books. You are the only author who can totally submerge me in the world you’ve created, the characters you create, and at the same time make me laugh. You’re a very talented person & I know for sure you’ll find your way out of this. The words will find you eventually. 🙂 All of your fans have faith in you – don’t forget that. <3
You’re keeping me up past my bedtime…I’m currently reading Diviners and totally loving it. I’m a fan!! So, keep on keeping and go Libba go! Don’t know if I still have a herky in me, but if it’ll help, I can try!
I’m SO loving this manifesto! I was living in a delusion that hiding out in a cabin on the lake next week will turn my tears into glitter as the words sprinkle onto the parchment! NO? Oh, who am I kidding…I’m desperate for 18,000 words that fall into place and tell the story. I’m writing a biography, (my first) with interviews of dozens of people, hours of recorded anecdotes by my subject and hundreds of newspaper articles and photographs. I’m comfortable writing picture books and poetry for children. This is not a children’s book. What have I gotten myself into? My hero curses, had a daughter out of wedlock when he was 55 and is the oldest living horse jockey still racing in Kentucky. I don’t know anything about horses or horse racing! You think you’ve got problems! Sister, I feel your pain! This post made my day and I feel like I’m in the club now! I’m guessing this predicament I’ve gotten myself into is the hazing segment of this process…when is the keg party?
Love your blog!
Reblogged this on NadiaJWriter.com and commented:
This post makes me feel slightly better about my writing dry spell and all the stress I’ve been putting on myself. It’s great to know that her writing style genius doesn’t just fall into her lap fully formed. It also makes me want juice…LOTS of juice. I love Libba Bray and her writing, so if you haven’t picked up the Gemma Doyle books or The Diviners please think about it.
I love this piece so much I might become a crazy stalker lady and you will have to call the authorities to have a restraining order filed against me, and I will say, “but the juice boxes, oh, the juice boxes! Explaining evolution in a Creationist museum,” and the cop will have no sympathy and will cart me away, which at least might give me a new angle for my story. So, thank you for this. If not for my jail stay.
Yes. I am going through all of this right now–and it is awful–and I’m not even published, so I don’t have the additional and immense pressures you do. And wrestling with this manuscript? Still awful and depression-inducing. My heart goes out to you, Libba. Thank you for your honesty. I believe in you and your talent–and, even more–I believe in your incredible work ethic and your ability to find your way. HANG IN THERE. BE KIND TO YOURSELF. We are all cheering you on.
I feel your pain. But can I just say, “Yeah, I know I smell like your grandpa smelled when the catheter broke,” is probably the best line ever!
Could I admire you any more? I think not. Laughing through the pain has never been so much fun, or made such a hot mess of my pre-flight attempts to look put together in the hopes of an upgrade. Thanks a bunch.
So it’s not normal to have an alphabetized spice cabinet?! And furthermore, I almost dropped my spoon of buttercream frosting as I was reading this. Do you have cameras in my house? I can’t wait to share this post with my students. Thanks so much for the brutally honest look into the life of a “real” writer. We can definitely all relate — the real writers and the slacker wannabes.
I do the exact same guilt feeling thing about outlines and writing in general. People (AKA teachers*) tell us that the writing process is a certain way, when in reality it isn’t. And so, we think that when our brains rebel at the proscribed process, we are stupid, useless, unintelligent, incapable and all those other lovely things. We also don’t think it takes time to think (I blame all those professors who expect you to write a GOOD research paper in 3 days). Anyways, thank you for your honest post about writing. It’s nice to know that there is someone out there as crazy as I am!
*For the record, I’m not bashing on teachers (I am one, or will be). They are just the ones who usually end up teaching us the writing process. Sometimes we get stuck on our way of doing things…cuz you know, humanness.
I love this…
“The bad thoughts are paralyzing. They lock up your thinking. And so much of writing is thinking. Thinking takes TIME. Thinking forces you to question everything you take for granted, to get past what feels too easy, too pat in order to get down to what feels real and right and true for your story. They don’t tell you this on the Internet, and I think that is just mean.”
But I love you more. <3
You have extra spray cheese, right?
Holy crap, I love you! No, really. I love you. This was amazing. I am not alone in my self-made chaos, and I’m pretty sure I need to print this off and keep it forever and ever. Maybe even laminate it and put it with the writer quotes…
Libba Bray. Girl. I don’t blame you for wanting to be done. But however long it takes, we will be here with our palms open and our wallets ready, because your books are worth waiting for.
Thank you so much for this. I am working on a sequel too, and I have been in this exact place. Some days I still am. My brain works the same way yours does: I have to go through a whole damn labyrinth while other people seem to go skipping along merrily in a straight line. Since my first book did so well, there are literally thousands of people for me to disappoint now — which helps matters not at all. It’s a relief to hear that a writer I really respect has the same problems I do. So for what it’s worth, this post helped me a lot. And you’re not alone either, but I’m sure you know that.
You have just described the past year and a half of my life, albeit with far more humor that I could muster. The good news is I DID finish the book just this past Sunday. The bad news is it was every bit as horrific a process as you describe. I had to ask my son repeatedly, “What is it about writing I love?” Hang in there! I bequeath whatever angels of mercy helped me through what felt like an impossible novel to you!
Okay, first off, you are awesome and someday, I shall meet you in person, and we shall go for pie. Because pie is equally awesome.
And I’m so, SO freaking sorry that you are mired in the Land of Suck because it’s a horrible, soul-withering place to be. But it’s made me feel better. Not that you’re miserable (what do you take me for? a sadist?), but that you, whose work I SO admire, are going through this crap too. 2012 was that book for me. 13 months devoted to a book that I knew in my gut had issues, but I pushed through to the end and THEN got the…well, frankly, less than gentle letdown from my trusted writer/reader friends and…yeah, it was like being flattened by a bullet train. I’m only just coming out of it and mired in revisions for a totally different book (I’m still giving 2012’s book the side eye), and I’m totally in a place where I don’t trust my instincts further than I can spit (which isn’t very far at all).
And for the record, I AM one of those rabid outliners–and it ISN’T the magic answer. I still manage to make a total mess. So…yeah this is an Applies To Everyone along the Pantser/Plotter continuum state of affairs.
So. Have pie. And keep swimming. Probably not at the same time.
Over-thinking my novel has paralyzed my writing process, too, It sucks. All I can say is, I feel you, and I hope you get that breakthrough soon.
On the flip side, your post was so refreshingly honest and REAL. Sometimes we can’t just tie it up with a neat little bow and say, “BUT, dear readers, I am proud to say that I DID have a breakthrough and all is now well with the world.” I’m glad you shared the despair because it is just as much a part of the writing game as the elation is.
Melissa – where is it 7:03 PM? I’m watching the comments come through and in Arkansas, it’s 2:52 PM on June 19th. I’m terribly curious.
Hey…while you were busy having a nervous breakdown and writing this blog, I actually wrote your second book for you. And for a nominal sum of money, it’s yours. I’ll even let you keep your name and title. Just mention me somewhere in the end. Something like Blah Blah- ghostwriter. Ghostwriter? Now there’s an idea you’ve probably never thought of before, huh? Has a paranormal ring to it, right? In all seriousness, I’m being serious. Let’s talk. On to the third book. No more worries. Deadline met. Ahhh…if it were only that easy. It seems you have much in common with the rest of us, which even though you haven’t completed #2 yet, at least you’ve made us laugh and pull for you because in one post you’ve pretty much captured exactly what many of us feel or think or do or want to do when it comes to writing ANYTHING. Now I’m going to stand on the street corner and try to sell book #2 for you. Care to join me? bring your juice box.
Reblogged this on A Fuzzy Mango With Wings and commented:
More than anything I’ve ever read, this blog post most accurately captures what writers mean when they say writing is “hard.” Libba, from one non-outliner to another: thank you for giving voice to our struggles, *writer solidarity fistbump* and good luck!
Your mind seems to work very much like my own. I’m very sorry to hear that. I also have an alphabetized spice rack, by the way. Well, that is a lie – it is actually categorized and THEN aplhabetized, except the section with peppers, paprika and related spices. That one is sorted by color. Oh, and size of the jars. It’s a complex system.
I feel for you, and I understand you. You are not alone.
I think I’ll go and look at my spice rack now. Thank you.
Dear Lady,
I miss you like the tonic water misses gin. Your truth, your humour…
I know it hurts right now, but I have utter faith that it will be alright in the end. Whatever book, whatever story – you are no fraud and certainly no hack. And I, for one, am happy to wait as long as it takes to read Diviners #2.
Much love from Melbourne, Australia x
That’s awesome. You’re awesome. I love the post, and I feel the pain- too much effing pain. I seem to have some of the same “sick in the head” problems when it comes to writing. Everything goes great till all of the sudden it’s not and I have to throw out twenty pages…
But then comes the new idea that will fix it all-No. Not at all.
All said and done, I love the post. Thanks.
I can feel all the pain amidst the humor. Even established authors go through this kind of pain. I have no idea how to plot. I’ve taken notes. Recently, I took a workshop and the author said everyone should write outlines. No excuses. But the writing journey is full of twists, starts, and stops. No outline can protect us from all that. Good luck!
This blog was so funny I laughed until embarrassing things happened with saliva. Which was after the hotel manager came and politely asked if I was “alright in there.” We both pretended she meant the room. Thank you for saying a million things I’ve thought about my writing secretly, and also for making them funny instead of cyanide-capsule depressing. Good luck, my friend.
You are hilarious even in your pain in frustration, thank you for the laughs! I have no doubt that you will weave the perfect tale, it will come. 🙂
Oh, Libba–you take despair to a whole new level! For me, the worst thing is that little voice in my head that says, “Stop complaining, ungrateful writer. You’re f-ing lucky you HAVE a deadline. The writers in China would love to have a deadline. And an advance.” But deadlines and advances add a world of pain in the “wandering in the wilderness” school of writing.
So wonderful to know someone else understands.
Reblogged this on The Jubilibrarian: LTReads.
I think I may have late onset ADHD. My main reaction to this blog was a moment of elation on reading the words: “Fox is bringing back Firefly.” before realizing it was only wishful thinking. So here I sit and contemplate signing up for Netflix so I can watch the movie sequel to Firefly instead of finishing the tenth version of what is now the 9th chapter that used to be parts of the third version of the first chapter and bits of the fourth chapter plus parts of…where was I? Ah, Firefly, it’s so numbing/comforting.
HAHAHAHA! I’m laughing at you, not with you.
Seriously, funny stuff.
And I’ve lived in those Communist Soviet housing projects (although mine was cutting edge 1957 and I got to experience it in modern-day Warsaw). *shiver* You need a new writing space.
Oh, Mama. You are not alone. I finished editing my trilogy on May 1st (a couple of months past deadline BTW). I am a linear writer and an outliner. The problem is that once I get stuck, I have nowhere to go until I figure out why I’m stuck. I can’t plunge ahead or skip around. It’s just not in my writer DNA. No, I have to hammer away at the problem or vaguely stare at people who run away in fear at my vacant dead eyes. And after I finish a book, I’m emptied out and run down like I’ve run eight marathons back-to-back. Writing is exhausting. *sips juice box and passes cheese spray*
Reblogged this on Scribbling In The Storage Room and commented:
Libba Bray is channeling my thoughts today, but much more wit.
You are channelling my thoughts today. Love it , Libba.
reblogged at scribblinginthestorageroom.wordpress.com
Good times!
I have learned this about myself. I am not a doggy mommy, and I am not a plotter. If I know the end, my brain see’s no reason to continue with the endless blah blah of writing it all down. I guess we all have those brain quirks. So I have to just write, letting the characters tell their story in their own way, and fix it later.
Lauren
Wow, this sure hit home. I loved and certainly related to it. Sigh. If only Firefly would come back to Fox. Another sigh. I can’t outline either. I am going around in circles in my own writing right now. The good news, I finally know why. It seems what I have trouble with in life, I have trouble with in my writing. It is weird how my writing parallels my life or my life parallels my writing. Thank you for this fabulous post!
“Because then the bad thoughts creep in: What if I can’t write it? What if I’m just not good enough/smart enough/fast enough/clever enough? Dumb. Messy. Wrong. Slow. Fraud. Hack.”
This is exactly where I am today. I swear. I’m lost in that frazzled feeling that happens when you push your brain just a little harder, hoping that will squeeze out the scene you’re supposed to be writing like that last blob of toothpaste in the tube. (See? Even my metaphors are shot.)
Can I be a hack with you? I have a suspicion that I’ll always feel like a hack, no matter how hard or easy the writing goes, but that good books outlast feelings of hackery…
Karen
Thank you. I needed that. Now back to work. Well, maybe one more ben&jerry’s first and then a good cry. Russian roulette is not a good game to play solo, remember that. Just keep going. Maybe a second ben&jerry’s for good luck. But definitely work afterwards. Work till you hate the language. Work till all the words are made up words and you fantasize about drowning in green jello while the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland is looking on in opiate-clouded bemusement and all the plots in your head are replaced by scenes from Full House and you consider maybe hiring a sumo to sit on your chest for an hour in order to deflate all your bad humours so that you might be reborn a golden god of wordsmithdom, and forget that you ever held doubt-one, and just close your eyes and let your hand do the thinking. Oh if only I we could invent a machine (seismograph, mimeograph, encepholagraph?) to do the hard work for us while we sleep. And for godssake don’t read anything at all or else the despair will seep back in. Oh how easy it all seems when your name is Tom Wolfe! But your name is dirt and you dug your own hole of self loathing called authorship. Jeezus I can barely swim in this jello, so fuck you Bill Cosby, get out of my head. Maybe I’ll just rest my eyes for a bit because it’s just so cold here, just for a minute. But whatever you do don’t succumb to all those thoughts pervasive and true such as “well Game of Thrones has already been written so why even fucking bother,” or “You’re no David Foster Wallace and you’ll be dead soon too, so go ahead and fold, get a job in a Wallmart in rural New York and devote your life to cats and birds because they’re the ones who really appreciate you anyway. No. Don’t do that. Fear is the mind killer. Or is it the minds that’s the killer? Well certainly you’ll want to push away thoughts such as “life is temporary and fleeting and soon enough the world will be ashen, lifeless, deader than Caprica, so why devote your time to an inconsequential endeavor like writing or respiration anyway. Don’t. Do it. That would be the end of you. Just keep going. One more ben&jerry’s and back to work. No turning back now goddamnit! All in.
Is the point that all this confusion and angst is necessary? Why not take some version of logical progression as a method? You’re the accomplished writer, I’m not, but this process seems like a tremendous waste of energy. I’m not trying to be unkind but couldn’t most of this be avoided by planning ahead? Most, not all. Does this method help emotion rise to the surface and get into the prose? Is this some kind of cathartic, birthing experience? I’m worried about you, Mama!
Did you read the parts where she says she has tried to plan, tried to outline, tried to brainstorm, and has tons of notes about the structure and content of the book, none of which have worked or are helping her at all? I’m not sure what kind of “logical progression” you’re suggesting that she hasn’t already tried in some form.
Also, to suggest that this torturous process which demands so much and requires re-starting the book again and again to get it right might be some kind of emotional, feminine “birthing” approach to writing that she’s subconsciously chosen is both patronizing and sexist — not to mention demoralizing. Your comment implies that she’s brought this on herself by choosing the wrong process (as if anyone gets to choose the way their mind works), and that’s the last thing any writer needs to hear.
I believe you when you say you weren’t trying to be unkind to Libba. But intentionally or not, you were.
Amen!
Well put!
Some writers are born plotters, some of us are born to “wander in the wilderness.” To tell one of the latter to make use of “logical progression” is like suggesting that a gay person just try switching orientation.
As E.L. Doctorow put it: “Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.”
It’s so hard because it’s so amazing. The Diviners is one of the most clever works of fiction ever. Hang in there. We’re pulling for you.
This is why I love Libba–she makes you laugh (out loud–and spit out your coffee) and also cry all at once. The writing process can be so agonizing! Keep swimming–we will wait for you on the shore.
You know, this was the BEST thing to start my day! You made me laugh and completely sympathize. I know this sounds stupid and obvious and all that, but I find reading a delicious book tends to help. Letting yourself fall into someone else’s story just seems to shift your mind long enough away from your own to allow those buried jewels to surface. Sometimes that’s all it takes. That and a bubble bath. I swear by bubble baths. Not joking. They are magic. Thank you so much for sharing!
I just want to say-
Thank you for telling the world. As long as we know, we are generally understanding. And I have to agree that sometimes you just want to throw it all away. But I admire you most for your humor, and your perseverance. So I have to say – Thank you for being an inspiration to me. You’re strong- stronger than me at least. I write poetry as a hobby, but have this bad habit of giving up on a poem that I can’t seem to continue. And then I find it at the bottom of a drawer and think to myself: “Why the hell did I want to throw this out?”
So, keep your head up. Keep buying juice boxes. And know you are loved by so many understanding people. Blessed be!
– With love, from the smallest state in the U.S.
P.S. If you want, a song I think sort of matches your current mental state is Idola Circus. It certainly made a GREAT accompaniment while reading this.
Or scrap the deadline and come back to it whenever you feel ready. There’s no rule saying you *HAVE* to have it out by such-and-such a date/time (unless, of course, you made a deal with the book mafia, which you should never, ever do). After all, it took Stephen King close to 30 years to complete his Dark Tower series.
p.s. You rock!
Can’t remember how I got here, only that I was desperately avoiding writing the middle of book two and had already alphabetized the spice rack. Really, really wish I was lying about that.
You have “kindred spirit” written all over you. (I’m so sorry.) Now I need to go find your books…
This is me, right now. Book 4 of 6 has been a millstone around my neck since 2007 and I’m starting to resent the fact that OTHER THINGS could be written RIGHT NOW if not for this THING in my way.
So, yeah. *fistbump*
Reblogged this on Belly-up! and commented:
It’s hot. I can’t write. I can’t sleep. Family having a bad, bad day.
So, in honor of all that, and because I have been reblogged today, myself, I will reblog someone else. Someone who cheered me up, at least for a while. All because she can’t write sometimes, either — and because she, too, has already alphabetized her spice rack. Enjoy.
I had a writing teacher in college with whom I had a hate-lationship. Despite our differences, she did impart some lasting knowledge that I often refer to when I reach a particularly frustrating period of creative writing. ‘Kill your babies.’
Often she would say that if a line or scene doesn’t work with the rest of the writing, no matter how brilliant it may be….lose it. Kill it, even if it is your baby.
In retrospect, I think she might have felt some kind of perverse, carnivorous joy in saying it….but it’s served me well since.
*cocks shotgun* Have at your babies, darling. It’ll cheer you considerably! Bwahahahahah
-Heidi
Libba, the imagery is absolutely wonderful! Writing about another frightful day like this one should cure your writer’s block right up.
Happy Writing!
Donna
awriterfirst.wordpress.com
I made the mistake of reading this while I was on my lunch break in an open-concept office. Thanks for bringing the reality of writers everywhere to life, even I suspect, the plotters and outliners. I’m solidly in the ‘War is hell; so is outlining’ camp. Off to try to dab away my tears of laughter. Luckily everyone at this day job knows I’m also a writer.
Awesome.
What’s creepier than dolls?!? CLOWN dolls!!! Clown dolls that are animatronic and are attached to a music box that plays this totally creepy circus tune in a minor key. (I kid you not, this girl who babysat me as a child had exactly this in her room. I was terrified beyond all rational sanity of that darn thing. Still occasionally have nightmares about it. *Shudder!*)
But I digress… Libba, for what it’s worth, know this: You’re an awesome writer. I’ve devoured your books. I know this. And I’m sure things will come together for you (at least they always have in the past, so that’s a good sign). And if you need to kick, punch, scream, swear, run through the streets shrieking like a banchee, and/or consume an extraordinary amount of Ben & Jerry’s Half-Baked ice cream to get there, so be it. Embrace your method, no matter how mad, because it’s definitely worked for you in the past. Just don’t think about clown dolls.
Just the same, I will be patiently, ever so patiently, looking forward to Diviners #2. I’ll be moving it to the tippy top of my “to read” list on Goodreads, but I will be doing so with patience. And when it finally comes out, I’ll be camped outside Barnes & Noble ready to claw my way to the proper bookshelf so I can be the first to snatch up my very own copy.
Best of luck with the writing!
Alissa B
Sing it sistah! I feel your pain. Been there, done that, uh….could be doing it right now…. Have you read SAVE THE CAT? That idea of story structure was like an epiphany for me when I couldn’t outline. Good luck!
Funny you mention the swimming thing – I have a sticker of Dory from Finding Nemo on my computer to remind me to, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…” even though most often I don’t know where I’m going anymore than Dory did.
Good luck and thanks for sharing.
Well…you could always take a break from Diviners and write something completely different and crazy. Like that one that’s a cross between American Idol and Hunger Games.
Oh god yes. YES. Supernatural llamas and a limbo contest…yes. (Although in my case no llamas–supernatural crown jewels and scene that desperately needs to be tense and scary and persists in being slapsick. Put new characters in., stolid serious civil-service types. They were funny in this scene.Added threat. Slapstick threat. Etc. Maybe I should add supernatural llamas. Mutated snails. A brain transplant.) Thanking you and the person who sent me the link to this. (Swims away, slowly and muttering all the while.)
Throw in a Zombie Vampire Werewolf in love with a Devilish Angel Ghost and you’re golden…but only if that Devilish Angel Ghost is in love with an Immortal Mortal.
You may notice that the concept of compensation plan may seem
to be common in the networking industry. For professional web site builders extra complex laptop software
program for net design is needed. Therefore it’s better to always do the intelligent point and take these tips.
Thank you! I kept my husband up late last night, and not in a fun way. I was griping and whining about my first novel not going the way it “should.” I’ve plotted and planned and written and written. I show it to people I trust and they say it’s beautifully written, but sloooooow. The problem is, I like slow. I like Jane Austin and 1980’s fantasy/scifi. My writing critique partner assures me, though, that without the right kind of conflict, the book won’t sell. I mentally run from the room screaming *I don’t care if it f-ing sells, I just want to write what I want!* She likes the new mob boss I put in to add conflict, and I feel like I’ve sold my puppy to a Cruella Deville. I’ve relegated about 70K words to the “NOT USING” file, and I keep re-writing the opening scene. Every time, someone tells me it’s lovely to read, but not spicy enough, it’s not “new adult romance with a motorcycle bad-boy and PTSD.” NO ITS NOT!!!! It’s a slow meandering comedic fantasy love story that no one will ever want to read. I’m seriously contemplating taking my character studies and starting again with (like a jury member in a high-profile trial, “knowledge of what’s gone before will NOT affect my ability to render a fair verdict,”) every intention of ignoring all previous plans.
I found your post just today. Some beneficent writing angel led me to Patricia Briggs’ blog, where I found the link. Thank you. I’m sorry for your pain, but like they tell us mothers of disabled children, your pain helps others. You helped me, and I really appreciate it. I’m sending you my new inventions; imaginary full-cream extra-sharp aerosol cheddar and a venti-sized cup of iced mango hard-lemonade. Cheese and juice, right? You are awesome, so rock on.
I bought ‘The Diviners’ on impulse, and I’m squeaking by money wise so I like to read excerpts and check books out first so buying it on impulse is unusual for me. But I spotted it as I browsed my favourite indie book store and I knew it had to come home with me. I got sucked into this fantastic world and these characters that sometimes made me want to be able to sit down and have a drink with them or occasionally give them a kick. I love this book. I’ve handed it on like I usually do with good books and I’m twitching, waiting for it to come back because I want to read it again.
I know from reading this post and a few older ones that your writing takes a lot of blood, sweat and tears, which is proof that the good stuff in life doesn’t come easily. I have no writing advice I would dare to offer, so I won’t. About the feeling like a fraud thing, well there’s no way this book was a fluke or a fraud no matter what the bad song in your head says. You’ll find your way with this book just like you did with the first one (and how!). And I will be only to happy to wait for it.
In the meantime, maybe a little Caravan Palace will help chase the bad song away? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fBGSJ3sbivI
Save All Paperwork: Whatever paperwork arrives with your parts or which is provided from the seller
should be maintained. It’s easy to use a fake IP address on i – Phone and i – Pad, but you need to know what you need the fake IP for. Once safely at Thebes, though, the obelisks were brought to the temple at Karnak with much fanfare.
Now, there are hundreds of programs available ranging from free to
hundreds of dollars, including everything
from a bare bones setup to an all inclusive image editing suit.
For professional web site builders extra complex laptop software program for net design is needed.
If a picture is worth a thousand words then you can
just image how much you will absorb by browsing this site.
Flash web designers will like the cost and the creativity of the Trendy Flash Site Builder.
Wouldn’t it be easier if we could be able to save changes ourselves whenever we want. You wont get a true imitation of your signature with this Android app, unless you can cleverly manipulate the mechanics behind its operation, but that is highly unlikely.
Dear Spammers: Please quit using this blog to promote your stuff. There’s a time and a place, but it’s not here. No, I take that back. There’s NEVER a time or place for spam! Just go away and let us followers enjoy this awesome blog.
All they need to do is to enroll with their name,
email, contact number and country and vemmabuilder will cater to the particular country of the person.
Wouldn’t it be easier if we could be able to save changes ourselves whenever we want. If a picture is worth a thousand words then you can just image how much you will absorb by browsing this site.
Helpful information. Fortunate me I found your web site unintentionally, and I am shocked why this twist of fate
didn’t came about in advance! I bookmarked it.
Keep swimming, Libba. You can do this.
And thank you for this awful, awesome post.
I just finished The Diviners! I loved it. I picked it up today in the morning. When I got out of class I couldn’t wait to go home and curl up to finish it. It is so… Intense. I kept getting like tingling in my hands when Evie was close to John. And then there’s Jericho! Woah that guy is a little overwhelming, in a good way of course. Well I am very eager for the next book! Keep up the good work.
You may notice that the concept of compensation plan may seem to be common
in the networking industry. He knew the system well enough to not
pay many of his suppliers and sub-contractors, then would cover
it up up by handing out fake lien releases to
make it look like they were paid. Therefore it’s better to always do the intelligent point and take these tips.
Horizontal Siding and Vertical Sliding refers to
the outer layer of a wall, with shingles or boards or gaps subtly angled to shed water.
Wouldn’t it be easier if we could be able to save changes ourselves whenever we want. If a picture is worth a thousand words then you can just image how much you will absorb by browsing this site.
So, what you think might be the technicality hidden inside
the making of these forms. It weighs five pounds, less than a four-season tent, and consists of a form to build blocks of
snow. Microsoft Access is more than just a database application.
However, there are several online interfaces available where one needs to click on different types of options to send
HTML code in email or to generate HTML code. ) and installation used are correct for
your situation and the location of your wine cellar.
The specific combination of reps, sets, exercises, and weight depends upon the desires of the body builder.
However, there are several online interfaces available where one needs to click on different types of options to send
HTML code in email or to generate HTML code. He knew the system well
enough to not pay many of his suppliers and sub-contractors, then would
cover it up up by handing out fake lien releases to make it look like they were paid.
We saw earlier that we could, through links to email addresses, contact
directly with an email.
OMG! A friend sent this to me and I swear to gods, when I first starting reading it I could have sworn it was something I had written!!! ’cause I sure have been thinking it and living it while trying to write my second novel! THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!
There is now a title and description posted on Goodreads. Also a release date of April 2014. Apparently the writing is now going well? I hope so!
Terima kasih atas maklumat awak nie… kalau saya kat depan awak..
tentu saya dah cium tangan awak sebagai tanda terima kasih…
🙂
You are udderly brilliant Libba Bray, so quit listening to that mind of yours. You have more wordsmythy talent in that pinky finger of yours than … well, more than others. I, too, am flailing and rewriting (and that’s just the query letter!) so this post of yours was a lovely balm. Save the stuff from the floor, you might need it later. Or, heck, I’d pay good money for a “hilarious outtakes by Libby Bray” anthology. And remember, you can’t spell library without libba bray.
Okay anyone that can write a post THIS long, about NOT being able to write, and hook my attention the entire time? Can beyond a shadow of a doubt do anything with words. Maybe what you need is a REAL break: go on holiday, try sky diving, cook your way through an entire cookery book, then come back to it. Don’t get so close to your characters and your storylines that you get blind to what it all looks like to a reader, take the time out to become a reader yourself, not a writer. Then you’ll start to see what’s wrong with the book and how you might want to fix it. That’s my advice. Here, have another juice box. 🙂
kamakura shirt [レディース ナイトウェア] http://www.arabian-parker.com/
Reblogged this on GOING FROM TIFFANY TO TARGET.
very good
دانلود آهنگ http://www.2.fazmusic38.org/
I think I remember reading your acknowledgements in The Sweet Far Thing, and you said something quite similar. That book (and really, all of your books) has had such an impact on me that I feel like your suffer-inducing method probably makes the work so much better. Everything always twists in a way that is so beyond the 3 act structure, and that is part of what makes your books so amazing. Thank you for suffering for all of your readers 🙂