Debra’s Blog

I don’t know about anyone else, but my writing assignments seem to come in spurts. Either I have no assignments and I’m frantically looking for work and/or bored silly, or I have way too much to do and sleep becomes a distant, pleasant memory.

Now, I’m a born worrier, so when I have too much to do, I not only work compulsively, I worry compulsively as well. Some people feel that anxiety improves their performance. It doesn’t improve mine. In fact, the more anxious I am, the more I notice that my writing jumps all over the place because I can’t keep my mind on what I’m doing. Other thoughts keep intruding. (”How am I going to get all this done?!” “I’ve got to hurry, I still have three articles due tonight.” “Why, oh why, did I waste an hour watching House when I could have been writing?” And so on.)

I was on the verge of driving myself crazy (a pause while the obligatory wise ass in the audience asks, “What do you mean verge?”) when I remembered an old trick I learned when I became a social worker.

My first real social work job was in the emergency room of a major trauma center. Talk about distraction! Ambulances coming in, doctors shouting orders, patients demanding attention, family members wanting information…I spent most nights juggling at least a dozen different cases at once. The only way to manage it was to learn to focus. Before I went into a room or cubicle to talk to a patient or family, I would close my eyes and think, “Right now, this person is the only thing that matters.” Whether I spent a minute or an hour with them, they had my full attention. As soon as my work with them was completed, I would go on to the next case and do the same thing. It worked beautifully.

Now I just have to learn to do the same thing with my writing: connect and commit to the page I’m working on so that it becomes the only thing that matters. Finish that and go on to the next project. And so forth.

I’ll get the hang of it. One of these days.

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Hi, everyone. Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve blogged. I was on vacation in fabulous Las Vegas. No, I didn’t win a million dollars (Do you think I’d still be doing this if I had? Come to think of it, I probably would.), but I had a great time and saw some amazing shows.

My favorite was Phantom of the Opera. I’d seen it before, once in Chicago and once in Kansas City, and I had the music practically memorized, but it was still a magical experience. If the special effects don’t make you gasp, you probably don’t have a pulse, and I even found myself shedding a tear for the phantom and his lonely fate.

I also had time to relax and read for pleasure. My big discovery this trip was Laurell K. Hamilton, hardly a new name in the business, but a new name to me. I read the first book of her Anita Blake series, Guilty Pleasures, and enjoyed every sentence. For those of you not in the know, Anita Blake is an animator (she can raise zombies from the grave) and a vampire slayer extraordinaire. In Guilty Pleasures, Anita is coerced into solving a series of vampire murders.

Hamilton deftly works her supernatural creatures into the fabric of St. Louis. Frankly, it’s easy to suspend disbelief, because the plot moves so quickly you never get a chance to catch your breath to ask questions. Reading one of Hamilton’s books is like being on a fast wooden roller coaster–every time you think you’ve figured out where she’s going, she throws in a new twist or a stomach turning drop. It’s an exhausting experience, but ultimately a satisfying one.

Anyway, I got back from my vacation and promptly came down with a nasty virus, which is actually all right. I’d much rather have the virus after my vacation than during. Between being sick and trying to catch up on my writing jobs, I’ve been one tired puppy.

But I’m finally back on my feet, and not only do I look forward to having more time to blog now, I also look forward to being able to catch up on reading other writer’s blogs. See you soon!

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Like most freelance writers I know, I have a love/hate relationship with deadlines. On the one hand, I’d much rather be a “free range” writer and never have to deal with them again. On the other hand, I crave their structure.

Seemingly immobilized, I can dilly and dally and shilly and shally on a project for weeks. But as the deadline draws near, something interesting happens. I regain my focus. The words that wouldn’t come suddenly do. Not only do they come, but they actually come in an order that makes sense and is pleasing to the ear and eye.

I lose my urge to play Luxor and Tetris and start making actual progress on my project. A few hours of hard work and…it’s done. Usually right under deadline. Some eBayers have turned “sniping”–outbidding others in the last seconds of an auction–into an art form. I’m that way with deadlines. If it’s due at midnight, I usually click the send button at 11:59 and 59 seconds.

Every time I do that, I have a very stern talk with myself. “Self,” I say, “You knew about that project for weeks and just let it sit there. You should have been working on it all along. If you’d done that, we’d be getting to bed at a decent hour and we wouldn’t have nearly as much gray hair.”

And I agree with myself. Humbly. But when the next project comes along, I do exactly the same thing.

Some people are “front runners.” They like to break out from the pack, take the lead early in the race, and set the pace for everyone else. I’ve always wanted to be a front runner, but over the years I’ve come to realize that it’s not in the cards for me anymore than being 5′10″ or skinny is in the cards for me. My style is to come from behind. Much as I hate it, I need the pressure of that deadline to spur me into action.

I haven’t given up entirely on the concept of self-discipline. Over the years, for instance, I’ve gotten much better at doing plenty of research in advance of the due date so that when my creative spurt arrives I can focus all my energy on writing. I’ve also gotten better at breaking big projects down into small parts and working on them one at a time. But I’ve learned that if I don’t have a deadline, even a self-imposed one, the magic just doesn’t happen.

I’d love to stay and discuss it further, but–you guessed it!–I’ve got a project to get out and I’m on a short deadline!

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You’ve re-arranged your email address book at least a dozen times, mopped the kitchen floor twice, found every item you’ve ever lost including some you never wanted to see again, and cleaned the cat’s litter box…with a toothbrush. Now it’s time to get down to business and start writing.

When that moment arrives, what’s your favorite environment? Do you prefer to write your first draft longhand or to type it? Desktop or laptop? Inside or outside? Any special rituals that help you get started and keep going?

Over the last few months, I’ve developed a nightly ritual that gets me past the day’s insanity and ready to focus on writing. First I check my email. Of course. I might find a terrific new assignment, or maybe an editor who didn’t need something until next week has changed his mind and now needs it yesterday. Or who knows, maybe some nice Nigerian man will offer me several thousand dollars to help him smuggle his fortune into the U.S. Hey, it could happen!

Once I’ve checked all my email accounts and put out any immediate fires, I light a candle. I’m something of a candle freak. I find the flame mesmerizing when I’m trying to come up with just the right word, and I love the scent. (If you had four cats, you’d be glad for a scented candle, too.) I usually have at least four or five candles of different flavors, so you can see that choosing the right one is a serious undertaking. Last night was a “lavender” night because I was stressed from the day and needed to relax. The night before was a “cherry mist” night because I needed something to pick up my flagging energy.

When the candle’s lit, I have no excuse for further delay. I go to my “to do” list and get started. There are four types of projects on my list. Easy or fun ones that only take a few minutes (like paid posting or blogging), longer projects that take an hour or more, research, and marketing. I try to arrange my time to get the fast projects out of the way first, do a half hour of marketing, an hour or so of research, and spend the rest of my night writing.

I usually write until about 9:30 but if I’m on fire (no, not from the candle) or on deadline I may write much longer. But on normal evenings by the time 9:30 rolls around, I’ve gotten in a few hours of good, hard writing and I’m ready to start winding things down. I take a look at what I’ve done and make my “to do” list for the next evening’s writing.

Then I glance through the job boards and respond to any ads that sound promising.

Finally, I check my email one last time, blow out the candle, and curl up with a cat and a good book until the clock strikes midnight. Then it’s off to bed.

That’s what works for me, anyway. Now I’d like to hear what works for you…

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The book Confessions of a Male Nurse by Richard S. Ferri gave me one of my all-time favorite quotations: “Some days chicken, some days feathers.” It sort of sums up my philosophy of life in general and writing in particular.

Some days, everything I touch is golden. The job boards yield fantastic opportunities. The clients pour in. Writer’s block is a distant memory as my fingers dance over the keyboard. Plot problems that have perplexed me for weeks suddenly become crystal clear. Chicken.

Then there are the other days. You know the ones. The best offer on the job boards is fifty cents for a 10,000 word article. Clients haven’t called in so long that you wonder if you shouldn’t start checking the obituaries. Each agonizing word feels like it’s eating its way through your brain before reluctantly showing up on the computer screen. Feathers.

This weekend was all about feathers. A set of articles I’d completed found their way into a client’s junk email box. He thought I’d missed my deadline and almost fired me before he figured out what had happened. A short story I was working on got so convoluted I almost deleted the whole damn thing before I decided the smartest move would be to take a break and try again when I wasn’t feeling borderline suicidal. I had to write five articles about a topic that didn’t interest me in the slightest and didn’t pay worth jack. One of my cats peed on my favorite pair of shoes. To top it all off, I had a migraine headache that wouldn’t quit.

I dreaded sitting down at my writing desk last night, but all of a sudden, the tides turned. Chicken. Some special scented candles that I love to burn while I write came in the mail. The job boards were a wealth of opportunities. The client who’d been irritated with me this weekend hired me to write another set of articles. I figured out how to surgically remove an unnecessary subplot from my short story, making it a much stronger piece of work. All of my assignments this week are on topics that interest me. And the words flowed as I swiftly made my way down my “to do” list.

Who knows what today will bring? Some more juicy jobs? Or a bunch of rejections from all those choice assignments I applied for? Whatever it is, I know I’ll be able to handle it. Some days chicken, some days feathers.

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