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Sam van Zweden

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Flexing the Writing Muscles

It’s been a week since I made my recent writing goals, and that means I’ve done a week’s worth of writing exercises. A lot of people have shown interest in what I’ve been doing… So here’s a list of the last week’s work. I’ve included where the exercises come from, if you notice a heap coming form good sources in future, you might find it worthwhile chasing these books down.

1. Write something you’ve been putting off – imagine you’re telling someone about this article/letter/essay you’ve been meaning to write, but can’t start. Write down what you’d tell them. (from Mark Tredinnick’s “The Little Red Writing Book”)
2. Write a list of 10 things you know to be true. (from Sarah Kay’s TED talk)
3. What are three things that could never be photographed? (From John Marsden’s “Everything I Know About Writing”)
4. Write a letter to yourself to be read in five years. (From John Marsden’s “Everything I Know About Writing”)
5. Write a character sketch of someone you’ve seen on public transport (suggested by Tiggy Johnson)
6. Observe someone’s hands (this can be in memory or imagination. Describe them as fully as possible. Notice shape, skin texture, any jewelry or disfiguration. What clues do these hands give you about the person’s life? (from Meredith Sue Willis’ blog)
7. Today was a mash-up, to create new exercises out of something else. In doing this, I found some really interesting connections. More of this tomorrow. Or Tuesday. One day soon, I promise.

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A Perfect Day

Yeah, the sky’s blessedly blue outside for the first time in forever, but that’s not what I’m talking about.

It’s the end of the holidays for me – I’ve found them to be long, but productive. It’s only taken me about 7 weeks, but I’ve finally figured out how I would (try to) spend each and every working day if I were a full-time professional writer, in order to get shit done. For the last week or so, on days when I haven’t worked, this is what I’ve done.

I’d wake up early. Well, early for me: 8am, maybe 8.30. This still gives me two hours of quiet writing time before my boyfriend even thinks about consciousness. I check my email and Facebook, but only out of the neurological need – I don’t spend a long time on there. If there’s stuff to reply to, I do that later in the day. I update my GoodReads account with what I’d read the night before.

I read a short story. This week I’ve been chewing through the contents of Tiny Epics, which has been sitting on my shelf for over a year now. I regret not reading it earlier. Likewise with Bel Woods’ Get Smart which I read last week in page seventeen #8. That girl can write! What do your days look like to produce such brilliance, Bel?

After my short story, as per my writing goals, I read an essay. It’s not always pertinent to what I’m writing, but I’ve been learning an awful lot. Did you know that stabbing a lobster in the head doesn’t actually kill it? And that lobster deaths are a big point of concern for the RSPCA? And I never knew anything about Peter Porter, but now I do, thanks to Clive James – weird to read a dying great write about a dying great.

I write morning pages. These are at least three pages (so, for those of you who can’t convert longhand ideas into tech-speak, that’s about 750w) of whatever. They’re the pages where I supposedly get my brain warmed up to write my way into brilliance. Usually it’s just me pondering story ideas, brainstorming or bitching about how I can’t be arsed doing the dishes.

I do a writing exercise. Also, as per my writing goals, I’ve done one every day so far. It’s been fun. Out of six days, I’ve only had one day turn into something I feel I could follow up. But that’s still a higher hit-rate than when I wasn’t doing an exercise every day.

I work on a WIP.

I work on something that potentially can make me some money. I know that writing for money isn’t the point; I’m not trying to turn all my writing into a money-making scheme – that’s dumb, and would take the enjoyment out of it. I’m trying to find places that I can make money for doing something I enjoy more than my current job. I’ve been writing some copy for Weekendnotes, a guide to things you can do on weekends in Melbourne. It’s fun – it’s not exactly lucrative, but I’m enjoying the experience, and it’s really good exercise for banging things out on demand.

I do any business stuff I need to do. These last few weeks that’s involved getting an ABN, making an invoice template, posting submissions. Looking for comps and new publications I’d like to submit to happens during this time too.

Lastly, I catch up on my Google Reader feed (which is looking comparatively clean at the moment), and I blog, if I’ve got something worth saying or sharing.

Usually this whole routine takes up most of a day. Some days I don’t get around to all of it. As you can imagine, I sometimes get stuck in one piece or another – if it’s a good exercise, or a long story or essay, or if I find myself venting something worthwhile in Morning Pages…

But I feel like finally, after faffing about for six weeks, I’ve figured out how to execute a truly productive day. Now I go back to uni and that’ll jumble everything up a bit, but I’ll be trying to keep at least a few days a week like this.

What do your writing days look like?

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Goals: Making Them, Kicking Them, Putting Them Out in Public

In the spirit of oversharing, which I’m very fond of (and fond of the internet for), I’m posting some of my latest writing goals here so that you can all keep me accountable if I try to let them slide away into the abyss.

Having (just five minutes ago) finished timetabling my next uni semester, I’ve realised I’m committing to some big things here:

– I plan on reading at least one essay a week. This is pretty easy to do during the semester, but outside of it I tend to let this slide. I really want to expand my short non-fiction knowledge base, as it’s something I’m interested in writing a fair bit of myself. So. That.
– This second point is bigger: I’m committing to doing at least one writing exercise every day. Furious Horses style, only without the public sharing. Perhaps at the end of each week I’ll post on here the exercises I’ve done, and whether they’ve been helpful or not, because I know a lot of this site’s readers are writers, and you never can have enough ideas for writing exercises.
– Competitions! I want to start entering competitions. There’s money to be made, folks. And recognition to be given. Might as well give it a crack. If I don’t, crap people might win. And we can’t have that.
– Every quarter, I plan on sending off a piece to a publication which I don’t really honestly believe will accept me. This is how we make impossible things real. This is what happened with The Big Issue, and it’s inspired me.

I’m hoping that making these plans public will create some extra accountability. If I try to pretend this post never happened, give me hell.

 

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It’s a Process

The word “process” implies some sort of replicable ritual, something which can be followed to the end to get results. The sad truth, alas, is that usually it doesn’t all go down in the right order, it’s usually heavily punctuated with coffee, washing, or walks to the library, and it often lacks really satisfying results. Creating a ritual around my writing is important, but perhaps the most helpful part of that ritual is when it doesn’t go to plan.

While walking through the cemetery early this week, I discovered the Springthorpe Memorial. It really moved me, but I had no idea how I could use that. I came home and executed some boring pages about nothing much.

Next evening, I was playing with the magnetic poetry-makers on my fridge and came up with the following, which I somehow feel was inspired by the character of Sonmi-451 in David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas. The poem read:
“How the monkey did wander
science-like
but sad.”

I wrote that down, because it made me sad.

The next morning I started working on a poem about the Springthorpe Memorial, using the idea of sad wandering, and talking about the fierce angels which guard the doctor’s “O Sweetheart Mine”. I’ve been researching all the sculptors who created the many statues around Melbourne, and I have no idea where that’s going to go but it seems useful.

And that’s the trajectory of just one piece. Just one piece which is still unfinished, so the “process” which guides me to the end of it may take a bunch of twists and turns along the way. The point is that I planned time to write about the Springthorpe Memorial, and it was balls. This doesn’t mean that I think getting up and making myself write is balls – far from, I find it very important. But in this case, the unplanned stuff was my way in – it was helpful.

14

NYWM Day 4

“Essential Reading” is my creative output from today, as suggested by the exercise on the National Young Writers’ Month blog.  “Blackout poetry” involves you, a sharpie, a book or newspaper you don’t want or need, and your “on” brain. For me, this resulted in a piece about what it is to be human in the modern world: something equal parts positive and negative – there’s the drive to connect with others and find pleasure, but there’s also the domineering will-to-power type stuff. I think it worked well. Hit the link above to view the piece (as a pdf). And give it a go yourself – it’s a good brain-starter!

As for National Young Writers’ Month itself and my goals for the month, I’ve started working on a short story I’ve been meaning to write for some time. I’ve also started thinking about possible destinations for things I’ve polished that are ready for submission… It’s all systems go here. While EWF’s wrapping up, NYWM is fulfilling my acronym-desiring project-based needs.

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National Young Writers’ Month

Express Media, that amazing bunch of enthusiastic helpful people behind Voiceworks, are gearing up for National Young Writers’ Month. During the month of June, there will be heaps of events, as well as web-based discussions and exercises to help get the brain doing brainy things.

I’ve just registered for NYWM on the Express Media website, and there’s already some great discussions going on in the forums. When you register, you’re asked to set yourself a goal. My goal is to write and polish (whole process, from scratch) at least five pieces of poetry or prose throughout the month of June. Reading other people’s goals on the forums is making me think that maybe I should try to incorporate LGWABP into my goal in some way too…

The NYWM launch proper will be part of the Emerging Writers’ Festival…

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A Story for a Public Holiday…

It is unclear what Leo does, but Camilla suspects that the machinery has something to do with it. Leo’s property is full of machinery. Leo is an old Dutchman, all white hair and mystery. Camilla knows very little about him, only the machinery, and a taxidermy eagle in the corridor of his house, and 8 or 10 sheep he keeps on his small patch of land here in Queensland.

Camilla is 6 years old, and a diminutive 6 year old at that. Her father helps at Leo’s property, though the nature of the jobs is beyond what Camilla cares about. She likes to spend the time at Leo’s looking at the eagle (only later does she realise that its eyes are the unsettling bit), and teasing the sheep.

Today, Camilla is “herding” the sheep with her sister while their father helps Leo. They hold sticks that are as tall as they are, slapping the ground to scare the sheep into action. Camilla’s sister will later insist that they were hitting the actual sheep, but this is not how Camilla will remember it.

Amongst the sheep is a large ram called Bubby. He has a black face, and comes up to Camilla’s shoulder, she guesses, though she hasn’t gotten close enough to properly tell. He is the only male in the pen.

Hitting the ground with their sticks, the sisters send dust flying into the air. The female sheep move into a huddle in the corner of the pen, and the sisters think they are doing a great job. They could be farmers. Then Camilla sees Bubby.

Bubby stands at the far end of the pen, his eyes gleaming at her. He lets out a sinister baa. Camilla looks for her sister. She’s nowhere.

Bubby walks at first. Then he gathers speed, and when he reaches Camilla he knocks her straight down. There is dirt in Camilla’s eyes. All she sees is a black blur, and feels an immense pressure on her chest. Bubby rears on his back legs like a startled horse, coming down heavy on Camilla’s chest. The dirt, the pressure, the oily smell of wool, the dry taste of dust.

“CAMILLA!”

Camilla’s father runs into the pen. With the kind of force only an angered parent can produce, he drives a blundstoned foot into Bubby’s flank. He literally kicks the sheep off his daughter. It doesn’t send the hefty animal far, but it is off Camilla.

Later, Camilla will be somewhat casual about the memory. She will not be fond of sheep, and she will remember how it felt when her father told her to walk the few blocks home. But when she recalls the event, it will not be one of trauma, it will just be a story, like any other story, from her childhood.

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My First Domestic Business Trip

I do a lot of market research surveys online. A lot of them ask about travel – where to, why, when, how. Generally my answers are about travelling for leisure, usually with one of my parents or a group of friends.

Today, ladies and gentlemen, my answers change! Today I embark on my first trip “for business”!

I have to do a piece of “immersion journalism” for a literary non-fiction subject at school. Originally, I was planning on getting a bike and making it my sole means of transport, bit of a project ala Sarah Wilson. Even getting my hands on a bike proved too difficult for the time frame I’ve got, and I figured if it was that difficult without having even started, perhaps the idea itself wasn’t feasible for the assignment. I will be doing it some time, when I have my own bike and time (probably over the holidays) – it’ll be interesting. But for this assignment, not ideal.

So my project changed to kitchens. In particular, the kitchen at the Commercial Wine Tavern in Rochester, which my brother runs. Both my father and my brother are/were chefs in high-end, big business kitchens – some of it I understand, some of it I live by (“What’s said in the kitchen stays in the kitchen!”), but there are definitely things I’ve never got about it. It’s a stressful job, people generally don’t stay in commercial kitchens all that long – if it’s so stressful, why come back night after night? Is it like writing is for me, where it’s generally a little shitful, but in the end I’m happy with that I’ve produced? Is it creative, or a power thing? Both? Is it the adrenaline?

This is why I’m off to Rochester today, and I can officially say that I’ve taken a weekend trip for business. I’m a little terrified that I’ll get there and discover that there’s no story. But maybe it will just be something I wasn’t expecting.

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Writing What You Know

“Write what you know!”, that’s the advice. That’s how we end up with a lot of the same characters, and they’re much like ourselves or people we know. “Write what you know” is scary – why would anyone want to read about my life? Disaffected youth – unless you’re an amazing writer or have an amazing twist, surely that’s just same/same, yeah? No, what I know is boring!

Henry James (in “The Art of Fiction“) wrote that “writing what you know” can be almost anything, as long as you’re “one of the people on whom nothing is lost!”. Even so, it feels like I’m writing something pretty imagined or untrue if my experience of a thing only extends as far as having seen it from a distance. For James, this is okay. But he, too, says that writing what you know is the way to go.

For a long time I did this – I wrote the same poem over and over, I wrote characters who were my age and in my relationships. Nothing differed very much – I spent a long time producing similar work. When I broke from this, I swung the other way – writing characters very unlike me, in situations which required a lot of research. Sometimes this worked; some of this stuff I’m proud of. Some of it is also just plain rubbish.

This semester, I have to pitch and submit an extract of “My Novel” (such an optimistic thing to call this nebulous being) for a university subject. I started to plan out a novel about a character I’ve had on the back-burner for some time. He’s a structural engineer who’s obsessed with the possibility that if his buildings aren’t sound, people could die. He’s a solid character, I do like him. He’s based loosely on someone I know (so this would count in James’ definition of “what I know”), and I am interested in writing him, eventually. However, in trying to start planning a novel about this guy, I realised it didn’t ring true. I was writing yet another story I wasn’t sure about, that was trying too hard to be NEW! I realised that by avoiding “What I know” in the strictest sense, of characters like myself or my immediate family, I’ve been denying some amazing material from my own life.

My family history is mostly a mystery to me. It’s a light that shines (dimly) only as far back as my grandparents on Mum’s side, and to my father on his side. Even within that limited space, I have the makings of a novel. It’s a matter of being comfortable with the fact that it warrants writing, and it will make a good story. Deep down I know it will, but I’ve been so afraid of being the stuck, clichéd writer who can only write what they know, that I’ve avoided it and gotten stuck in the other extreme.

I’ve talked to both my parents about writing our story, or some fictionalised semblance of it, and they’re both fine with that. What comes next, I suppose, is about the ethics of writing what you know. This question, I suspect, is much harder to answer.

On a panel called “Mining The Personal” at last year’s EWF, Benjamin Law talked about how he handed everyone in his family a red pen and a copy of his manuscript before it went anywhere. I think this is the most honest approach, and one I’ll certainly be following myself. But how do I wrangle the material in the first place?

What do you think about the ethics of writing (fictional or non-fictional) personal stories?

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