Glorious Deadlines

Deadlines are like caramelized garlic and onions dripping in olive oil and served with a pinch of oregano. That is, I’ve discovered that, much like a double-decker deli sandwich heaped with the concoction, deadlines leave a wonderful residual quality—lingering, pungent elements sticking with me long after licking the last finger.

What’s so glorious about deadlines? Deadlines are glorious because…

1. Deadlines drive time faster. If Superman is faster than a speeding bullet, time on deadline leaves Superman in the dust. In a meeting last night, I found myself saying to those present, “Where did March go?” Someone responded, “Into the writing and creation of this project.” Well put.

2. Deadlines cause us to cherish free time. That’s because there’s so little of it. Yesterday, I decided to take a few hours and actually sit and read a book instead of write one (what a concept…especially on a Sunday afternoon, eh?). Just for fun, I devoured Patterson and Charbonnet's Sundays at Tiffany’s in one bite (that’s all the time I have for eating such delicacies). Knowing that I wouldn’t have another slice of time for at least a week, it made the experience delicious.

3. Deadlines bring us closer to others. The counter gal at Starbucks and I had a brilliant conversation on Saturday morning. No, really. It was honest, straightforward, even connecting. Makes me wonder how many of those brilliant conversations I miss out on, when not on deadline.

4. Deadlines raise our value of sleep. No argument here: Deprivation causes appreciation.

5. Deadlines drive us to perform or die. Something fantastical happens when we have to do it or lose. We actually produce. And, if there’s any hint of radiance in your work in progress, the gem comes out shining and dazzling…well, at least the core stone is discovered and dug out of the mud. No worries. We can cut and polish it up later.

6. Deadlines teach us about the value of immersion. “Immersion” means going down in. In our state of deep engagement, we’re baptized and submerged into our magically-developing idea. That idea plunges us into an amalgamation, a union of dreams and reality, a fusion within intense focus that pulls us aside, to the exclusion of all other moments. While in the eclipse behind our project, we engage in transit. Then, emerging from the intense baptism, we emerge—a physical creation in hand, born of internal, spiritual sweat. The intense effort pays, and pays big. Eventually. It will. Really.

7. Deadlines teach us about the value of emersion. Emersion is about rising out of—and is about you and me, rising out of our sea of ideas. In the heavens, emersion is the appearance of a heavenly body after being occluded, like the moon coming out from the shadow of the earth…and in our writing, emersion is the appearance of our work after the eclipse, the darkness, presenting a work finished and complete. It is only through immersion and emersion that authors and creators rise from obscurity or difficulties into success. Deadlines christen us into the whole process.

8. Deadlines drive and empower. And if we don’t take that attitude, sew it onto a flag, attach the flag to the tallest pole that we can find, and let that flag pop and ripple in the wind for all to see, then we’re truly missing out on the potential, the promise, and the empowerment of a deadline.

For fun (and for the tenth time), I watched the movie Alex and Emma last Friday night (a Rob Reiner must-see for writers). Granted, I don’t have two Cubans coming after me for cash, driving me to finish my book or die…but Luke Wilson and Kate Hudson’s characters have a way of bringing out sublime smiles that only writers can relate to.

And it’s those smiles that remind us that deadlines are indeed glorious.

'Till next time,
Erin

PS. Yes, I'm on deadline.

Dump the Muse Myth (a.k.a. forget the muse--I have work to do)

Enough of this "muse" stuff!

I'm convinced: The myth of the "muse"--that wonderful voice that visits you and deposits words, phrases, and books into your mind's lap and then skips happily off--was created by someone who didn't have a deadline.

Deadlines don't wait for muses.

Writing is work. That's the truth.

I've leaned on the Muse Myth too many times. After all, others talk about the muse not visiting...of the "time not being right to write." Foo foo and poppycock. "The time not right" means that I've decided to NOT sit down and work.

Take my friend, for instance...(who, by the way, is a friend that I rarely see any more). This person often talked about "sharpening pencils" and "arranging the desk" and "getting coffee" and other time-wasters as "prerequisites" to writing. She has a half dozen wonderful books in her head. And they stay in her head. Well, in all the years I've known her (over a dozen), she did eek out one book. But I'm convinced: the time waiting for the muse to show up could have produced the six.

Take me, for instance...(who, by the way, is on deadline for two books and a ton of materials that I have to have ready before speaking at a convention in May). I've made up ideas in my head that I need to have the time "just right" to write (at least two hours), at a certain place (Panera, perhaps), with certain conditions surrounding the writing (such as, "no kids in the house at that time"...an almost impossibility with six kids of 13 still living at home). Again -- foo foo and poppycock. I've been killing time when I should have been working.

Now the pressure is on. I'm running out of time. Have you been there, done that?

This is when another myth pops up: "I work best under pressure." Or try this one: "I procrastinate so that I can be more brilliant with the end result."

Say it with me, nice and loud: "Foo foo and poppycock."

Forget the muse. Get to work! You have it in you--and I have it in me. Sit down. Get the fingers moving. Produce what's in there. Coax it, push it, pull it, or pound it out. Just do it. I'm talking to me, and I'm talking to you. Then you and I will both feel better, won't we?

You see, hard work never hurt anyone. In fact, you and I both know that hard work produces results. Simple math.

Time to do it.

All best, 'till next time,
Erin

The Music of Writing

I had an epiphany today. It was an epiphany that could help me--and you--to write with magnetic, musical style.

I was meeting with Rachel, one of the teens I coach in our Young Authors' Fiction Writing group. Rachel is writing a fabulous fantasy story that, when published, will be sure to have a dedicated throng of followers. While critiquing the chapter in front of us, I noticed a sharp shift in the voice of that particular section.

"This part sounds a bit different, doesn't it?" I said.

"Oh yeah," said Rachel. "I wrote that part of the chapter some time ago."

I nodded my head. "When you wrote it, you must have been in a different mood. The tone is different. The sentence lengths are different. And even the rhythm and placement of the words are different."

Rachel agreed.

"But mostly," I said, "the style--which is made up of all those things--feels stuck. Let's read this sentence out loud...."

And we did. We spent a few minutes reading the sentences one by one. Then we chose new words, arranged new orders of words, and crafted new sentences.

Now, I must tell you, Rachel is not only a talented young writer, but she's also an accomplished musician: a harp player. Music is something that we have in common; my first career was in music, and I spent many hours in the studio and on stages. So as we put new words into the sentences and read along together, we found ourselves "moving to the music" of the sentences. It was something else. We both felt it: The emphasis--the accents in the syllables--and the pitch, rising and falling, made music. And being musicians, the non-musical parts jumped off the page and screeched at us as clearly notes played out of tune.

If the "musical line" felt awkward, we changed a word--or changed the arrangement of the words in the sentence. The result: a style and tone that flowed.

"Listen to the sound of these words together," I said. "The music of the line is particularly satisfying." It was as if we'd heard a fine musical line.

The epiphany rang loud and true: There's music in our writing.

Have you ever thought about the "music" of your writing? Read your work out loud, and you'll see what I mean.

** Listen to the percussiveness of the p's, t's, k's, and b's. Their sounds, coupled with the syllables, can drive a phrase forward. Use the "music" of percussive words and syllables to build tension into your writing.

** Listen to the soft, smooth line of the l's, m's, and n's. Listen to the vowels /o/ (as in hot) and /e/ (as in red). The sounds, coupled with equal-time syllables, rock us like gentle waves against a rowboat on a hot summer's afternoon. Use the "music" of smooth consonants and vowels, along with steady syllables, with description to set a tone. Make your reader feel the calm before the storm...because every good story has the storm a' commin'.

** Listen to the length of the sentences. Abrupt sentences (and fragments) jolt the reader. Use short sentences, coupled with percussive words, to show anger, fast action, and anxiety.

** Finally, read your sentences out loud--and make the lines drip with drama. Listen to the flow of the sentences. If your tongue stumbles or your breath runs out, then there might be something wrong with "the music" of it all. Re-write with a rise and fall that runs smoothly and pulls your reader in.

What? You say that you're not a musician? You don't have to be a musician to hear the music in your writing--and purposefully create a voice and style that captures your reader's soul. You can be a listener to music...then try to hear the musical line in your writing. And you can read other great writers' works...and hear the musical line in their writing. Both are ways to "tune your ear" to excellence in music--and writing.

Yours 'till next time,
Erin

P.S. The music of writing isn't just for fiction works. Music flows through all writing: non-fiction, articles, commentary, copy writing, and more. Listen for it. It's worth our while to listen well.