Ask the Author: Laura J.W. Ryan
Answered Questions (13)
Laura J.W. Ryan
Hi Julie, my first recommendation for your age would be "Little Women" by Louisa May Alcott, which is a classic book, and yes, old-school. There is the beloved, "The Secret Garden" by Frances Hodgson Burnett. There is Paula Fox's book "A Place Apart," which is another old-school book. For more contemporary times, books I would recommend anything by Judy Blume, she tells stories about growing up and she is very wise. I grew up reading a lot of classic literature for young girls your age, horse books "Black Beauty" by Anna Sewell, and "The Black Stallion" by Walter Farley. "Misty of Chincoteague" by Margarite Henry, it isn't a romance, but it is a true story about the wild ponies and a small island community that lives with them, and the dreams of a brother and sister to own one. Although I haven't read her books, I have heard great things about Lauren Wolk's book "Beyond the Bright Sea." When I was your age, I read C. S. Lewis's series of books about Narnia, "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" was quite magical. There is a beautiful book by Ray Bradbury titled "Dandelion Wine" that is mysterious and thoughtful about growing up. I also read "The Rising of the Lark" by Anne Moray, which I adored when I was much younger, it's a romance in the old traditional style, and I recently re-read it and loved it just the same. It's out of print, but you should be able to find it in a public library through an inter-library loan. I would also recommend Ursula K. LeGuin, her "Earthsea" books are fabulous! I see you read a book by Georgette Heyer, my sister has read all of her books and enjoyed them very much. If I were you, spend time at your local library, they are a gold mine of books to read, I spent many days reading the books I checked out and brought home to read, some I read multiple times! It makes me happy to hear that you are thinking about being a writer! It takes a lot of patience, practice, and persistence! Read, always read, it will feed your head. When you're a little older, read Harper Lee's book "To Kill a Mockingbird." That's the book that inspired me to become a writer. Pay attention to the classics like Dickens, Tolstoy, and Virginia Woolf, you will learn a lot about writing from them. Thank you for your question! Laura
Laura J.W. Ryan
As a craft, writing is a very emotional endeavor, at least for me it is, and I love what I do. Reading books is an immersive experience and readers are looking to put their brain somewhere else for a spell. But with that said, it really depends on what the writer is writing about, non-fiction informational or technical books wouldn't require much feeling, tho' a passion for the subject would be a must to prevent it from being too dry (I've read some mighty dry as a bleached bone in the desert, and what makes it worse, it's something that I need to read, and good grief reading something like that makes my brain freeze, I have to hit the reset button to maybe absorb some of it.) Fiction is traditionally an exploration of the human condition, which explores the spectrum of feelings that happen in a lifetime, and often can be a roller coaster ride of ups and downs throughout the narrative. In some cases a writer is using writing to tease out their feelings about "that thing" that's been itching their brain, why they feel strongly about something, or not. It's the "how come?" of it. Writing is a very personal art form, very internal while one is composing a piece, a poem, a short story, or an epic novel; it's immersive, it's frustrating, it's madness, but you wouldn't want to do anything else, otherwise, you'd be miserable. I don't know if this answers your question, it's a curious one tho' and I'm glad you asked!
Laura J.W. Ryan
I finished "The Expanse" series by James S. A. Corey which took a good chunk of the summer (waiting for #9, I guess that's coming out in 2020.) Read Iris Murdoch's "The Nice and the Good", currently re-reading "The Master and Margarita" by Mikhail Bulgakov, and reading Richard Powers "The Overstory." Books of Poetry I'm reading John Cowper Powys "Wolf's-Bane", and I have Rebecca Elson "A Responsibility to Awe" waiting in the wings. I'm hoping to get to Lauren Beukes "Zoo City; Yuri Rytkheu's "A Dream in Polar Fog" and Ahmet Hamdi Tanpinar's "The Time Regulation Institute" which I didn't get to this summer.
Laura J.W. Ryan
Three zombies staggered into Dracula’s Horror Story bar to tip a few, and they immediately started a spine-tingling barroom brawl when they threw a chair at the Wolfman because he snarled at them. Dracula threw up his hands with frightful frustration and said to the Frankenstein monster, “Damn it, the undead can’t handle their liquor, how many times have I told you not to let those guys in here!”
Laura J.W. Ryan
So many places fictional book worlds to visit (any resemblance to an actual place is coincidental) ...but the one place I must travel to (I'd do it in a heartbeat) Cader Idris, Gwynedd, Wales. (The fictional book world is "Porius, A Romance of the Dark Ages," by John Cowper Powys.) What would I do there? Hike, take lots of photographs, and most of all enjoy the view.
Laura J.W. Ryan
What mystery in my own life could be a plot for a book? If you asked me this question when I was 20-something, maybe 30-something, I’d probably have a different answer as I might’ve had some convoluted notion or two in my head that made my brain itch—a mystery to solve. At nigh 55, I have this nagging mystery before me, every day—Why do people do the things they do? What makes them tick? The human clockwork of dreams and realities, the beautiful terror of being alive and being self-aware—is it driven by free will or determinism? Everyone is different—it baffles me when I run up against the societal rules that constantly tries to force the square pegs into round holes, and that different is wrong. I’ve always been that kid who didn’t fit in. I write about this stuff—all of my stories and poems examine the human condition and the mystery of life. My own “tick” is the exploration of life—dreams and realities, free will or determinism—the beautiful terror of awareness. The mystery of being alive.
Laura J.W. Ryan
Katharine Hilbery and Ralph Denham from Virginia Woolf's "Night and Day" - their struggle with the dream and reality of one another, life, love, and the expectations of others, family obligations, and the future. In the end, after much back and forth, romance and foolishness (it is quite a comical book) they realized it was impossible for them to be apart, but they acknowledge their reality as individuals, they are not two joined to be one, it was a shared loneliness, once they understood that is how it was going to be they knew it was right.
Laura J.W. Ryan
"The Fractured Hues of White Light" (Field Stone Press, 2010) has its origins from a paper about Autism that I wrote for a child psychology class in college. Because the subject was so remarkable, I wrote a poem and included it in the paper, which my professor liked quite a bit, but whatever, it was something that stuck with me (heck if I know where the paper is, but the poem, I still have, and I find it every time I clean my desk.)
I let the idea of autism roll around in my noggin for years—YEARS—1981-ish until the year 2000 when I started scribbling the first notes about a high-functioning autistic young woman. It all started with a conversation—most of my books come from this sort of bantering back and forth between characters, at first with no names, no identity—just a conversation. From that fragment of talk, I developed the characters, Samantha and Guthrie Ryder.
Samantha is an artist with a special talent for copying the greatest hits of art history only in miniature. As a result, she became the subject of ‘human interest’ stories, locally, and then nationally. I know, it’s a strange thing to achieve recognition for—she’s aware of the absurdity of it. From the time she was a little kid, her father exploited her talent to make money, she concluded early on that if rich people are stupid enough to lay out thousands of dollars to pay for a miniature copy of Van Gogh’s Starry Night painted by some little kid they see as some kind of idiot savant, then why not? Every time she’s commissioned to paint “repeats” such as the Mona Lisa, she makes it smaller than the last time she made it (she imagines it will be the size of a postage stamp someday.) Changing the size slightly makes it “different” enough so she doesn’t get bored making it.
It seems she has a good life, but the crux is what she’s missing—she wants to paint something of her own. In the first drafts, the original conversation between Samantha and Guthrie was partially about this (and many other things, some of them silly) while they’re on a journey out west. Why were they out there, where did they come from, and what their relationship is supposed to be became a study about the meaning of love. How does an autistic woman express that emotion? Not that well—tho’ she tries very hard to express her feelings. Her obsessive-compulsive fixations cause an emotional upheaval that is overwhelming not only for her, but also for the recipient of her attention. Her sketchbooks are filled with the portraits of the people in her life who she loves, Lenore (her mother), Whitley (her father), Helena (her half-sister), Guthrie (who is her step-brother from her father’s previous marriage), and her friend, Sylvester. The quirk to her autism is her keen observation of faces and expressions—while she may not respond appropriately to the emotions of others, she’s studying them all the time, and is conscious of what is conveyed by an individual’s expressions. Often, the portraits become entangled in a mesh of pencil lines—random marks made and followed and will go on to the next page filling the paper edge to edge—these drawings are her natural self-expression, but because she’s never been encouraged to focus on making art from her own ideas, she doesn’t see their importance.
These issues were the basic backbone of the book, the rest evolved over time. The strangest things happen while writing a book—a whole lot of “unexpected” emerges from the fertile ground of the primary source of the story. It always amazes me where the original idea takes me, it all seems so simple at first, then there’s this beautiful sense of wonder that occurs as pieces fall into place, I go with the flow because it feels right—it’s truly magical how it happens. This book turned out to be a bigger, far more complex story than I initially imagined, and there were times I feared I took on something too big. It surprises me that I wrote it in that “I really wrote this book!” sort of way. I’m a little bit partial to "The Fractured Hues of White Light"—I think “she’s” my favorite novel because it was so challenging to write it.
I let the idea of autism roll around in my noggin for years—YEARS—1981-ish until the year 2000 when I started scribbling the first notes about a high-functioning autistic young woman. It all started with a conversation—most of my books come from this sort of bantering back and forth between characters, at first with no names, no identity—just a conversation. From that fragment of talk, I developed the characters, Samantha and Guthrie Ryder.
Samantha is an artist with a special talent for copying the greatest hits of art history only in miniature. As a result, she became the subject of ‘human interest’ stories, locally, and then nationally. I know, it’s a strange thing to achieve recognition for—she’s aware of the absurdity of it. From the time she was a little kid, her father exploited her talent to make money, she concluded early on that if rich people are stupid enough to lay out thousands of dollars to pay for a miniature copy of Van Gogh’s Starry Night painted by some little kid they see as some kind of idiot savant, then why not? Every time she’s commissioned to paint “repeats” such as the Mona Lisa, she makes it smaller than the last time she made it (she imagines it will be the size of a postage stamp someday.) Changing the size slightly makes it “different” enough so she doesn’t get bored making it.
It seems she has a good life, but the crux is what she’s missing—she wants to paint something of her own. In the first drafts, the original conversation between Samantha and Guthrie was partially about this (and many other things, some of them silly) while they’re on a journey out west. Why were they out there, where did they come from, and what their relationship is supposed to be became a study about the meaning of love. How does an autistic woman express that emotion? Not that well—tho’ she tries very hard to express her feelings. Her obsessive-compulsive fixations cause an emotional upheaval that is overwhelming not only for her, but also for the recipient of her attention. Her sketchbooks are filled with the portraits of the people in her life who she loves, Lenore (her mother), Whitley (her father), Helena (her half-sister), Guthrie (who is her step-brother from her father’s previous marriage), and her friend, Sylvester. The quirk to her autism is her keen observation of faces and expressions—while she may not respond appropriately to the emotions of others, she’s studying them all the time, and is conscious of what is conveyed by an individual’s expressions. Often, the portraits become entangled in a mesh of pencil lines—random marks made and followed and will go on to the next page filling the paper edge to edge—these drawings are her natural self-expression, but because she’s never been encouraged to focus on making art from her own ideas, she doesn’t see their importance.
These issues were the basic backbone of the book, the rest evolved over time. The strangest things happen while writing a book—a whole lot of “unexpected” emerges from the fertile ground of the primary source of the story. It always amazes me where the original idea takes me, it all seems so simple at first, then there’s this beautiful sense of wonder that occurs as pieces fall into place, I go with the flow because it feels right—it’s truly magical how it happens. This book turned out to be a bigger, far more complex story than I initially imagined, and there were times I feared I took on something too big. It surprises me that I wrote it in that “I really wrote this book!” sort of way. I’m a little bit partial to "The Fractured Hues of White Light"—I think “she’s” my favorite novel because it was so challenging to write it.
Laura J.W. Ryan
The act of writing is the best part of being a writer. Pen to paper—I have a permanent callous on the first knuckle of my middle finger from clenching my pen (or pencil) so tight during the hours I spent writing. In all of the creative endeavors that I have accomplished as an artist, the act of putting my thoughts down on paper is (and always has been) very special—it is vital to my creativity to write things down. It doesn’t matter if what I’ve written is any good, it’s just doing it that is important. Even tho’ I struggled with my penmanship in school and goodness knows I really wanted to have nice neat handwriting like the other girls in my class, but being a lefty, I couldn’t manage it to save my life. The side of my hand would be black (or blue depending on the color of the ink) by the end of the day. I used to lay my head down on the desk to hear the sound of the pencil lead scratching on the paper (I still do sometimes!) I always carry around blank books or one of those black and white speckled composition books (salt n’ pepper notebooks) to write down everything that popped into my head—stories, poems, diaries, or just meaningless scribbles about nothing and everything. As much as I adore my laptop and love the whole technology that has made the writing life simpler—I always go back to the basics when I write.
Laura J.W. Ryan
I rarely have writer's block, but when I do get stuck, I write something else...or just do something else (take a walk to blow the stink off.) Sometimes I'll write a poem (being an artist, I'll draw or paint for a pleasant distraction.) It's just better to walk away than to make it worse obsessing about it. Part of being a writer is being patient...patience is very important. It's always amazing what comes to light after taking some time off from a work. Be good to yourself.
Laura J.W. Ryan
I'm still editing my manuscript, Drinking from the Fishbowl, it seems to be taking forever to accomplish this feat, but I'm taking my time (as I should) to make this book into what I have envisioned from the early scratchings that I made in a salt n' pepper notebook...it's changed a lot since the first draft that I completed in 2003, and I've changed a lot as a writer since then.
Laura J.W. Ryan
Reading is my inspiration. I love the process of writing and I love to read—I'm constantly reading and I cannot stress it enough, that reading is very important—books are important—especially for a writer (or anyone wanting to become a writer.)
Reading is a transformational experience, what makes it a special experience is it’s very personal, the reader becomes immersed into another world—the writer’s construct. People who are avid readers are passionate about books—and when you’re a writer, that’s another story—it's more personal. It was through reading that I knew that I wanted to be a writer—early on, I read books that transformed my life, my way of thinking and seeing the world. I became interested in observing nature and what made people tick. I had a lot to learn, more than the mechanics of it taught in school. I had the desire to write and the aptitude to do it, but it seemed as if I did not know what I wanted to write about—I did but I didn’t—it was frustrating; there were lots of false starts. For years, I carried around lots of nonsense bits and pieces—ideas that were mere fragments, I never wrote them down because whenever I did write these things down they made no sense on their own. For the most part, they were just there in my head, as if they were waiting for me to find a use for them.
I wanted to write something that was mine—something more than “write what you know”. I wanted to write books that mattered—books with a deeper meaning. I wanted to write what I call "human documents", novels with complex relationships, communities of people with overlapping histories, books about the conflict with dreams and realities. Books about ghosts of the past and the ghosts that haunt us now, and a broad spectrum of cause and effect—what the soul is supposed to be—what it could be—Free will and Determinism—psychology and philosophy. It took a long time to get there—it was a natural progression to commit myself to writing, I just knew when I was ready to start, once I started, there was no turning back. Those fragments of ideas and bits of this and that fit perfectly in the places where I used them—even the ones I thought were impossible made sense once they were applied. At first, I was upset that it took me so long to come to this, being a “late bloomer”, but no, it was the right time, I had a few things to experience first, before I could write. I’m glad I waited.
It's so strange how the things I write about conflict with who I am. It's always a mystery to me how my characters develop and then have the audacity to do the things they do or say the things they say. I always find it odd when it’s assumed that they’re about me in some thinly veiled convolution—no, not I, I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes at all. Of course, writing is a very personal experience, naturally, personal experiences and observations are taken from the toolbox and become part of the construct, but for the most part, I’m just making it up as I go along—it’s just a story.
Goodness knows I feared that I bit off more than I could chew on more than one occasion once I committed myself to writing novels. I’ve experienced what I call a creative “sweet spot”, writing with the emotional spigots on full blast is an immersion unlike anything I’ve experienced creatively, it is a strange sort of mix of misery and ecstasy. It’s a worthwhile experience, but just when I begin to doubt myself, I read what I’ve written and then I know I've done a good thing—I’ve followed my bliss.
Writing a book is difficult, but it is probably one of my happiest times. I have muddled my way through as best as I can with no pedigree on paper or an affluent background with names of people who could pave my way—I’m truly on my own with this. I like it that way. I will stand and fall on my own merits. I write my books much in the same way that I make art as a painter—it’s intuitive. It’s such a rush to sit down with a few notes, character studies, phrases, and brief conversations written down on scraps of paper or in a notebook and then start filling in the blanks, letting the story happen—I'm always in awe of the creative process.
Writing a novel is not for the faint of heart, it’s a given that not everyone is going to be receptive to what I’ve done, and I’m always grateful to those who are kind enough to read one of my books and tell me they enjoyed reading it. It’s a solitary process and very lonely at times, I think I enjoy editing my books almost as much as writing them, the fine-tuning process can take a very long time, but I know when I’m done with it, I am satisfied with what I’ve done. If anything, I’ve learned that writing requires patience, practice, and persistence—and I will always read.
That’s my story, I’m sticking to it.
Reading is a transformational experience, what makes it a special experience is it’s very personal, the reader becomes immersed into another world—the writer’s construct. People who are avid readers are passionate about books—and when you’re a writer, that’s another story—it's more personal. It was through reading that I knew that I wanted to be a writer—early on, I read books that transformed my life, my way of thinking and seeing the world. I became interested in observing nature and what made people tick. I had a lot to learn, more than the mechanics of it taught in school. I had the desire to write and the aptitude to do it, but it seemed as if I did not know what I wanted to write about—I did but I didn’t—it was frustrating; there were lots of false starts. For years, I carried around lots of nonsense bits and pieces—ideas that were mere fragments, I never wrote them down because whenever I did write these things down they made no sense on their own. For the most part, they were just there in my head, as if they were waiting for me to find a use for them.
I wanted to write something that was mine—something more than “write what you know”. I wanted to write books that mattered—books with a deeper meaning. I wanted to write what I call "human documents", novels with complex relationships, communities of people with overlapping histories, books about the conflict with dreams and realities. Books about ghosts of the past and the ghosts that haunt us now, and a broad spectrum of cause and effect—what the soul is supposed to be—what it could be—Free will and Determinism—psychology and philosophy. It took a long time to get there—it was a natural progression to commit myself to writing, I just knew when I was ready to start, once I started, there was no turning back. Those fragments of ideas and bits of this and that fit perfectly in the places where I used them—even the ones I thought were impossible made sense once they were applied. At first, I was upset that it took me so long to come to this, being a “late bloomer”, but no, it was the right time, I had a few things to experience first, before I could write. I’m glad I waited.
It's so strange how the things I write about conflict with who I am. It's always a mystery to me how my characters develop and then have the audacity to do the things they do or say the things they say. I always find it odd when it’s assumed that they’re about me in some thinly veiled convolution—no, not I, I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes at all. Of course, writing is a very personal experience, naturally, personal experiences and observations are taken from the toolbox and become part of the construct, but for the most part, I’m just making it up as I go along—it’s just a story.
Goodness knows I feared that I bit off more than I could chew on more than one occasion once I committed myself to writing novels. I’ve experienced what I call a creative “sweet spot”, writing with the emotional spigots on full blast is an immersion unlike anything I’ve experienced creatively, it is a strange sort of mix of misery and ecstasy. It’s a worthwhile experience, but just when I begin to doubt myself, I read what I’ve written and then I know I've done a good thing—I’ve followed my bliss.
Writing a book is difficult, but it is probably one of my happiest times. I have muddled my way through as best as I can with no pedigree on paper or an affluent background with names of people who could pave my way—I’m truly on my own with this. I like it that way. I will stand and fall on my own merits. I write my books much in the same way that I make art as a painter—it’s intuitive. It’s such a rush to sit down with a few notes, character studies, phrases, and brief conversations written down on scraps of paper or in a notebook and then start filling in the blanks, letting the story happen—I'm always in awe of the creative process.
Writing a novel is not for the faint of heart, it’s a given that not everyone is going to be receptive to what I’ve done, and I’m always grateful to those who are kind enough to read one of my books and tell me they enjoyed reading it. It’s a solitary process and very lonely at times, I think I enjoy editing my books almost as much as writing them, the fine-tuning process can take a very long time, but I know when I’m done with it, I am satisfied with what I’ve done. If anything, I’ve learned that writing requires patience, practice, and persistence—and I will always read.
That’s my story, I’m sticking to it.
Laura J.W. Ryan
For what it’s worth, here’s my advice for aspiring writers (young and old):
It’s never too late to start. Just do it.
Write. Even if it’s pure nonsense, if it’s there in your head, write it. Unfortunately, we learn from our mistakes, and you’re not going to learn by being afraid of fucking up.
Read—read a lot—especially read outside your comfort zone, if you have resisted reading the classics, read them—experience them and learn from them. Keep your mind wide open to receive knowledge, grow your mind, grow your vocabulary—read the dictionary (you know, one of those old-fashioned cloth bound books illustrated with line art, get one.) Familiarize yourself with the basic rules of grammar and punctuation too. Keep a Thesaurus handy. Honestly, you’ll need something to do during those dead zones when you’re not staring out the window thinking.
Be humble.
Write and write some more.
No, you’re not crazy, you’re writing a book. Keep writing—just let it flow.
Be brave.
Write.
Here are the Don’ts:
Don’t listen to those dissenting voices within you or from the others who are on the outside looking in—for goodness sakes, don’t let anyone tell you “you can’t do that” because it’s hard. Damn right it’s hard and don’t you forget it.
Don’t rely on spell check and grammar check on your computer to catch your errors because words like dairies and diaries are both spelled correctly and if you’re a little bit dyslexic at all it’s easy enough to screw them up. The brain has this amazing self-correction thing it does when you’re too close to your writing and you know what you want to say, so beware when dealing with words, especially when writing tens of thousands of them.
Don’t be a hermit.
Don’t forget to live.
Don’t forget to breathe.
Write.
So you finished writing your manuscript—your first book. Do a happy dance, scream, laugh, and cry. Tell all your friends and family—celebrate. It’s a wonderful thing, it’s an accomplishment, and an achievement worthy of a pat on the back.
Don’t be surprised if you feel sad—because you will. You will “miss” being there, being in your head with your characters—it can be a little scary to feel depressed like that, but don’t worry, you’re all right.
Do you think you’re done with it?
"Done" means it has a beginning and an end with a bunch of shit happening in the middle. I know it will be hard to do it, but walk away from it—leave it for months—start something new or just write nonsense. Keep reading more books to pass the time. No matter how tempting it is to fool around with it, leave it alone. Forget it long enough to “forget it” in a sense that will allow you to be objective when you read it again.
It’s nice if you can find a first reader who can honestly tell you what they think of it—it’s nice if the first reader doesn’t sit on it for months and not read it. A book, especially a raw first draft isn’t easy to hand off to someone and expect them to read it—it’s not like showing someone a drawing you made—reading is an investment of time—and first drafts can be SO ROUGH it’s not fun to read them. When you do go back to it, be honest with yourself—is it how you envisioned it? Aim high, raise the bar for yourself, take pride in your work, OWN IT. Edit the darn thing—make it bleed red ink—be prepared, this process can go on for several drafts. If you can find an editor that you can afford—one you can trust to work within your vision, go for it. But not everyone can afford one, not everyone has access to such creatures, so it’s good for a writer to learn how to self-edit.
I do my own editing partly because I’m a control freak, and partly because I love doing it—I love the whole process of revising and editing. I will read a chapter backwards, sentence by sentence just to take it out of the flow to make sure it’s what I want it to say. Then I will read the chapter forwards again to see if I catch anything wonky. I go through it until I make no more changes. Then I leave it alone to forget it, then read it again. If I make no changes, that’s a good thing. I’ve been known to take the scissors to a chapter that I had thought was perfect two weeks ago and reorganize the paragraphs, tape it back together, make the revision, and then start over reading it in the new configuration. I read it and revise it until I make it right.
Reading hard copy is always a good idea.
It does get better—trust me on this.
Final thoughts:
Keep writing.
Don’t settle.
Make it right. Make it perfect.
Practice, Patience, Persistence.
(For the record, I won't edit anyone's work, so don't ask...you can't pay me enough to do it.)
It’s never too late to start. Just do it.
Write. Even if it’s pure nonsense, if it’s there in your head, write it. Unfortunately, we learn from our mistakes, and you’re not going to learn by being afraid of fucking up.
Read—read a lot—especially read outside your comfort zone, if you have resisted reading the classics, read them—experience them and learn from them. Keep your mind wide open to receive knowledge, grow your mind, grow your vocabulary—read the dictionary (you know, one of those old-fashioned cloth bound books illustrated with line art, get one.) Familiarize yourself with the basic rules of grammar and punctuation too. Keep a Thesaurus handy. Honestly, you’ll need something to do during those dead zones when you’re not staring out the window thinking.
Be humble.
Write and write some more.
No, you’re not crazy, you’re writing a book. Keep writing—just let it flow.
Be brave.
Write.
Here are the Don’ts:
Don’t listen to those dissenting voices within you or from the others who are on the outside looking in—for goodness sakes, don’t let anyone tell you “you can’t do that” because it’s hard. Damn right it’s hard and don’t you forget it.
Don’t rely on spell check and grammar check on your computer to catch your errors because words like dairies and diaries are both spelled correctly and if you’re a little bit dyslexic at all it’s easy enough to screw them up. The brain has this amazing self-correction thing it does when you’re too close to your writing and you know what you want to say, so beware when dealing with words, especially when writing tens of thousands of them.
Don’t be a hermit.
Don’t forget to live.
Don’t forget to breathe.
Write.
So you finished writing your manuscript—your first book. Do a happy dance, scream, laugh, and cry. Tell all your friends and family—celebrate. It’s a wonderful thing, it’s an accomplishment, and an achievement worthy of a pat on the back.
Don’t be surprised if you feel sad—because you will. You will “miss” being there, being in your head with your characters—it can be a little scary to feel depressed like that, but don’t worry, you’re all right.
Do you think you’re done with it?
"Done" means it has a beginning and an end with a bunch of shit happening in the middle. I know it will be hard to do it, but walk away from it—leave it for months—start something new or just write nonsense. Keep reading more books to pass the time. No matter how tempting it is to fool around with it, leave it alone. Forget it long enough to “forget it” in a sense that will allow you to be objective when you read it again.
It’s nice if you can find a first reader who can honestly tell you what they think of it—it’s nice if the first reader doesn’t sit on it for months and not read it. A book, especially a raw first draft isn’t easy to hand off to someone and expect them to read it—it’s not like showing someone a drawing you made—reading is an investment of time—and first drafts can be SO ROUGH it’s not fun to read them. When you do go back to it, be honest with yourself—is it how you envisioned it? Aim high, raise the bar for yourself, take pride in your work, OWN IT. Edit the darn thing—make it bleed red ink—be prepared, this process can go on for several drafts. If you can find an editor that you can afford—one you can trust to work within your vision, go for it. But not everyone can afford one, not everyone has access to such creatures, so it’s good for a writer to learn how to self-edit.
I do my own editing partly because I’m a control freak, and partly because I love doing it—I love the whole process of revising and editing. I will read a chapter backwards, sentence by sentence just to take it out of the flow to make sure it’s what I want it to say. Then I will read the chapter forwards again to see if I catch anything wonky. I go through it until I make no more changes. Then I leave it alone to forget it, then read it again. If I make no changes, that’s a good thing. I’ve been known to take the scissors to a chapter that I had thought was perfect two weeks ago and reorganize the paragraphs, tape it back together, make the revision, and then start over reading it in the new configuration. I read it and revise it until I make it right.
Reading hard copy is always a good idea.
It does get better—trust me on this.
Final thoughts:
Keep writing.
Don’t settle.
Make it right. Make it perfect.
Practice, Patience, Persistence.
(For the record, I won't edit anyone's work, so don't ask...you can't pay me enough to do it.)
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