Writing for Publication is Scary (But It Doesn’t Have to Be)
A Q&A on writing, pitching, planning — and wrestling tigers
I used to have a recurring dream.
I stood in a strange hotel room with butter-yellow walls and two queen-sized beds. I had a large, worn suitcase with me, but when I unzipped the case, a mountain lion leapt out snarling. Like a cartoon lion-tamer, I held the suitcase between us, keeping it at bay until I could reach the door. I swung it open, intent on escape — but there was a tiger behind the door.
I had the dream often, and I kept trying new strategies. I wouldn’t open the suitcase, but the lion came out anyway. I wouldn’t open the door, but the tiger still got me in the end. Then, one night, something changed. I beat the lion unconscious with my suitcase, and went hunting for the tiger.
Writing for publication is a bit like fending off apex predators in a hotel room far from home. It’s scary. It’s overwhelming. But you can do it with practice. And it helps to take care of the small(er) things first.
I asked Twitter a question not long ago. What would you like to know about writing from a writer? I confess, I wasn’t expecting such an enthusiastic response. Could I explain how to go about:
- pivoting from academic to trade publishing, especially how one gets an agent or writes a non-fiction proposal?
- pitching a book (especially if it’s rather macabre and weird)?
- Keeping writing routines?
- Finding motivation?
- Getting what I see in the brain on the screen?
- sustaining focus against distraction?
- Using social media as a marketing tool?
- BEGINNING a project in the first place?
For dream references, that’s a lot of lions and tigers, and nary a suitcase in sight. Writing at home, alone, for yourself is hard enough. Writing for publication can be completely overwhelming — so much so that its tempting to shut down and not to begin at all.
If we look at the whole of publishing, from inception of idea to the marketing of a published product in the world, it’s too much. Break it down. Face one thing at a time. Of the requests up there, we can create three bulleted points: 1. The work of writing (craft), 2. Finding a supportive platform (publication), and 3. Engaging an audience (market). Publishing IS scary, but it doesn’t have to be. The first step is to ‘kill the lions.’
You have just walked into the room, and there’s the suitcase. It doesn’t have a lion in it, but a word processor. It’s time to take on the originating challenge: getting words on the page. That will be the focus of our first Q&A — to be followed by more.
Craft Question #1: From Scene to Screen
“I see it in my head. How do I get it on the computer screen?” The question, which came from @misssamperrin on Twitter, is a good one. Most of us can see fairly vivid scenes in our mind’s eye while we read. The page disappears and its all rivers and jungles. And it’s true, many of us see our own fictions like this as well, but then we sit down to write and our brains give us the spinning wheel of death. What just happened?
I taught writing for many years, and I have seen my share of advice in handbooks. Outlining, “brain mapping,” brain dumping, journaling — they all can help, depending on who you are and what the specific problems of your work might be. But I tend to use something very different in my own approach. Let’s see if it helps you, too.
We were kids once. We make-believed so hard that some of our memories are skewed (the tree in my cousin’s back yard still looks like the Millennium Falcon in my brain). Why do kids find that so easy? A quote attributed to Pablo Picasso sums it up well: “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.” (My sister-in-law was a kindergarten teacher and she says much the same.) In that playful place before our more judgemental natures take over, we create because no one has told us not to. No one said it was silly to be a unicorn-bear, or to paint with your fingers, or to build blanket forts.
Basically, when I want to get what’s in my head into words— whether its a fictional fight scene or a non-fiction description of the first forensic lab —I go in for some make-believe.
Our bodies and our minds interact in important ways. I had a dialogue scene to do for my last book. As it was non-fiction, the words were real, I didn’t invent them. But I needed a scene. A man and a woman, debating animal rights. Both of them at the podium, both of them deeply believing they were correct and the other wrong. I found myself standing in the living room, as if before a great crowd. I looked at my pretend opponent and tried to feel what they would feel. When I switch to fiction, it’s even more important — an argument isn’t just about words you write. It’s body movement: the tightened jaw, the hackles raised, the widened stance, even the way you move your hands and fingers as you speak.
I’ve taken this so seriously that once, while in college, my roommate stumbled upon me lying on the hall floor and gasping. “What are you DOING?” she asked. To which I replied, “I’m DYING, what does it LOOK LIKE?” A character in my short story had been shot in the back; I needed to know how I might be struck, how I might fall, what the floor would feel like under me. Perhaps it’s a bit like method acting. I method-write. But we can make it simpler; at the roots, before I write, I play.
I want to invite you to play. In getting from your head to the page, go through your BODY. I’d love to hear the results.
That’s one lion down.
