Moving In and Moving On

The fire you see in my chiminea is turning old paper--contest evaluations, placement certificates, printouts of writing classes, and old manuscripts--into cinders that will nourish the garden and eventually become food on the table. This is a much better use for them than taking up room in the garage or moving them into the house. Last year when they were in storage I didn't miss them a bit. In fact, I forgot I had them which makes it quite obvious I don't need them. After taking a deep breath, I'm letting them go.

I'm also letting go of the writer I was who needed all that stuff. 

That writer was a contest diva. Her contest entering culminated in the American Title, put on by Dorchester Publishing and Romantic Times Magazine. It was loads of fun. Loads of work. And as far as I can tell any name recognition from that had no impact on the sales of the book, which were rather average for an e-published book from a smallish press. Still, contests were a great way to get used to feedback from all sorts of people including those with brains and those without. I wouldn't burn that experience for anything, but I don't need to keep the souvenirs. I have what I need and it's time to move on.

As for the classes...

I'm a person who needs to know how to do something before I do it so taking classes about writing has always been tremendously appealing to me. Though most writing teachers will tell you what they are presenting won't work for everyone, taking all those classes on how to write ended up really mucking me up. It turns out that I'm not one of those writers who likes to fill out character interview sheets or chew on GMC (goal, motivation, conflict). Filling in little boxes makes me fussy. Some classes were confusing or contradicted other classes. Some were for other sorts of writers which wasn't easy to tell when I wasn't sure what kind of writer I was!

Certainly I picked up a lot of useful information. Sometimes I like knowing whether I'm writing a scene or a sequel (especially if I'm stuck). Knowing what act I'm in is tremendously useful for all sorts of reasons. But while these are good to know, they don't really make for writing a better story. 

What makes for writing a better story is writing it. And then rewriting it.

In all the classes I took, three of them were tremendously valuable. That's because instead of telling me how to write a book, they helped me discover what kind of writer I am. They were given by Barbara (Samuel) O'Neal. Two voice classes and one on Reclaiming the Magic helped me understand how my writing and my stories and my way of doing them are unique to me. That helped explain why so much of the well-meant advice from the workshops and classes didn't help me. And it helped me see what my stories were missing, which was . . . um . . . me.

Putting the me into my stories isn't easy, but I'm learning. And I'm learning how to do that by writing them.

Burning all this old junk feels good. Knowing I don't need it feels even better. And roasting marshmallows over it is a bonus.