You Asked: Search Term Weirdness

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You want to know about my what?

I’m sick today*, so let’s take a break from the usual round of advice and borderline abusive logic I throw your way. One thing I love about WordPress is the search term tracker. It shows me all the search terms that some of you entered that led you to this site. Some are obvious, some not so much. But they are all queries which led you to me, so I will do my best to answer them. Even if they’re not really questions.

“how to use nipple clamps”

This is one of the more common search terms. I am sorry to have disappointed you, searcher, but this Kinky World post might help you out. Godspeed.

“buzzfeed quiz gay”

Please don’t rely on Buzzed quizzes to determine your sexual orientation. Ever. It’ll probably just tell you you’re in love with Benedict Cumberbatch anyway.

“how does twist and shout end”

With neither twisting nor shouting, to the shock and wonder of all.

“Don’t disturb me or else I will fuck you”

…All right, then. Carry on.

“reaching 27000 first novel word count”

If you reached this, good for you! It’s an excellent start. If you’re trying to reach this, then write a little every day, keep your momentum going, and don’t lose hope.

“Toolbox kamikaze”

An underrated danger at Home Depot, the Kamikaze Toolbox can drop on the unwary from a great height, stunning its prey before the flock descends to feast. Thank you for bringing this predator to our attention.

“You never understood me”

Do you want to hug it out?

“You never ever understand me”

Shh, no more talking. Just hugs.

“boring parts of writing?”

Consider making those sections of your story more interesting, or not writing them at all. No reader anywhere ever got excited to get to ‘the boring part’.

“surprised and shocked cardboard box”

I don’t want to know what you did to that box.

“what sort of things should aspiring authors tweet”

Things which make you seem like a human interacting with other humans instead of a bipedal promotion machine are good. Not good are spam-style shilling, dick pics, and threats to murder reviewers. It’s amazing how many writers don’t understand the last one.

“how to gain height, if its by genital character”

…what?

“iamfuckingbusy”

Too busy for the space bar?

“how to offend your mum secretly”

Leave an anonymous poop in the mailbox. Results may vary depending on federal laws and mums.

“ants bdsm”

I’m not sure, but I’m going to say that’s illegal under animal cruelty laws.

“fucking it is about time i started writing”

Yes it is! And welcome. I can tell you’ll fit right in here.

*And will likely remain so for some time. Updates will likely come later than usual over the next little while.

3 Reasons To Quit NaNoWriMo

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Finally, I have the free time to take up cliff-diving.

That whooshing noise you just heard? That was the halfway point of the month going past. Which means, for thousands of writers around the world, they’ve either hit their the halfway point of their story or are behind and wallowing in despair.*

If you are one of the latter—or even if you’re not—you might be wondering about the viability of continuing. I have said it before and I’ll say it again: NaNoWriMo is not for everyone. And that’s fine. Don’t get caught up in the hype generated by the NaNoWroMo True Believers. For one thing, they’ve become increasingly crazy as the month has progressed, and are likely to continue down that caffeine-buzzed path for the next two weeks. For another, if they thought it would help their word count, they’d knock you down and suck your brain out through your ear.

Here are some signs that your NaNo experiment is failing:

1. The stress is ruining your love of the book. If the stress of meeting a 50,000 word target is making you hate and/or resent your story, it’s time to stop. You shouldn’t hate what you’re doing. There will be times it’s frustrating or difficult, but consistent hate is probably a sign something you’re doing isn’t working for you. Don’t stop writing, but stop writing to meet someone else’s goal. Make your own instead. If that’s 500 words a day, fine. If it’s 100, that’s fine, too. Just ready yourself for a longer timeline to first draft and beyond.

2. You’re starting to hate writing. Not just your book, but all writing. Even a list brings the Spiky Needles of the Hate God to your brain. Like a more extreme version of number one, this is an indicator that something isn’t working for you anymore. Take a break. Or at least stop complaining on Twitter.

3. You’re lying about what you’re writing. No one likes a liar. Or, if you’re going to lie, at least make up something more interesting than how many words you scored** over the weekend. The problem is not so much the lying but what it indicates: you are more interested in meeting an arbitrary goal than you are in actually writing something. Unlike the above two, stopping writing altogether is not recommended, because, let’s face it, you’d probably just continue to lie. Instead, drop quietly out of NaNoWriMo and just write. Don;t worry about the word count.

Or continue to humblebrag about winning that word war while sobbing and eating icing directly from the can. Whichever.

So, who out there is continuing? Who’s stopping? Who never started and looks down on the rest of us? Leave a comment at the sound of the beep. BEEEEEEEEEEP.

*There are also some who have already finished the requisite 50,000 words, but let’s not speak of them. It only encourages them.

**Words are like heroin, right?

The Definitive Ranking Of Places To Write

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I’ve either seen this at church or airbrushed on the side of a van.

Desk:  This is your writing sanctuary. It’s got everything set up just the way you like it, with the pencil holder and the computer and the caged marmoset that you can unleash to get you coffee. This is your place.

Pro: It’s your territory. Try not to urinate on anything, though.

Con: Unless you are vastly different from me, any flat surface in your house is quickly colonized by half-read books, drawings of rockets, robot statues, and Cats of Unusual Size. You can either clean or attempt to write on top of this mess, neither of which is great for focus.

Rating: 7/10 because of cat hair in my coffee.

Bed: It’s comfy. It’s cozy. It’s got pillows that you can make into a fort. And thanks to Wi-Fi, you don’t even have to get up to do your research. And by research, I mean watch Netflix.

Pro: Coziness, especially with the upcoming cold dark sarcastic months.

Con: Falling asleep without backing up and realizing that you accidentally deleted everything when you rolled over on the laptop.

Rating: 5/10 because the cats followed me and are sitting on the laptop.

Coffee Shop: It smells like boiled adrenal glands and, these days, Pumpkin Spice Badger Nads. If you can score that corner table and get the friendly barista who periodically checks in to make sure you’re still alive, the buzz of a good coffee shop can get the juices flowing.

Pro: Never far from a supply of caffeine.

Con: Presence of others makes casual porn viewing unwise.

Rating: 6/10 because I actually like Pumpkin Spice Badger Nads.

Work: Whether you’ve got your own office or you’re part of a cube farm, if you have some free time and  access to a computer, you can peck out a chapter here and there. Just make sure to have a cover window available for when someone comes in without knocking.

Pro: You’re already getting paid, so you’re ahead of 98% of writers.

Con: Constant checking for your boss can lead to neck strain and severe paranoia, which 98% of writers already have.

Rating: 3/10 because Doing Personal Things On Company Time Is Wrong. Or something.

Church: Nothing like the haze of incense* to free your mind. If the Latin chanting doesn’t lull you into a coma until it’s time for the free wine, it is possible to hide a notebook in your hymn book and write.

Pro: Lots of weird stories being told to give you inspiration, especially if you write fantasy or horror. Burning hedges that talk! Walking dead guys! Some kind of seven-headed child-eating dragon that destroys the stars!

Con: Risk of eternal damnation.

Rating: 5/10 because no one gives better stink-eye than old church ladies.

Space: Picture yourself floating free above the earth, the panorama of the stars your backdrop. The chains of gravity no longer tether your body to the earth, and the chains of normalcy no longer tether your mind. You can write anything.

Or check Twitter and YouTube. Whatever.

Pro: Chances of being disturbed by your spouse, kids, friends, family, nosy neighbour, or dog are slim.

Con: Chances of survival without a spaceship or space station of some kind are also slim. Also: alien parasites.

Rating: 9/10 because it’s fucking space.

*Virtually all my church experience has been Catholic, with its arcane rules and incense and chanting. Feel free to substitute the religious affiliation of your choice and adjust accordingly.

Imaginary Enemies: Your Periodic* Reminder That Writer’s Block Isn’t Real

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Writer’s block was in this picture, but Godzilla ate it.

We all have those days when the words just aren’t there. We don’t know where they went—Atlantic City? Barcelona? Rigel-7?—but they are goddamn well not here when we need them. We stare at that blank page and wait for something, anything, to cross your brain to write. Nothing does.

We tend to call this bullshitty empty brain feeling Writer’s Block, like that explains it. Like writers as a group have some kind of monopoly on this. Giving it a name makes it feel legitimate, somehow. It’s not my fault, I have writer’s block. For reals. I have a prescription and everything. It’s called whiskey.

If you seriously have a problem where you can’t physically think of new stuff, then you might want to make an appointment with a neurologist, because something’s crossed upstairs. But if, instead, you use writer’s block to refer to the lack of motivation and ball-busting that you need to carve words into a semi-legible order, then that’s a unicorn of an entirely different colour.

Because writer’s block isn’t real.

Fear, on the other hand, is.

And that’s what writer’s block really is. It’s not a lack of creativity, because most of us have no trouble finding the creativity to craft the perfect tweet or Instagram filter while we’re not writing. It’s just ordinary, garden-variety fear. Fear of sucking. Fear of failure. Fear of being found out for the fakes and posers that we are.** Fear that this story that we’ve put so much of ourselves into isn’t any good.

So we procrastinate, and waste time, and sigh mournfully about our epic case of writer’s block. Because that’s easier than actually doing something about it.

The time for this bullshit is over. Be honest: admit that you’re afraid. I am. Every day. Of screwing this up. Of never being good enough. But the only way past is through, so after I’ve admitted to these sad, soggy little fears, I ignore them. And get on with it. Sometimes the words I write on those days suck, but most of the time they’re…normal. It gets hard to distinguish, upon another reading, where I was feeling great and where I was feeling shitty. Because it doesn’t matter. Not really.

Fear only has the power you give it. So stop giving it everything. Stop thinking of it as a condition, a syndrome, a block. Admit what it really is, and recognize it for the self-involved bullshit that it is.

And then get yourself another cup of coffee, and get on with your day. Because those words aren’t going to write themselves.

*I was going to go with annual, but I couldn’t remember how long it’s been. I know I’ve written on this before, but my archives are Having A Moment and I can’t be arsed to figure out exactly when. So, periodic. Which is a fun word. Much better than annual. Anyway.

**I’m pretty sure that everyone feels like this sometimes. One of my teachers once said that she felt like a fraud when teaching, and that for the first ten years she thought someone would figure it out. No one ever did.

Stealing Inspiration: What To Do When You Get Stuck

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Yoink.

In an ideal world, the words would always come when you needed them to. And every computer would double as an espresso maker.*

In the world we have, though, you will, sooner or later, get stuck. Maybe you wake up too tired to properly boot up your brain that morning**, maybe you’re just running low on the old imagination juice. The inspiration tank is low.

You need to go steal some.

Inspiration isn’t rare. It’s not some precious spark that drifts down from the heavens/up from the underworld once every century or so. If it was, we’d have a lot fewer books and movies and comics and ill-advised artistic endeavours than we do.

Inspiration, in fact, is everywhere.

But you have to look for it. And I think this is where the rarity myth comes into play: we think it’s rare because it finds us only occasionally. That’s because we have to go out and hunt it down. And when you find it, you have to steal it like a ninja with a maxed-out Dexterity stat.

If you’re finding yourself stuck this morning, like I am, there are places you can go. Inspiration, like any prey, has habits and haunts that make it easier to find. Look to the places you usually find inspiration. There are blogs and books full of writing prompts. If you head to the NaNoWriMo forums, you’ll find pages and pages of ‘adoptable’: random plot/character/setting/word elements that you can steal and put in your own work. Some of them don’t seem to work at first, but even the mental exercise of trying to imagine how a lesbian stripper ninja will fit into your historical romance set in medieval Scotland can jumpstart your brain.

Writing prompts not doing it for you? Go for a read. Read something new and try to decide if it works. If so, why? If not, why not? Or read an old favourite and try to put your finger, mandible, or pseudopod on just why you like it so much. Reading something great might inspire you to get your own story moving.

Or maybe you don’t need words. Go look at some pretty or not-so-pretty pictures on DeviantArt. Listen to some music that gets you in the mood. Put on a favourite movie and let it play in the background as you get down to business.

Somewhere out there is the thing that will give you that spark you need for today. But you need to get off your ass and go find it.

*As long as I’m wishing for the impossible, I’d actually like mine to do triple duty as a computer, espresso maker, and fully-functional mech suit. And I’d like for cigarettes to improve your health.

**That’s me. My neighbours were having an epic screaming match in the street last night. Net result: five cop cars.

10 Things To Stop Doing So You Can Write Instead*

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Alternate plan: reserve showering for moments when you’re in space.

1. Showering. You’re a writer. People expect you to smell like a combination of gin, despair, and the bottom of a rabbit hutch. Besides, if they stay away, it’ll mean less of a pesky social life to interfere with your creative vision.

2. TV. Just cut one episode of Orphan Throne of the Dead or whatever the hell you can’t turn off until you’ve binge-watched every fucking second of it and are left in a huddled pile on the living room floor as you wait for the next episode. One episode. You can do that much.

3. Talking/Thinking/Daydreaming about writing. You know what you could be doing instead? Yeah, you know.

4. “Research” on Wikipedia**. Whatever answer you’re looking for, it’s not there, hoss.

5. Obsessively checking Facebook/Instagram/Twitter/Whatever. You’ll live the extra half hour without knowing exactly what that dude you knew in junior high, no, not that one, the other one, had for lunch today. Spoiler alert: it was tacos.

6. Reading about writing. Except for this blog, of course, which you should check hourly with the devotion of a convert to a long-forgotten god.

7. Sleeping. Not entirely, of course. But it might be worth getting up early to hack some word-ore out of the brain mines.

Or, hell, quite sleeping entirely. The resulting descent into madness could be fun to watch.

8. Those games where you must either buy extra lives or spam-bomb your friends into giving them to you. It’s one thing to take a break to experience the tremendous story and cinematic wonder that is a full console game. It’s another to smash candy for six hours and then freak the fuck out because why won’t it give you a red one, you just need one red one, goddamnit, is it so fucking hard to do that?

9. Complaining about how you’re not writing. I hate to tell you this, but none of those words count towards your goal. Not even the swear words. Sorry.

10. Comparing your word count with others. You’re not going to chance that number by logging into the NaNoWriMo forums and despairing about how far behind you are. Or, if you’re not behind, about how far ahead other people are. Just worry about your own shit. You do you, and let everyone else do them.

*I am not a doctor, dentist, chiropractor, minister, therapist, or anyone who should have any input on how to live a healthy life at all. But I am a stranger on the Internet,  so of course I must know what I’m talking about.

**Legitimate research, where you find the answer and then return to what you were doing, is acceptable. I’m talking about being best by a sudden urge to find out what happened to every single child actor on that show you watched as a kid. I’ll save you the trouble: 23% still in the industry, 31% working behind the scenes, 26% just a normal dude now, 20% drug overdose.

Dawn Of The First Day: 4 Questions For Getting Ready To Write

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Tick tock. Are you ready?

Saturday is the first of November. Halloween Boxing Day*. And while you’re prying yourself from the queasy grip of a sugar-induced coma, I’ll be up and writing.

Because Saturday is also the official start of NaNoWriMo.

You might not be starting a new book on Saturday—or you might be doing it a little differently—but this checklist is applicable to anyone who is starting a big ass project. So whether you’re doing NaNoWriMo, or just charting the frantic mental decline of those of us who are while waiting for a better time, check this list and make sure you’re ready.

1. Do you know what you’re writing? If you don’t, you’re in for a rough ride, bucko. Not saying it can’t be done—there are anecdotes of people doing so all over the place—but it will be like unto going down a slide made of gravel in steel-wool underpants. Maybe you’re into that sort of thing. I’m not judging.

2. Have you set aside time to write? Maybe you blocked off a section of your day, or picked a day a week which is for writing. Maybe you’re going to fit it in where you can, which I understand is the preferred** method for those with children. The important thing is to make a commitment. What that commitment looks like is up to you.

3. Do you have a borderline unhealthy addiction to something that gives you energy? I hear this is a great use for leftover Halloween candy. I might have to resort to this since I’m off coffee for a few months. It’s anyone’s guess whether or not I remember how to write without it.

4. Do you love it? The writing, I mean. Because there are going to be hard times. There are going to be times when it feels like you’re trying to knock down a brick wall with your fucking face. At times like that, you need something to keep you going. And what will do that, what will keep you standing when you should have fallen long ago, is love: love for the story, for the idea, for what you’re doing even when it sucks. Love will get you through it when coffee and bite-size Mars bars fail.

So, are you ready?

*For those unfamiliar, Boxing Day is the day after Christmas, when you either go shopping to spend whatever money you got for Christmas or sleep off your food hangover from the previous day.

**Read: only.