I began with the best of intentions, fully prepared to write often and even write well. I was going to crank out those 50,000 words, and frak anyone or anything that got in my way. I was on a mission! I was makin’ words! I was ready for some literal, nonmusical blood, sweat and tears! I’m unstoppable, suckas!!

And then I dropped out.

How did intention and energy and drive all get dashed? It wasn’t lack of preparation. I intended to use this month’s mad noveling sprint to get a ginormous head start on my second novel, and as such I had pages and pages of notes. I have my characters plotted out, as well as notations on key scenes for each. I have ideas on where it will start and where it will end. I was prepared, dammit, so much more so than with my first painful novel writing experience.

And it showed. The writing I did do at the beginning of this month was easier, more enjoyable, and infinitely more novel-like than the first 6,000 words of the other novel. It was almost like I was a novelist, yo!

But then life intervened. I had last minute deadlines for freelance projects. I had a few new client meetings and proposals to prepare. I spent four days in LA for a friend’s wedding. I was sick. And as the days passed with no writing completed, and the amount of words I would need to catch up increased to eye-popping levels, I made an executive decision. I dropped out. (And for some reason I can’t get “Beauty School Dropout” out of my head…)

I write this post for several reasons. Some of you lovely readers are everyday readers, and knew I was engaging in this marathon of the mind and fingers. I owed you an update. But I also write this for the other dropouts, real or imagined or planned. You’re probably feeling a little pissed at yourself, like me. You’re probably feeling a little sad, and worried about your ability to hack it as a novelist. You’re probably feeling a little angry, and lashing out at the entire idea. (”Who can write a fucking novel in a month?? Stupid NaNoWriMo…”)

Sometimes quitting is necessary for sanity. But you can still feel pretty wretched about it. You know how I make this OK in my head, and how you can too? I dropped out with a condition for myself. I can’t write everyday, even for a month. I’m writing for work, I’m writing for my blogs, I’m marketing myself and examining new business directions, and I’m still making some revisions and queries for my first novel. But what I can do is write a few days a week. I’m dropping out of NaNoWriMo on the condition that I write three days a week in my new novel. I’m aiming for 2,000 words at each sitting, and with that I’ll be writing around 6,000 words at week. That’s a good, rigorous, challenging, but doable schedule for me.

So I made a deal with myself, and now I embark upon fulfilling that promise. At this rate I’ll complete this second novel in 3-4 months. I may miss out on the NaNoWriMo festivities and community, but I’ll get where I want to go. And you can too.

What do you think? Any dropouts out there? Any deals you’ve made with yourselves? Tell us about it in the comments!

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Greetings, my QRW friends. There’s a curious phenomena overtaking the writing community this month. Over the course of 30 days many masochists, including myself, will attempt to write 50,000 words of a novel. “Insanity,” you say! “Preposterous! Impossible! Uncomfortable!” Indeed. But yet we persist.

Why discuss this topic that everyone is already buzzing about? Two reasons. One: I wish to provide myself a handy excuse for when I inevitably miss a QRW post or two this month. And Two: While new to NaNoWriMo, I have written a novel. Through that experience I learned some painful lessons, lessons that can make writing a novel during NaNoWriMo much easier. Lessons that I now bequeath to you, dear readers.

First, my novel-writing backstory. My first novel took over four years of mind-numbing drudgery alternating with ecstatic discovery. I made hundreds of stupid mistakes, many of which I am still attempting to rectify. But it is done. No matter what happens with that first novel, if the publishing gods smile upon me and I receive a contract, or I simply stow this one away in a drawer, I learned some incalculably important lessons through my own stupidity and tenacity.

So now - NaNoWriMo. I am using this opportunity to start a new novel, one that I have plotted and planned for months. I am using NaNoWriMo as a way to push past my slackass inertia, and to get scenes and thoughts on screen, to revise and gussy up later. NaNoWriMo, in theory, makes me positively gleeful at the idea of getting a massive head start on my new novel within a month’s time. Until, that is, I sit down and actually attempt to write. And then my glee is replaced with anger and spite. Good fucking gravy, why are we writers??? This shit is hard.

I imagine that many of you fellow participants, especially you first-time novel writers, are feeling similarly right about now. You are facing down 26 more days of pain and pleasure, agony and ecstasy, of emotions running high and energy running low.

Fear not, my friends! Let my novice novel mistakes provide sustenance and comedy. Let my lessons learned help you through this highly compressed experiment in novel writing. The mistakes I made writing my first novel are already making this go round much simpler and enjoyable for me. Let them do the same for you.

Herewith, my biggest lessons learned, with links to full, entertaining, enlightening posts.

1. Baby, Don’t Fear the Crappy First Draft:

Write knowing that your first draft will be putrid rubbish, but also knowing that having that voluminous text on the page and out of your head will be the foundation for the next steps: Rewrite, revise, repeat. And repeat. And repeat. It goes against all of our good writer techniques, right? The thought that we would deliberately write something that might suck balls goes against the writer’s simmering stew of hubris and deep-seated insecurity and career aspirations. But man, it worked…

2. Outlines? We Don’t Need No Stinkin’…Ok, Actually We Do:

This post is about the power of an outline for the book writing process. It’s nothing new. It’s nothing revolutionary. But for many writers, it’s an alien and terrifying process. Aren’t we supposed to just let the words flow? Let the muse move through us, let the creativity work its will, let characters do their own bidding and plots develop on their own? … That theory is, in a word, shite (“shit” pronounced with the full brogue – a delicious twist on an otherwise boring cuss word).

3. Beat Your Evil, Insecure Twin Into Submission:

I do have one mantra that I use. It’s something that comforts me, that may not provide a clear path of insecurity-free writing, but gives me perspective. I remind myself of all the work and time it took my favorite authors to get to where they are. I remind myself that most authors who have found any kind of success or realization of their dream had a shitload of rejection along the way…

4. Embrace the Solitude and Beat Back That Cowardly Lion:

With fiction writing? I got nuthin. The idea is all mine. The execution is all mine. The revision is all mine. Sure, I might involve some readers (if and when I can find some good ones). But ultimately it is all from my head and heart. And when a novel finally emerges from the toil of years of intermittent dedication, the reality of the publishing world makes all that effort seem pretty silly. And in this realization is a very lonely, isolating, desperately alone moment…

With that, it is now your turn, my dearies. Who here is participating in NaNoWriMo? Any interesting stories? Lessons learned from past experiences to pass on? Diatribes or caffeinated excitement? Share in the comments!

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When it comes down to it, the act of freelancing is simple, my friends. We get work. We do the work. We turn it in and get paid. Want to make it more complicated? You’ve come to the right place! Make your clients run away as fast as their legs can carry them with these surefire tips!

There are a lot of things hard about our chosen profession. Turning leads into prospects into clients can be hard. Writing/designing/creating the ultimate solution that makes clients happy and satisfied can be hard. Revision can be hard. Keeping the pipeline full enough to pay the rent but loose enough to prevent burnout can be hard.

What shouldn’t be hard? Being pleasant to work worth. Being dependable and worth the money. Being a natural choice for repeat business. But some people make it hard. Some freelancers go out of their way to piss people off and place their career in jeopardy. Why? Why is this numnuts our president? Why do people insist on talking about their venereal diseases on the train? Why do women consistently make less than men? It’s a deeply odd world, people.

But here’s the thing - just as we can learn from our excellent and admirable peers in this freelancing gig, we can also learn from the fucktards that make clients distrustful and angry, and our job harder. So here it is, the secret guide to making your clients run far, far away and never look back!

Promise to do things, and don’t do them.
Nothing works better in establishing a relationship than blatantly lying! Promise the world, and do the exact opposite. Miss deadlines. Skip meetings. Make wild excuses, and then forget you’ve already used them the next time. And once you’ve royally effed up the entire working arrangement, be sure and hound the clients until they pay you. Works like a charm.

Be a nag.
You know what clients really dig? More emails and voicemails cluttering their various inboxes. They love constant, excessive, annoying contact from the freelancer that professed to be a low maintenance alternative. They love fielding unceasing questions and queries that cover well trod ground. In short, they love being pestered, poked, prodded, and made inhumanely miserable. And we have the power to do it!

Ignore them.
You know what clients also love? The flip side of that. There’s nothing better than a freelancer that disappears, that can’t be reached by email or phone, that won’t confirm nor deny that they are, in fact, working with that deposit money and not running off to Ireland to get smashed (or, um, an Irish pub in Chicago).

Be a douche.
So they actually expect you to come to their office for an in-person meeting? Those bastards. Take time from your daily regimen of track pants and muscle shirts, and slip on some holey jeans and a torn sweater. You’re creative; they can’t expect you to wear khakis. Oh, and business decorum? Please. You’re a freelancer. You have free reign to be authentic, meaning wildly inappropriate conversation about your hangover, one night stand and burning itch. Other ways to be a douche: unending complaining. Insults. Physical violence. Basically anything that can get you thrown out of a bar at 2 am is not to be incorporated into client interactions.

Well there you have it. “But Amy,” you ask, “do people really do all this? Are there such freelancers that act little better than the feces-flinging monkeys at the zoo?” Yes, kids, there are. I know this by process of elimination. See, use a little common sense, treat clients like actual people, do what you promise, and it will be like the heavens opening up and shining angelic glory down. They’ll love you. Because you’re different than all the freaks they’ve dealt with in the past.

So go forth and be decent, my friends!

Thoughts? Diatribes? Stories? Tell us about it in the comments!

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The brain is a nifty little organ, with an amazing capacity for creativity, logic, and problem solving. But it’s also a complete asshole. And if you let it, it can completely take over your life. Don’t let it, my friends! Read on to learn more!

Your brain is inherently good. It helps you move your meat suit around efficiently, is responsible for flashes of brilliance, and occasionally entertains you with random bits of memory from 1982 and songs you haven’t heard, um, ever.

But your brain can also be bad. It can put Billy Ocean in your head on repeat, but refuse to relinquish the password to your email account. It can wake you up in the middle of the night in cold sweats from dreams involving blue-skinned nuns herding antelopes. And, devastatingly for us creative types, it can refuse to cooperate when you need that flash of brilliance.

Most of us are unknowingly yet irrevocably beholden to this bad brain, the evil twin of all evil twins. We are our bad brain’s bitch, and our creativity, daily work and general sanity suffer as a result. How can you tell if you’re being bitch slapped?

Procrastination Reigns.
Your bad brain is in control when you’re facing down a deadline, or a project you want to work on, and all you can think about is how fun it would be to give the toilet a deep scrub. Paying work? No, no, no, my friend, what really must be accomplished is a thorough review of the hairs growing from the nose, and the commencement of a careful trim. The work that represents even a hint of a challenge must be subsumed behind your overwhelming need to find the lyrics to that song, that one song you loved in 8th grade, oh gosh, what is that song?? Bad brain is the name, procrastination is the game.

Insecurity is in Control.
You think you can write? What the fuck do you know? You’re nothing. More than nothing, you’re a poseur. And every time you sit down to do anything creative, or even anything that will keep money coming in, your bad brain will remind you of it. Hey, hey, remember the time you peed your pants in school? Or the horrible humiliation of your first break up? Or the time you got drunk and broke/vomited on/defiled your best friend’s/parents’/significant other’s [insert favorite upon favorite item here]? Oh yeah. That’s what your brain is going to replay over and over when you even start to have a hint of confidence. It will have you sniveling and reduced to fetal-positioned goo before it’s done. Cus that’s what it does, just for kicks, and to school all the other brains.

Inspiration: Still Waiting.
You know all that talk about inspiration? Muses? Creative sparks? Yeah, well, your bad brain has too. And that little monster uses it against you. You think you have writer’s block, that your inspiration has run dry, that your muse is flipping you off as she takes a hike. So you wait for that creativity to come running back. You’ve been had, son. That little rat bastard of a brain will have you waiting and waiting and waiting some more, never actually doing anything in favor of, well, waiting.

Hibernating Hermit.
It’s so easy, so comfortable for freelancers to stay inside and never venture out all day. Or for a few days. To eschew exercise, or, you know, movement. To mindlessly chug down the caffeine and cheetos. You know there’s a world outside, and actual humans to converse with, and bodily health to maintain, but it all feels so distant, so unnecessary. That bad brain of yours will keep encouraging the hermitage until you’re in full-on Howard Hughes-in-a-fat-suit territory. Because we don’t need anyone! Anything! Anywhere! Just us, and our work, and our brains that will never harm us, never leave us…

The brain is a terrible thing to waste. But if you’ve got bad-brain syndrome, then wasting that motherfrakker is a to-do. Evil twin, begone! So how do you do it? That, my friends, is better left to smarter folks than me, who have defied their bad brains and lived to tell the tale. Some linkage to break the bitch cycle:

Why It’s So Damned Hard to Stop Procrastinating
How to Stifle a Good Idea
How to be a Freelancer (And Still Respect Yourself in the Morning) [Hehhehheh, see how I slipped that in there?]

Got other links? Thoughts? Diatribes? Tales of bitch woe? Tell us about it in the comments!

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Can you be a writer without work? Can you reap the glory, dominate your social circle, be loved and admired, without doing much at all? Um, no. But you can be a pretentious almost-not-quite writer! Read on to learn how!

So you want to be a writer! And when I say writer, I mean WRITER. He or she of the short stories and novels that win awards and accolades. The kind of writer that justifies all of our existences, and transcends the dirty dirty world of commercial, freelance writing (us sellouts). You want to be the kind of writer that’s canonized, that gets fucked up on absinthe and heroin, treats people like peons, and weaves tales that make the world sit up, take notice and weep for their sorry lives. And you want to do it with a minimum of actual work.

Awesome, dude! Here’s your surefire way to turn into the pompous almost-ran writer douchebag you so aspire to be!

Live up to the cliches.
You gots to sell it, both to yourself and to friends, family and strangers. Hang out in coffeehouses ad nauseam. Smoke a pipe. Wear scarves and ascots. Don’t shower and keep your hair lank and ruffled. Be mopey and completely antisocial. And don’t forget to take notes at all times, even when people ask you what you are doing, and they get freaked when you reveal you’re going to write about everything you see and hear. Even their secrets revealed when you were friends. Who needs friends?? You’re on a mission, bra.

Tell everyone about your writing plans.
You’re going to be the next Hemingway! Morrison! Amis! Why be modest about it? No, here’s what you do. Before you even write a word, you lay the groundwork. Tell everyone and anyone you know and meet about your fantastic plans. Wow them with your insightful ideas, the themes you’re going to so artfully explore, and the pitiful lumps of goo that you will turn your readers into. Then as you write, and you realize the writing is much harder than you anticipated, and it’s quite difficult to do all you intend to do, abandon the idea, scoffing at its immaturity, and move on. It was obviously not an idea worth your skill. Repeat!

Read and read and talk and never write.
A variation of the previous point, you can skip the writing all together! I mean, when it comes down to it, the writing can wait. It’s there in your head, waiting for that magical day when you become independently wealthy, infinitely smarter, and endowed with muse-like inspiration. Nah, don’t write. That’s too pedestrian anyway. Just talk up your ideas, read the masters, and soak it all in. Someday it will all come together.

Eschew organization and outlines.
Goodness gracias, are we animals? You don’t need notes or planning. Did Keroauc plan? Did any of your heroes take time away from the nose powder and ambrosia to think about plot and all that drivel? Of course not. If you want to be a writer, you just let the words flow through you into the magical and amazing final product that happens on its own. Heathen.

Take yourself seriously.
That’s right. You are the king. And you’re here on a mission from…someone. Don’t expect or believe anything else. And demand that kind of treatment from all. That’s what being a WRITER is all about.

Well there you have it. You want to write masterpieces, here’s your path. Sure, nothing actually gets done, and your circle begins to realize you’re a blowhard with no actual writing practice or ability, and you keep waiting for that mythical muse to appear and make it all happen for you and she never does. That’s what being a WRITER is all about.

Wait, you want to actually write? Produce something, fuck up, learn, and maybe someday get published? Ah ha. Well here’s what you do. Write. Write some more. Keep writing. And don’t be a pretentious almost-writer asshat.

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