Writing

INK WELL, edited by Ev Bishop, launched today

/ Ev Bishop / 4 Comments

INK WELLThe young writers’ club that I head up at Centennial Christian School here in Terrace, Writers’ Ink, launched its Spring 2009 issue of our magazine, INK WELL. We’ve come along way since the days of cutting and pasting and photocopying! Check us out and make sure you click to preview – you can flip through each page, very cool! I’m especially excited, because I did the design work – a bit of new branching out for me.

And if you’re into desktop or print-on-demand publishing for any purpose – to put your own creative work “out there,” or for business, non-profit, or special interest work you’re involved with – look into MagCloud. I’m very impressed with the quality of their end product, their prices, and the overall site set up.

SiWC 2009 or bust!

/ Ev Bishop / 14 Comments

So I just did something very exciting—booked a four-night stay at the gorgeous Sheraton Guildford in Surrey, BC. It seems unbelievable, but it’s already time—really time!—to start planning my favourite annual indulgence: The Surrey International Writers’ Conference.

I normally try to rein in my freakish enthusiasm and exuberance while blogging, so I don’t scare readers away, but allow me one, YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!

I know some writers are sceptical of the advantages of conferences. They think they’re nothing but a money grab. They feel you don’t learn anything that you couldn’t from a book or a bit of research. They’re sure everyone’s just there for their egos—I’m a writer, look at me. They’re convinced you’d be better off spending the time writing, not talking about writing.

I confess I don’t understand conference bashers.

1. Yes, attending a conference is a financial commitment. That it costs you something is part of its value. Say what? Just that: Putting money into your craft, saying in essence, “I’m serious about my writing, and it’s worth not just my time, but also my material resources to pursue,” is like giving yourself a big ol’ permission slip to take your goals more seriously. It’s also a big cue to family and friends—Oh, she’s serious about this little writing thing.

Professional development (Yes, a little FYI, conferences are P-D, not just wonderfully social times where everyone sips wine, talks about their favourite things—books and storytelling, of course—and comes away absolutely inspired) betters the quality of your work and boosts your word counts. Being with other people who are excited about the same things you are is motivating.

2. Books on craft are great, and yep, you learn a lot reading them, but—and gasp, I can’t quite believe I’m saying this—there are some things being alone with a book can’t do. Reading alone in your study doesn’t give you the experience of being with 1000 other souls who love what you love—ideas, words, stories. It doesn’t give you the chance to laugh along with one of your favourite authors. It doesn’t provide the opportunity to stick up your hand in the middle of the information to say, “Gah—I don’t get it!” or “Yay—I love how you put that!”

Hearing authors talk about their personal experiences, reassure you that it’s an achievable dream (they’re living proof, after all), and answer every-question-you-can-imagine is invaluable. As is getting to learn face-to-face from agents and editors who accept books (maybe even one like yours!) for their livings.

3. As for the complaints about “egos” . . . I don’t see it. I’ve met people I don’t click with, sure. I may have (it’s terrible) even cringed or grimaced inwardly a time or two on behalf of a cornered agent or author, yep. But people are people wherever you go. The great, the bad, the meh—they’re everywhere. And for what it’s worth, I think writing conferences having a higher per ratio capacity of hilarious, generous, kind, and witty people than most public groupings. The feeling of community and camaraderie is almost the whole reason I go. I work alone day after day all year (Yay for the Internet, but that’s an aside). Even the most reclusive of us benefit from and need human company sometimes.

4. Four days of conferencing and sushilizing does not, in anyway, take away from my productivity. I write almost every day—and that’s in addition to my business writing, editing, and workshops. Surrey energizes me for a whole year. If I have a day where I feel kind of unmotivated, I look at the calendar and recall the goals I’ve set for the next conference . . . Speaking of which, I’m on track, but not ahead of where I wanted to be by this month, so I should go.

Happy writing, everyone—and if you’re heading out to Surrey this October 22, 23, and 24 for SiWC, let me know.

I’m also interested in any comments about why you love writing workshops or conferences—or really mix things up and tell me why I’m out to lunch and they suck! 😀

~ Ev

Ye Olde Idea Shoppe

/ Ev Bishop / 12 Comments

Stephen King has said he’s frequently asked where he gets his ideas. He gives slightly varying answers, but one of *my favourites, he attributes to a friend of his: “I buy them at the supermarket.” Now it’s obvious he was being a bit facetious—on some level asking a writer where he/she gets ideas is like asking the moon why it hangs in the sky or where the ocean gets its water. There probably is a perfectly reasonable scientific explanation to the query, but I’ll be darned if I’d ever know how to articulate it. And even the best responses would be destroyed with one further question: why? Why do you get ideas for stories? Why indeed. But I digress. Back to ideas, where they come from, and the ones at grocery stores—oh yes, the grocery store. S.K. and his quoted buddy were speaking partially in jest, but they would agree that the statement is factual.

Story ideas abound in grocery stores. They arrive in the produce section (who hasn’t lifted a big yellow clump of bananas and thought about the huge, hairy spider that might have arrived with the shipment?). They lurk about the deli. Why does man keep standing there like that? Is he going to try to shoplift bulk olives? Does he have a thing for the girl at the counter? Is she his long lost child? They sit in well-ordered rows in the canned foods sections. Do you know what’s in that can of refried beans—the third one back in the middle of the row? Well, do you?

When short on cash, or just not in the mood for a big shop, have no fear. Ideas are everywhere:

In conversation, like when a friend recently expressed his suspicion that the reason there are so many more vaccinations now than when we were kids isn’t disease-prevention at all. It’s a safe guard for world governments worried about over-population. If at anytime they want to cull the population, they just have to press a button and release whatever it is that reacts with whatever injection. Story idea!

In overheard snippets of dialogue. “I can’t believe she’d do that. It’s sickening.” What can’t the speaker believe she’d do? And who’s she? And who, come to think of it, is the speaker? And what’s sickening? How sickening?

In dreams (See, that’s what I’d like to know—forget ideas—where do dreams come from? Come to think of it, a story about where dreams come from would be pretty fascinating!)

In physical work, especially it seems to me, in gardening and yard work.

In doing absolutely nothing (which is why, even when I’m really busy, I strive to have do-nothing time . . . It’s good for your brain).

Even in random personal moments. I bought a full-length formal gown (of all things) two weeks ago. Wearing a dress like that makes you (or makes me, anyway) just feel different. And that made me think of a story idea—what if you walked into a vintage store, tried on an outfit, and suddenly—poof—you were you no longer—or you were, but only in the flesh suit and life of the person who’d owned the apparel you now sported? (Hey, I didn’t say every idea was a good idea.)

Chances are if you’re a writer, you don’t need to find ideas. You need to somehow stop tripping on them as they lift the floorboards late at night. You need to carefully replace the stone you moved only to find another one scuttling beside a centipede. You need to do something, anything, to stifle them, so you don’t lose focus on the ones you’ve already collected and are trying to coax onto the bright white page. You understand full well how ideas just appear, well, everywhere, from nowhere.

My question for people who ask, “Where do you get your ideas?” is this: Don’t you get random weird ideas all the time?

I know that not everyone writes, but it never actually occurred to me that perhaps not everyone is inundated with the what-ifs, questions, and strange observations that spark story ideas. I think I thought that ideas came to everyone, just that some people are compelled to do something with them . . .

* If you happen to know where on earth I read this bit—I want to say it’s in On Writing—could you give me page number? I’d like to give the actual name of the person King attributes it to, and I’d like to confirm how it’s worded. Thanks!

The Waiting Game

/ Ev Bishop / 5 Comments

Is there anything more onerous to a writer than the waiting game? Most people tackle a project and then, well, they’re done. Not fiction writers, oh no. They “finish” their work (which could take months, a year, or even years) and send it away, only to have the really time consuming part of the job start: the waiting.

Lurking dangers surround all that waiting. Self-doubt has lots of time to imagine unkind things being said to your story’s face (and to do its own unkind muttering in your head). The desire for regular coffee money might trick you into some cave of a job where you’re paid by the hour. Writer’s block (if you subscribe to that kind of notion) is more prone to leap upon you and starting chewing on your throat—especially if what you want to write next might depend (foolishly!) on whether the circulating work sells (my advice: write like it sells, or don’t and start something entirely new—just write!).

It’s not all bad though. If you let it, waiting to hear back can be kind of like counting down to a vacation. Each passing day is one closer to at least some sort of a response, the wait gets sweeter, the anticipation builds. I’ve learned to use the hope that just won’t die (I’m bandaging my throat here as you read!) as motivation to write the next thing. While your words sit on someone’s desk, there is the endless opportunity that said words might find a home—someone might like that story, poem, article, or what-have-you. Nothing is more inspiring than the idea that someone might relate to your offerings and even (gleep!) want more of them. Exciting stuff.

I try to take full advantage of this wait/hope phenomenon by keeping 6 – 8 things “out there” all the time. That way, rejection doesn’t hurt as much (hope sprints over to another project to rest on) and my inner-creep can’t do as much of a job on my self-esteem.

Hmmmm . . . Is there a point to this post? Yes (lectures self), get your stuff out there and keep it out there until it finds a home. And in the meantime, the waiting time, get busy on the next idea.

Happy writing,
☺ Ev

Sci-fi Creatives Evening

/ Ev Bishop / 2 Comments

Righteous Anger by Lynda Williams

Righteous Anger by Lynda Williams

Yesterday I attended a Sci-fi Creatives evening (advertised in my last post), featuring Lynda Williams, author of the Okal Rel saga. Judging from the laugher, head nodding, and everyone-participating-conversation, a good time was had by all. Lynda is a hilarious, candid speaker, and I think any writer would benefit and be inspired by her enthusiasm for her own and other people’s creative works.

The highlight for me was a casual bit of advice given toward the end of the night. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before—in fact, it’s something I always strive to live my writing life by, yet it was much needed encouragement: Write the stories you want to write, that you care about, are passionate about. And while Lynda didn’t add this, she just as easily could have; it was in every bit of her attitude: Have fun!

So yes, if you ever have a chance to take in a Creative SF Evening with Lynda Williams, do so. And if you fall into her Okal Rel universe before I do, let me know how you find it—the books sound amazing.

Cold Calling For Fiction Facts

/ Ev Bishop / 6 Comments

I am a fairly outgoing person—at least in situations where I’ve had time to prepare for being social and can make sure I’m “on.” I am, however, a bit of a phone phobe, even when someone else is calling me, let alone when I—gasp—have to be the one making the call. And I hate feeling like I’m intruding on someone by just showing up to talk business or whatever (it’s a good thing most of my work comes to me, isn’t it? Gah.).

Yet what did I find myself doing yesterday? Dropping in unannounced on various people I’ve never met before to confirm some facts/flesh out details that I need for my novel. The biggest surprise? Well, it’s three-fold actually. 1) I wasn’t even scared! Perhaps I’m too excited about how the writing’s going to feel intimidated. Or perhaps all the work I do with my business now, for people who are initially strangers, is helping me come out of my shell with my fiction too. 2) The people I talked to were not only helpful and informative, they seemed excited about talking to me. 3) My gut-writing was on the right track—there’s very little I have to change in the chapters I was investigating for, so that’s awesome. Maybe my subconscious knows things I don’t. (Ha! No maybes about it.)

Fact checking may be considered the least inspiration-based aspect of fiction writing, but it got my muse all fired up. “You’re getting so close,” he hollered. “People are interested in your storyline—what they’ve heard of it anyway.” I know my innards will be jelly when I try to track down a friendly RCMP member to give me some inside information on procedures and policies, but yesterday’s experience will help with that too. I managed to be coherent, even interesting—and no one seemed to think my questions were stupid (my biggest fear!).

So yes, kudos to cold calling for facts to feed fiction. Whoever gave the stellar advice to “do something that scares you everyday” was really onto something. It’s very invigorating and affirming.

Self-soothing

/ Ev Bishop / 3 Comments

When my daughter was just freshly born, the doctor on duty watched her noiselessly root about for her clenched fist. When her mouth found it, she gave a contented sigh, and the doctor commented that I was lucky—my baby was a self-soother. I asked what he meant and how he could tell. The general gist was that apparently right from birth, people show signs of personality type and individuals who spend a lot of time around babies can tell those who will work to comfort themselves almost from the get-go and those who need help from someone outside themselves for consolation.

As a neurotic, I mean a writer, I’ve given the doctor’s comments a lot of thought over the years, because I seem to have to search for comfort quite often. Is getting down just a natural accompaniment to thinking? Does everyone share my angst? Does everyone feel completely useless, ill equipped for, and entirely intimidated by the endeavours they pursue? (Excuse me while I suck my clenched fist for a moment, please….)

This past week (month), I’ve been suffering what seems to be a reoccurring crisis in my writing life. Writing gives so much, but it also demands a lot. And every so often, I just feel tired. My pile of rejection slips grows, and along with it, my worry that maybe I’m only a competent writer, not a good one. I wonder if I should stick with what’s easy (business writing), and keep my fiction for myself, hoard it away in a drawer…. I can’t quit writing. I love it. I need it. It brings me (despite what this post may suggest) a lot of joy. I just don’t always love the selling-your-wares side that goes along with it.

Compounding my problem (funny how you can know the source of a problem and not just go and fix it!), I’ve been away from my novel for too long. Always a recipe for madness. Anyway, I won’t bore you with all the insecurity and meanness my brain can throw at me—I’ll cut to the part where I root about for comfort and let out a satisfied sigh.

By now I know that that the cure for writing-related-neurosis is to write. When I’m writing every day, I’m insane with story, not self-doubt. However, you can know the medicine you need and still have to steel yourself to gag it down. Some people recommend an equal dose of sugar. I prefer Stephen King.

I wrote cryptic “am going through stuff/will write you later” e-mails to my close writing friends (accidentally scaring them), then got off the computer (the horror, the horror!) and dug out my old standby for times like this: On Writing. No one calls it like it is quite like S.K.

I appreciate his matter-of-fact assertion that I probably am only a competent writer at best; I LOVE how he goes on to assure me that I can become a good writer if I stop being such a whiny little sot and get back to work. He’s a dragon slayer, making all the insecurity and neurosis I deal seem like normal parts of the writing life. His no-exceptions command to be honest when writing is always beneficial. But perhaps the most important affirmation he provides is the reminder that I don’t write for glory or money (obviously); private, intangible things make writing so crucial, so wonderful, so worth it.

I did some journaling. I stared into space. Then I did what I couldn’t put off anymore. I opened the binder that holds the second draft of my latest novel and read/worked over the first three chapters. And they weren’t that bad. They might be okay—or even good. Ish. (Why can’t I just say, Hey, I actually think they’re good? They’re good. There. Gah.) Does any of this bring me any closer to knowing whether or not I’ll ever find an agent, “get published,” or be able to write fiction as a day job instead of fitting it around one? No. But it did something much more important; it reminded me that none of that matters.

In short (well, not in short, it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?), I rooted around to find those things near me that I could use to comfort myself, to get myself back at the page again, and in doing so and experiencing that “Ahhhhhh, finally” feeling, I find myself wondering (just like I always do when I’ve let myself get out of hand) what was the big deal anyway? Why didn’t I just sit my butt down and face the page at the first onset of nervousness ages ago. It’s a mystery…. One that I’d promise not to repeat, but by now I know myself too well. It’s not if I need the reminder again… it’s when. Until then though, I’m feeling quite determined to never let a day go by without writing.

(I heard your sceptical snort-laugh! Stop that.)

Wherever you are on the writing sanity spectrum, I hope your project’s going well. And if it’s not? Well, suck it up, Princess, and get back to it. (My extremely modified version of S.K. encouragement. Whaddya think? Did it work?)

Happy writing,
Ev

Don’t read agent blogs–just say no, then go and tell!

/ Ev Bishop / 1 Comment

Gah and gah! I _know_ better, but what did I just go and do? Read an agent’s blog, that’s what. Oh, I know the argument for doing so–to get a line on the industry, to keep up with what’s selling by whom, to whom, for what, yada, yada, yada. Not enough is said about WHY ALL ASPIRING NOVELISTS SHOULD STAY AWAY FROM AGENT BLOGS. They can only make you feel bad. They can only tell you that whatever you’re currently writing is not what’s selling. Or that it might sell, if only you were a gender other than what you are. They can only explain in intelligent, well-articulated ways all the reasons you are a lunatic for even daydreaming about publishing fiction.

My most recent brush with death started out with an agent sharing wisdom her dad had given her when she was a teen. Well, my mom gave me a bit too, including: a leopard can’t change its spots. Whether that was a good quality or a bad one depended on the anecdote it was attached to, but nonetheless, I am convicted of its truth. And I have no desire to even try to change my spots. I–for whatever horrible, unchangeable, unfathomable reason–need to write. BUT I DON’T NEED TO READ AGENT BLOGS.

Maybe one day I’ll be the novelist some agent blogs about saying, “despite everything everyone knew to not work, to not sell, and to not be a valid expenditure of time, energy and breath, Ev Bishop blah, blah, blah…” Or perhaps not. But in any event, I’ll take a lot more pleasure in my WIP and waste a lot less time trying to dance to a tune that constantly changes.

On that note, I leave you with a quote from a writing forum I frequent: “My final thought is that you need to write what you believe makes your story stronger not to please some imagined editor.”

Hear, hear!

Severely traumatized, but drinking coffee, typing and feeling reasonably sure of a complete recovery,
Ev

p.s. I suppose there is value in reading an agent’s blog before you pitch to him/her–or so say all the agent blogs anyway!

Fiction Addiction

/ Ev Bishop / 2 Comments

So I’m smack in the middle of a huge project with a tight turnaround—yay! It’s challenging and gets my brain churning; I’m really enjoying it. The only thing I find daunting about it is just how much work there is to do in such a short time, so out of necessity, not desire, I’m on a one-month hiatus from my fiction work.

I was okay for the first week or two, but now I’m going crazy. A few times I’ve actually felt itchy with need to get back to it. It’s funny how it builds up—the worst part is that it’s not a burning desire to get editing. No, it’s much worse. I have a new book brewing. Anyway, brew it will have to. My coping strategy is thus: I’m dedicating a small notebook to New Book! When the voices get too loud, I will jot down the details and snippets they share. It’s pretty exciting—by the time I’m done editing my latest WIP, I will have (I hope!) another full book worth of ideas and plot in scribbled form.

So that’s me this week—loving my business work (excited because I already have another project lined up for March), and anxious to return to my *fiction addiction.

I hope your own writing—in whatever its form—is going great. And for the love of all that is good in the world, if you have the time to put into your novel, short stories, or poetry, get busy! Let me live vicariously through you.

*I’m running a set of writing workshops in late spring by this name. I can’t wait