Jaye Wells

Writers aren’t known as the most flexible souls in any sense of the word. First of all, we spend way too much time on our ass, which is horrible for the bendiness. Second, we tend to create these arcane and mysterious rituals that we swear help us stay in touch with the muse or the flow or whatever magical force we credit for our creativity. Here agin, not so flexible. The slightest thing that knock us off our stride.

An example. for years I refused to quit smoking because I swore it made me a better writer. Ridiculous, right? Try telling me that a year ago when I was mainlining nicotine under deadline. I am happy to report that today, I am more than capable of writing lots and lots of great words without the aid of carcinogens. Of course, I’ve replaced them with wine and Oreos, but that’s neither here nor there.

My point is, lack of flexibility can be a good thing when we’re putting our foot down something we believe in. It is not a good thing if it stands in the way of production.

On Monday, I had to go drop my beloved Macbook, Precious, off at the Genius Bar for some triage. Her logic board was on the fritz, which was leading to some terrifying crashes. I can’t imagine the look of loss on my face when the guy told me I’d have to leave her. It was not unlike asking me to leave my child behind. This computer is not just my portal to all of you, it’s also the epicenter of my career.

Luckily, as the wife of a computer dude, I was not without access to another computing device. But it didn’t have all my files and programs loaded on it the way I like them. It didn’t have Twitter or iTunes installed. It didn’t have Scrivener, which is my preferred drafting program. I couldn’t hook it up to the external monitor I prefer to use because it fills my vision with the document I’m working on.

You guys, I was so productive. I had to work at stopping working to go check email and twitter. Instead of getting distracted by trolling iTunes for the perfect song for the scene I was working on, I flipped on a Pandora station and forgot about it. I focused on working for longer stretches than I’ve work in probably months. Holy shit, y’all, I didn’t multitask and it was awesome.

Few things. First, the lesson here is that comfort zones are wonderful, but also safe. If you want to see a change in your work, you’ve got to run far away from safe. Second, if what you’re doing is working for you, then feel free to ignore me. Just be honest with yourself. Third, inflexibility can prevent you from making wonderful discoveries about yourself and your writing.

Of course, the example I gave was pretty mundane. I mean, yes, the means with which we get words on the page is important, but it doesn’t get to the heart of this issue, does it?

How about you try a story that scares the hell out of you? The one you’re worried your family will disown you over. The one that makes your stomach clench but also makes your inner rebel perk up.

What if you stopped insisting that you are a diehard plotter/panster/outliner/scene writer and test out the waters of the complete opposite approach?

What if you took the advice of that critique partner? You know the one. She glares at you over her horn rimmed glasses and corrects your grammar and thinks she knows everything about the craft. Maybe she does. Maybe you should listen to her instead of getting defensive and silently imagine strangling her with her beaded glasses strap. Or maybe you’ve been listening to your critique group and they’re a bunch of idiots. It happens all the time. We take advice because we lack confidence in ourselves. In that case, you’d need to get out of your comfort zone by being less flexible.

Or hell, maybe you need to be flexible about what you write, period. I started out thinking I would write historical fiction. I had aspirations for being a very serious writer of poetic prose. Clearly I was smoking some literary crack. I had to be honest with myself about who I really am and in what key my voice really sings. So be flexible about your chosen genre. Finding your authentic voice is more important than some marketing term, anyway.

Terrifying, right? Being flexible means leaving the comfort zone behind. But ask yourself this: Does the prospect of falling on your face scare you more than dying without ever really trying?

Go make yourself uncomfortable today.

Look what just landed on my doorstep!

Only a few more weeks, friends. You’ve preordered your copies, yes? Order from Amazon, B&N, Indiebound

I’ve been reading the book IMAGINE: HOW CREATIVITY WORKS by Jonah Lehrer. It’s a fascinating look at how creativity works, even in non-traditionally creative venues. One of the things he discusses is the importance of travel and new experiences to creativity. We often call this “filling the well” and if you ain’t doing it, you’re handicapping yourself and your stories.

Last night, I spent eight hours riding in a cop car. I’ve mentioned here and elsewhere that I’ve been participating in a Citizen’s Police Academy through my city. Part of the program is the opportunity to do a ride along. Now please understand the decision to sign up was not an easy one. A) I’m a writer, not a hero. B) I’m a control freak and the idea of putting myself in a dangerous situation is terrifying. So naturally I had to do it.

I did it because I wanted to know what it’s like. I did it because I want to be able to write convincingly about cops. I did it because I want to be able to describe the adrenaline rush of roaring down the road with sirens blaring to chase down a perp who’s running through a neighborhood. I did it because I was afraid and that means it’s something that needs exploring.

I’ve done lots of things in the service of writing that I never would have had the guts to do otherwise. The desire ot have lot sof experiences to draw from for my fiction is kind of like a passport. Even though I get nervous and doing things out of my comfort zone isn’t always comfortable, I know that ultimately it will benefit both my fiction and my life.

Because guess what–your writing is your life. It’s your life distilled and filtered and morphed and reshaped. If you spend all your time stuck in a high tower and you never speak to real people and you never challenge yourself your fiction will show it.

This is not to diminish the role of imagination in our work. But I’m one of those ridiculous people who thinks a writer can’t live on imagination alone. If you spend all your life with your nose buried in the laptop or the notebook, you’re going to miss the entire ride.

“Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!” –Auntie Mame.

Not for nothing, but there’s no guarantee writing will bring you fame and fortune. If anything, it’s a guarantee of the opposite. So while you’re pursuing this unattainable dream, maybe you should enjoy yourself a little. Go drive fast cars and get into fist fights and kiss someone who’s all wrong for you. Get your heart pumping. Know what it feels like to have your heart broken. Laugh until you pee a little. Talk to people you have nothing in common with and learn something from them. Do something that scares you.

Yes, put your ass in the chair and write. Let your imagination go wild. But every now and then, leave the chair. Leave the house, for chrissakes. Seek adventure. Your stories and your future self will thank you for it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the post on The Zone last week. I’ve decided there’s more I need to say on the topic, so the next couple of Craft Thursday posts will address this very important topic.

Why is it so important? Because The Zone, aka The Flow, is so critical to creativity. Authors always talk about those moments when they fell liek they are merely a conduit for story. You lose track of time and your fingers fly across the keyboard faster than you could possibly think. It’s like taking dictation for the gods or dancing or meditation.

“When we are involved in [creativity], we feel that we are living more fully than during the rest of life.” –Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, one the world’s formost experts on the concept of Flow.

Here’s a TED Talk by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi.

You back? Okay, now that we understand how important it is, let’s discuss how Flow and Zone are also not that important.

WHAT?!? But, Jaye, you just made me watch an 18 minute video on the importance of Flow and how it can give our lives meaning and happiness.

Shh, grasshopper, shh. Yes, The Zone is awesome. I have an almost religious reverence for it and in a lot of ways it’s one of the big reasons writing is a need and a want in my life. The Zone makes you feel like Siddhartha on the mountain at one with the infinite.

However …

There will be a lot of days, A LOT, when you can not get into the Flow. Days when you’re restless and distracted. Days when you had a fight with your wife or your kids are having problems or you’re PMSing and there’s no chocolate in the $%#^#& house.Or maybe you’ve been working on this book for four months straight and it’s still not coming together and you’re just not sure you have the endurance to keep going. You keep trying to get into the Flow, but really you’re barely treading water.

Pop Quiz!

What do you do if you just can’t get into The Zone?
A. Take a break. You deserve it. Several weeks should do it.
B. Stop writing altogether. You’re a fraud anyway.
C. Keep calm and write on.

You don’t really need me to tell you, do you? If you do, send me $10 and I’ll scream WRITE, DAMN YOU, WRITE! into your voicemail.

The truth is most writers don’t spend the majority of their writing time in The Zone. Perhaps that’s why it’s so special. If it was easy to get there, we wouldn’t appreciate it. So, yeah, it’s not easy –actually it’s probably also not that advisable since it warps your relationship with the real world–to get and stay in the Zone. Regardless, books get written.

They get written because if you’re an author you’re not just an artist, you’re a craftsperson. You’re a word worker, hammering out a story. Those blinding moments of inspiration and that chorus of angels that croons while you’re Flowing are fabulous. But they appear too inconsistently to get the work done.

The work gets done by making a habit of putting your ass in the chair and laying words on the page. I’m not one of those writers who say you’re required to write every day. But you should probably have a reliable habit of some sort. Some people have weekly word goals, some have somewhat regular bouts of word bingeing. Either way, the work has to get done. This obviously gets more important once you get published and have a contractual obligation to finish the book. But even before that, when you’re on the road to Oz, you still have to complete projects.

Completing projects makes you a more experienced writer. And guess what? Being a more experienced writer makes it easier to achieve Flow. Flexing your creative muscles through practice creates a sort of creative muscle memory. Deliberate practice means you’re available and prepared when those flashes of inspiration decide to make an appearance. Plus, you also learn what works best to get you into the Flow. Since I’ve written several books now, it’s easier for me to shut off the internal editor and let my fingers improvise like a Jazz musician. I trust myself more to get the work done because I’ve done it before.

Anyway, the big point is, respect the Flow, but more than that, respect that writing is work.

Until next week, happy writing!

Last week I was in Chicago for the Romantic Times Convention. During a panel someone asked how we–Kelley Armstrong, Melissa Marr, Lucienne Diver, Nicole Peeler, Jennifer Estep and myself–handle writer’s block.
First of all, I’ve tackled Writer’s Block here before.
I repeated some of those points during the panel, but I also touched on something I have only recently begun to realize for myself.
If you want to avoid writer’s block, you’ve got to protect your Zone.
I capitalized the Z because the Zone is that important. It’s the sweet spot, the Shangri La, the secret cave where the muse resides. It’s the place where writing feels like meditation and time flits away like bird’s wings on a soft, warm breeze. Doubts fear the Zone. So does the inner editor. There’s no ego there. Basically, the Zone is the orgasm we’re always trying to reach each time we sit down at the keyboard.
Have I oversold it? I don’t believe so. If you do, maybe you have yet to find your Zone.
Regardless, I think a lot of what we call writer’s block is an inability to find the Zone. When we’re blocked, finding it can make us feel a lot like poor Odysseus trying to get home. It’s an epic quest fraught with clawed beasts and Cyclopses and murderous sirens.
Typically the biggest villains blocking our way are Ego and Editor. Ego wants us to believe we’re demigods worthy of worship. Editor tells us we’re shit on the shoe of whichever author we’ve elevated to the status of deity. Both are monsters.

In keeping with the Odysseus metaphor, Editor is Scylla, the fanged beast who makes horrible sounds and consumes any poor soul who dares stray too close to her lair. Across the way, Charybdis is the sucking whirlpool of ego. In the center of these beasts is safe passage to the Zone.
Perfectionism is Scylla’s ambrosia. She finds your fear delicious. Charybdis, on the other hand, grows stronger every time you Google yourself, every time you check your ranking on Amazon.
If you’re ever going to break free of their pull, you’re going to have to learn to steer steady through the rough waters and ignore the waving tentacles in your peripheral vision. In short, you’ve got to protect yourself or you’ll never find your way back to Ithaca.
Look, let’s be honest. Writers have a reputation for being … peculiar, particular, persnickety. I never used to understand why my more experienced writers would issue dire warnings about resisting the urge to self-google (insert hairy palm joke here). I never understood why my successful author friends have these bizarre rituals and strange OCD behaviors about their writing. I never got why they didn’t enjoy the more public aspects of the job more.
Now I get it, and, ironically, it was Romantic Times that brought this lesson home for me.
Don’t get me wrong, I had a blast. I got to catch up with a lot of friends and meet lots of readers. Had some laughs and fun gossip sessions and fascinating discussions about books. But it also exhausted me. I thought maybe it’s just that I’m getting too old for sitting in the bar all night. But I’ve come to suspect something else is at play.
I didn’t protect my Zone.
First of all, I rarely get any writing done during cons. I write on the plane, sure. But once I’m in the hotel, I’m in full book pimp mode. I’m schmoozing and drinking and having deep discussions about how to save books. No bueno, my friends. As much as I enjoy the public side of my job, my first responsibility is to lay words on the page. It’s not just a job, though. It’s a NEED. Writing is as much of a requirement for my health as exercise and a good night’s sleep (lack of both of these can also screw with your Zone, btw). What’s worse, I always lose at least two additional days after cons as I catch up on sleep and let myself recharge.
Second of all, all that talk about The Industry is fucking demoralizing. It’s hard to get excited about writing when everyone’s talking about how books are going the way of the Dodo. When you’re consuming all this constant bad news and dire Chicken Littleism, it’s impossible to feel creative. Cons aren’t the worst perpetrator of this, though. Every time we read industry blogs or loiter on Twitter all day instead of writing, we’re opening ourselves to a constant deluge of shitty energy.
With more demands on our time to promote books, it’s becoming harder to insulate ourselves from the negativity that strips us of our internal compass, the one that leads us to our creative True Norths.
So how do we protect our Zones? I can only tell you the steps I’ve taken.
First, I’ve culled my Twitter and Facebook lists. Anyone who makes my teeth clench or my ass twitch or my trigger finger itchy is gone. Life’s too short. This is the social media equivalent of culling emotional vampires from your real life (something you should also do to protect your Zone).
Second, I’m taking time most days to get the hell away from my computer and go get some fresh air. Three or four times a week, I’ve been taking long walks. While I walk, I listen to audiobooks by people who inspire me–Stephen King’s On Writing or Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. While I walk, I take time to be thankful that I have a job that allows to go for long walks during the middle of the day. I try to feel grateful, which in turn makes me want to make the most of these opportunities wherever they may lead.
Third, I’ve stopped masturbating my Ego by googling or reading reviews. I’m not saying I’m a saint. What author isn’t a narcissist on some level? Sure, I slip up and read reviews, but I rarely don’t regret it.
Those are the big things. Your things might be different. You might get derailed by the things that help me get in the Zone the fastest. Regardless, it’s up to each of us to be honest about the habits (or people or addictions or rituals) we have that are working against us. It might take a while before what I’m saying makes sense. You might read this and think you’re the special kind of writer who will never hit a block so hard and large that you need a Sherpa to guide you over it. You might not believe in writer’s block at all. That’s fine. But protecting your Zone isn’t just about avoiding the dreaded block. It’s about protecting the magic, cupping your hands around that little, fragile spark. It’s too easy for that flame to flicker or burn out if you let your attention wander.
Protecting your Zone will not make you feel like a rock star. Taking long walks and ignoring the latest viral bullshit online won’t win you any readers. But you know what will?
Writing amazing books.
Protect your Zone from bad touches, friends.