Writing Can't Always Happen

I've come to a startling realization, one that may surprise many of you: I can't do everything. I've accepted that, within school and other activities, I can't be perfect. As a total Type-A, I've grown used to juggling school, and sports, and writing, along with food, reading and sleep, and making it seem almost flawless.

This isn't so much an apology as an explanation. Right now, I only have myself to answer to; there aren't any editors or agents making sure I get the next part of my novel done, the next section of my memoir mapped out. Until now, this has worked well. I would just sit down at my clunky computer and write, or edit, and then it would be done.

After all, I've always had very high expectations to myself; if I tell myself I'm going to do something, I'm going to do it to the best of my ability. I'm normally very determined, passionate, and reliable. Lately, there hasn't been time.

Until this year, I didn't really realize what the words "college-preparatory" and "honors" actually meant. It's not that I've lost my passion; writing, and seeing as a writer, is so often on my mind. When I get home at seven at night, after playing tennis for two hours and being in school for seven hours, I still have a full load of homework to do. At this stage of my life, choosing writing over sleep isn't feasible right now. The other duties in my life don't just stop because I want to write for a little longer. I wish I had the luxury to write whenever I pleased, but I don't. At least I know what a full-time job and writing on the side is like.

Additionally, I have no idea what I'm doing. This is the first novel-draft that I've actually had the heart to edit, and the first memoir I've written. Although there are resources, both of these steps definitely aren't a one-size-fits-all. There aren't many memoir resources online, and editing is quite peculiar. I'm so glad I'm doing this, and it's harder than I thought.

I've been doing the best that I can, and it still isn't good enough. No matter how many times I switch my time-zone so it looks like I have an hour or two to write (tempting, I know), there are still only 24 hours in a day. (Yes, I am in honors math. Can't you tell?) I'm trying to avoid burnout, because that wouldn't be good for anything, or anyone, in my life. Sometimes, writing has to be on the back-burner.

Right now, I can't devote much time to writing. I've been taking an unintentional break, and just trying to see the world for whatever it is. I've never been one of those madly-holed-up-in-room writer types; I've been writing for almost two years, and it's always been something I've done late at night, once the day was done, typing out my thoughts and then sleeping. I don't continually isolate myself to write; I've always loved being busy in real life and then stepping back to write, to gain a further understanding of myself and the people around me.

As I've been delving into my memories, I've tried to take breaks and really get into the moment. Last night, on a walk I took, I made sure I noticed the glow of the lampposts on the streets, the jingle of my dog's leash, the pebbled texture of iron-wrought gates (yep, I touch other people's fences. Who doesn't?). I also found out that evergreens are really awful at high-fives. Who knew?

In all seriousness, in the past few weeks, I've realized that there isn't time for everything. More importantly, though, I don't always need to be writing or editing something to be in a writer's state of mind. I get so focused on achieving my goals that sometimes I don't realize that realistically, it doesn't always happen, at least not with the time constraints I give myself.  I've got time, just not now. For now, this is the best I can do. (In the meantime, don't expect any quality writing or planning from me. And just so you know, I shirked finishing a history assignment early to write this. Case in point.)

The Virtues of Imagination: My New Book, Revealed

While I've decided to take a break on my much-beloved novel, I've started a new chapter in my life. As you may know, towards the end of my first draft I get a Brilliant Book Idea, and the last draft was no different. So, this one's pitch is: A Midwestern girl finds herself in the midst of adjusting to her newly-adopted brother, her twin sister's medical issues, and her relationships as she finds out where she can truly put her trust. (Barely functional, current pitch.) Sound familiar? It's about me! Its a bit of an adjustment to write. It even involves remembering, for extended periods of time. Who comes up with this stuff? Crazy, isn't it? Anyways, I digress.

In addition to starting sophomore year, I somehow concluded that I would be the perfect person to write a memoir. Of course, if you'd asked me at that time, I would've given some answer like, "I think it's cool. Plus, life is awesome." Which, of course, is still true, but it's not the full truth.

I've lived an interesting life, but it's been hard. People struggle more than you'd think, whether physically or mentally, and I've only lived fifteen years. However, those years have been fraught with death and  life and love and tears. I've learned just how crazy adoption, and its resulting uncertainty, can be, the meaning of a fresh start (wanted or not), and how to force-feed my twin sister sugar so she stays alive. All of those, by the way, are true. I did tell you I was unconventional.

I've begun writing my memoir, but it'll take me a while. So far, I only have about 3,000 words, though I am working on it, diligently enough for the GTW (Go Teen Writers) 100-for-100 challenge. I'll work on it between edits and drafts for my novels, and the first draft should be completed within a year. Through all of my life, there have been defining events, though the past few have been particularly formative.  I hope as I continue the narrative, a story will take shape. It always has in the past. (You know you're a pantser when you don't know how the story's going to go in your own memoir.)

Although I'm still a novice at the art of memoir (and how well I've learned that in the past two weeks), I've realized one key difference: writing becomes a lot harder when you can't just make stuff up.

Katia

P.S. Isn't my wisdom so brilliant? By the way, once I start editing, I'll be interspersing novel- and memoir- posts, as well as the very occasional book review. Enjoy!

Something Like Hope

                17-year-old Shavonne has been in juvenile detention since the seventh grade. Mr Delpopolo is the first counselor to treat her as an equal, and he helps her get to the bottom of her self-destructive behavior, her guilt about past actions, and her fears about leaving the Center when she turns 18. Shavonne tells him the truth about her crack-addicted mother, the child she had (and gave up to foster care) at fifteen, and the secret shame she feels about what she did to her younger brother after her mother abandoned them.

Meanwhile, Shavonne’s mentally unstable roommate Cinda makes a rash move, and Shavonne’s quick thinking saves her life—and gives her the opportunity to get out of the Center if she behaves well. But Shavonne’s faith is tested when her new roommate, mentally retarded and pregnant Mary, is targeted by a guard as a means to get revenge on Shavonne. As freedom begins to look more and more likely, Shavonne begins to believe that maybe she, like the goslings recently hatched on the Center’s property, could have a future somewhere else—and she begins to feel something like hope.

                I don’t normally read books like this. That is the understatement of the year. After all, who mostly reads about messed-up teenage girls in juvenile detention facilities? Anyway, I digress. The characters were amazing. Even though I have no personal experience with this, Shavonne’s voice captivated me. She was a really strong protagonist, and the side-characters were good as well. I empathized greatly with several of the characters; when you’re in there, everything can, and probably does, seem hopeless. The plot wasn’t predictable, and it was a page-turner. Also, for a middle-aged white guy, he writes black teenage girls really well. The voice was completely accurate. (I assume his background as a school psychologist helped.)

                This isn’t an easy book to read. There’s a lot of swearing, and they all had pretty rough pasts. The characters were so real.  This is a book that makes you think. If you like contemporary or books about detention centers (or even if you don’t), I’d highly recommend it. SOMETHING LIKE HOPE gives an amazing glimpse into the struggles that people nationwide face every day.

The End

This morning, I finished the first draft of The Tinkers. It’s 63,950 words, and 110 pages of single-spaced awesomeness. I’m so glad to finally be done with the first draft, since I’ve been working on it since January and towards the end, I was ready to be done. Still, I’m feeling a bit nostalgic.

Even though at the beginning I had very little plot and cardboard characters, by last night some of the problems were smoothed out and it’s a better read. Not good yet, maybe, but better. I’ve spent so much time in Dem’s head, being sarcastic and grown-up and awesome. The Tinkers was my go-to project; whenever I had a few minutes or an hour to spare, I’d sit down and tell a little more of his story. I’m sure it’s been subconsciously shaped by whatever I’ve been going through as well, so that’ll be interesting to see.  Good thing none of my betas are psychologists, eh?

This is a plot web that I made when I was nearing the end.

As I’ve said so often, writing isn’t easy, especially when you lose 30,000 words due to not backing-up, but the sense of accomplishment one gets is crazy. I’ve been focusing on finishing so much that I’ve neglected blogging, and while I do enjoy blogging, I think the story’s stronger for it. Sure, there are still plot holes and bland characters, but at the end of the day, I wrote a novel, running mainly on chocolate and adrenaline. Now I just have no idea what to do with myself until I can go back and edit it. I’m missing my characters so much. I may have to write my own fan-fiction just to keep myself occupied. J

I will resume blogging this week, and share more character posts and excerpts from The Tinkers in the next few weeks, while I’m giving it a break. I’ve learned a lot about myself through writing this, and whatever happens to it, I’m a better writer for it. And I’ve learned that paralyzing drugs do, indeed, exist.

The Tinkers Excerpt

I haven't posted an excerpt in a very long time, as I've been preparing to finish my novel. Now, with only 10k left, my secrets can be revealed.
Ahem.
I'd love to hear what you think, but keep in mind that this is a first draft, so I will be making it better in the next few months.

***

"I'm--"

"What, Luria?"

"I'm not going to be a Captive," she vows.

"Well, neither will I." We run faster, faster, until we can't hear [the Guards'] footsteps anymore. We dodge through hallways and offices, hoping they won't find us. My heart races. Finally, I see the exit sign glowing in the distance. I sprint towards it, my sides burning. Luria pants, sprinting beside me. I reach the door and press on it, my muscles weary and nervous with adrenaline. Luria's pale eyes glow. We run through the door into a shock of bitter fall air, and then the alert comes.

My watch buzzes. I stop for a minute, just to look at it. I read the message.

"No."

Luria smiles bleakly. "It's true." She pulls her hair back, her face red and flushed from the ride.

"Guess we'd better turn ourselves in."

"I won't."

I nod. "Well, I won't either."

"I knew you wouldn't," Luria says. She shudders, slightly. Goosebumps rise on her arms.

The fear hangs in the air, almost tangible. What if? They'll be coming for us soon. We've got to hide, do something. It doesn't matter. They'll find us anyway. But still. Still.

Overcoming Temptation

It’s easy to succumb. Too easy. Just like it’s easy to get distracted with social media, blogs, reading, and checking your email. Some days, writing feels like it’s the worst thing in the world. You sit down at your computer and suffer from yet another case of blank-page syndrome. Plus, your keyboard is completely unreliable and most likely misses several letters. You have no idea if a plot even exists, the characters seem bland, and the story doesn’t seem to matter.

But it does. Those minutes spent hacking away at your novel are painful, yes, and maybe you do have plot deficiencies, and your characters could be more multifaceted, and right now that’s not going to happen. That’s disappointing, true, but you should still continue. Yeah, Facebook can be a lot more fun than trying to outline a coherent plot, but at the end of the day, Facebook doesn’t matter like your story does. It can be incredibly frustrating, but when you look back at what you’ve done a year from today, Farmville won’t matter. Your novel will.

So, maybe you’ve been procrastinating. No one’s going to force you to write, so you have to make yourself. You have the willpower, so why don’t you write? My characters aren't good. I'm too busy. So many other writers are better than me. Excuses. It doesn’t have to be good, and it doesn’t even have to have a point. If you’re a writer and you’ve read this far, you’d better write something down.

You say you write novels, so why are you stopping yourself? It doesn’t take much, just a few minutes a day. You say you’re a writer, so you should write.

 That is, if you think it’s worth it. I think it is. Make the choice today. 

2013 TeenInk NYC Writing Camp

When I signed up for this camp, I thought it was going to be a bunch of teenage girls geeking out and writing for two weeks at Juilliard, which was true, but it was so much more. Most of the girls I met (and got to know) were really cool and unique, as well as awesome writers. I mean, how often do you meet amazing people your age who read and write for fun?

It was so cool to connect with them, whether through sharing our writing, writing together (and laughing and telling stories and dancing in the rain), or having nightly discussions about life, philosophy, and the crazy world of professional ballet. I didn't get too much sleep, but I already knew that going in, and everything that we did was really cool (with great company) so I didn't mind.

The writing classes were really thought-provoking as well, and I got some good writing done while at the program. Although I'm not a big fan of sightseeing, it was still cool. After all, we were in New York. The chaperones were all very nice, while strict. We were chaperoned constantly, which did feel stifling at times, but it worked out well, and it was definitely a safety thing.

The plays we got to see and the writers we got to talk to were so inspiring. The New York Times visit was my favorite. We got to talk to five different editors/ journalists, and then listen in on a "Page One" meeting, where the heads of each department talked about the article they thought should go on the front page, and made the decision towards the end.

In case you're wondering, the furniture in the dorms possesses the amazing ability to creak every time you breathe, let alone move. As for the food, well, Juilliard isn't exactly a culinary school. However, everything else was awesome, and I loved it. The trip is expensive, but I’d highly recommend it. For me, it was the trip of a lifetime.