A Writer's Point of View

Springtime in my garden

As I mentioned in my last post, my netbook used to be very portable. I wrote wherever I felt like, on a couch, in the car, outside in a lounge chair. Since my battery is now defunct and my netbook is jury rigged into a permanent position with duct tape, I have only one place to write, and one view to see. It’s a pretty view out my back window with birch and spruce and cherry trees (that will blossom soon – I demand it! I’m tired of gray). But it got me thinking about where people choose to do their writing. And that got me to thinking about how, with everyone's crazy schedules, people can carve out space and time to write. I think I’m trying to give myself a pep talk here that writing and life together are possible, so I hope you don’t mind if I share a few anecdotes and observations about such things (in no particular order).

Jane Austen

Jane Austen composed many her masterpieces on the original kind of laptop, a portable slanted writing desk with an interior area to hold papers and writing supplies. I suppose I’d always imagined her working on her brilliantly witty dialogues undisturbed in a quiet room, but according to this website, she was anything but alone when she wrote.

Courtesy of the Jane Austen Museum

“[S]he had no separate study to retire to, and most of the work must have been done in the general sitting-room, subject to all kinds of casual interruptions. She was careful that her occupation should not be suspected by servants, or visitors, or any persons beyond her own family party. She wrote upon small sheets of paper which could easily be put away, or covered with a piece of blotting paper. There was, between the front door and the offices, a swing door which creaked when it was opened; but she objected to having this little inconvenience remedied, because it gave her notice when anyone was coming.”

Who knew that Jane Austen faced interruptions just like so many of us? And who knew that she was so secretive about her writing? Do any of you Austen aficionados know if this was because of the impropriety of a woman writing, a reticence for anyone to see early drafts or something else?

My Family

For over 50 years my grandmother wrote and published delightful children’s stories both in books and children’s magazines (she was a regular contributor to Highlights for Children). Later in life she was honored as a poet laureate of her state. I’ve always found it interesting that she did her best writing of these sweet stories in the dead of night in a little pitch-roofed attic room overlooking a golf course and a cemetery.

Food of the gods

My sister is a playwright. Each year she writes, choreographs, produces and directs an elementary school Broadway-like musical with over 100 children participating (she is simply, unbelievably amazing). She writes most of her plays in her car in between shuttling her kids from one sports practice to another. When she finds a (rare) few hours free she locks herself in the spare bedroom with a supply of chocolate covered cinnamon bears (if you haven’t tried these, you must – pure ambrosia) and binge writes.

Even though my sister and my grandmother’s writing schedules are about as opposite as can be, I’m inspired because they each found what worked for them and ran with it.

Shannon Hale

One of my favorite authors, Shannon Hale, has not only written some fabulous books (just finished Midnight in Austenland – superb), but on her blog she has also been very candid about what it takes for her to juggle life, motherhood, and writing.  As a mother of four (including twin toddlers) she’s so busy that she probably couldn’t find the time to write if she wanted to, so instead she makes the time. From her blog:

Oh man, I am so sapped. I am a Vermont maple in winter... Finding time to bathe and feed myself is an uphill battle every day. I had a couple of visitors coming over this morning, so I worked so hard to clean my kitchen and living room, trying to keep kiddos entertained for 3 hours while I cleaned non-stop between caring for their needs. And when my visitors came in, I looked around and realized that I had achieved Normal Messy, no more.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I'm in no shape to be dolling out advice. I barely survive. I'm sure you know what I mean. This marvelous, marvelous chaos. But my center is my creative time. For 2 1/2 hours four times a week, I have a babysitter, and I close my door and write. Turn off the mommy craziness, turn on Writer Woman. It's not an easy transition, but I have to do it. I just have to.

Wow, she sounds so – human. And yet because of her discipline, in those mere ten hours of writing a week, she publishes at least one book every year (oh, and the movie for Austenland is in post production – squee!).

Wrap Up
 

 Henry David Thoreau said,  "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

I used to think that there would be a magical point in my life where I would suddenly be endowed with time to accomplish Important Things. Maybe I could go on a pilgrimage of enlightenment like Thoreau (I like trees, after all, and cute little cabins in the woods). The conclusion I’ve come to, though, is that the choices I’ve made over the years have put me on a path where the essential things of my life aren’t found in solitude, but in the here and now of everyday life with family and friends. And that if I want to live deliberately in my goals to be a writer (or whatever else), it’ll have to be with them along for the ride. With Jane Austen and Shannon Hale and Sheena and MaryAnn and Sabrina and Sarah and Melanie, I think I’m in some pretty good company, in trying to figure out this balancing act.

~ Susan

The Loveable Rogue

Since it is February with Valentine’s Day rapidly approaching, I’d thought I’d talk about the first fictional character I ever fell in love with.

I don’t remember when I first saw Star Wars. I’m guessing I was pretty young, but I do remember watching it again at somewhere between ages ten and thirteen, and just loving Han Solo. Can you blame me?

What a scoundrel
Han Solo epitomizes the loveable rogue. The charming, funny, handsome, only in it for the money scoundrel type that still makes your heart beat faster against your better judgment.

“Look, I ain't in this for your revolution, and I'm not in it for you, princess. I expect to be well paid. I'm in it for the money.” Han Solo, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope

Some of my other favorites in this trope are Captain Jack Sparrow (Pirates of the Caribbean), Flynn Rider (Tangled), Captain Malcolm Reynolds (Firefly, Serenity), and Sawyer (Lost). All pretty awesome characters.

They always start out morally grey as pirates, thieves, or smugglers, but with some sense of a moral code (although sometimes not much of one). But we forgive them for their unseemly behavior because we understand their motives. They are not cruel or malicious, but just in it for the money (and who doesn’t want more money) or (in Captain Jack Sparrow’s case) they are trying to get something back that was lost or stolen. And they are usually sticking it to a greater evil like, in Han’s case, the evil Empire. We don’t see them conning a little old woman out of her savings or a single mom with a couple of kids she can’t feed (okay maybe we do in Sawyer’s case; he was a little darker than most loveable rogues).

But really it is their humor and charm that wins our hearts. Oh and their rugged good looks. :)

In the end, they usually either become a full-fledged hero or end up at least doing something noble, like for Captain Jack Sparrow giving up immortality or control over the ocean to save Will’s life, or in Han’s case blowing up Darth Vader’s ship to save Luke.

I honestly think it is that transition that is so appealing. To see the guy go from self-centered to self-sacrificing. To go from scoundrel to something noble. I don’t know why, but I love seeing a guy change even though I never expect it in real life. Come on guys, it’s fantasy.

But really I think this trope may go deeper than that. I think we like to believe that there is something noble in everyone, and given the right circumstances, even the most questionable of us will rise up to the challenge when it really matters.

Every scoundrel needs a princess

“Wonderful girl. Either I'm going to kill her or I'm beginning to like her.” Han Solo, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope.

Every great guy needs an awesome girl, and you don’t get more awesome than Princess Leia. Honestly, would Han Solo be so attractive if he hadn’t been paired with a strong, confident woman that challenges him in every way?

How can you not love a girl who takes control of her own rescue?

Han Solo: [after Leia blasts a vent] What the hell are you doing?
Princess Leia: Well somebody has to save our skins. Into the garbage, fly-boy!

Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope

Princess Leia is the opposite of Han. She is rebel leader, who is willing to sacrifice everything including her life for her cause. While he only looks out for himself (and Chewie), she is dedicated to a higher purpose.

They clash from the second they meet, and I’m sold. I really want to see these crazy kids get together.

Princess Leia: Looks like you've managed to cut off our only escape route.
Han Solo: [sarcastically] Maybe you'd like it back in your cell, your highness.

Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope

No matter how awesome the romantic hero is, he needs to be paired with the right girl, or the whole thing will fall flat. And Princess Leia is the perfect girl for Han Solo.

Reality Bites

I have to say that in real life I don’t want a Han Solo. In real life, you can’t count on a guy changing for you. Change is hard and slow and people really only change for themselves. In other words, what you see is what you get, and I don’t really want a scoundrel, even a charming, intelligent, kick-butt one that looks like a young Harrison Ford.

In real life Han Solo would be racking up Leia’s credit cards and doling out the charm to sweet talk her when the bills come in. Good thing she’s rich. :)

But in fiction, I love, love, love those scoundrels. So if you got a story with a good one, send it my way. Seriously, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of this trope.

~MaryAnn

Silencing Your Inner Cheerleader

What I'm about to share with you is a lesson in what not to do.

Sigh.

I believe!
So why is this so heavy?

I have had a favorite publisher. My hopes for being published somehow became tied together with this specific publishing company. They are located in my same state, publish books similar to mine, and...I'm embarrassed to admit it now, but I thought for sure my story was good enough for them to accept for publication. So after months of polishing and perfecting The Query Packet of Dreams, I sent it in.

Weeks passed. I'm aware that I should have focused on other things, continued to write, sent in packets to other publishers or agents. I didn't. In truth, I only half-lived, always some part of me focused on where The Query Packet of Awesomeness was at that moment. I even prayed, every night, that the slush reader would come upon The Query Packet, would be well fed, and focused. I prayed that it would get the shot that it deserved.

The weeks passed, and every day I went out to my mailbox, wondering if the envelope had come. I started to get excited. This was taking a long time. A lot longer than their website had indicated. Working as a slush editor made me think that extra time before the rejection, meant that it had survived one round, and The Query Packet had made it's way up the channels. I answered ever unknown caller with a nervous and professional excitement.

"Hello, this is Sheena Boekweg." (sigh) "No I am not interested in a newspaper subscription."

On their website, they said it would take an average of eight weeks to respond. So, after eight weeks, and until twelve weeks I lived in a state of nervous energy, and self doubt, which was quickly silenced by my inner cheerleader telling me (perkily) that The Query Packet was brilliant.

See, most writers have an inner editor, and I have one too. The real damaging voice in my head though, is the inner cheerleader who dresses like a New York Professional, and sounds like my mom. She's the one that gets me in trouble. The one who says "this is brilliant," and then after someone reads it I realize how embarrassed I actually should have been to send it out.

Basically, for twelve weeks, I was waiting for the shoe to drop, and then..oh look.. a falling shoe.

I don't have to tell you the kind and respectful words they used to tell me my baby was ugly, do I?

That inner cheerleader of mine, read those happy positive words in the form letter, and saw the silver lining. They must have liked it, quite a lot, to say something so positive, right?

People say you have to silence your inner editor to get the story out, but the inner cheerleader is worse.

For these reasons:

The inner cheerleader hasn't passed an English test. Never trust the grammar check made by your inner cheerleader. She's no good at grammar, or spelling. Perhaps she can't even read. In fact, she may be blind


The inner cheerleader is sadistic. The more you believe her, the more you need her when reality comes to bite your hiney. Which is good job security when you think about it.


I want to believe her, especially when kind friends or family, echo the words she whispers in my ear.


In fact, one day, that beautiful day when my inner cheerleader will be proven right, she will be my best friend. She will say, "See, I always knew you could do it." and I'll be glad I didn't silence her completely.

Okay...fine...you can stay.

But from here on out, you will have no hand in the editing process. That's the inner editors turn to whisper in my ear.

~Sheena

Romantic Subplots part 2

Welcome to Sizzling Saturday! (While I think that is a brilliant bit of alliteration, Sabrina, it still makes me blush to write it.)

To be honest, this piece of the romance puzzle takes work, and things are still light on the sizzle. That's next week. However, I have artfully added some sizzle to this post, just to keep you reading. :)

Last week, we talked about rule #1: An exciting story should drive your plot, not the romance.

Rule #2: For their love to be believable, your characters need a genuine history. In fact, your characters need memories with each other that the reader doesn't share.

Taylor Swift's music video You Belong With Me is a perfect example of the way backstory, exposition and scenes from your story can work together to create a swoonworthy romance, and she does it in 3 minutes and 48 seconds. Pure genius.

• Backstory

Perhaps your characters have known each other since they were tiny. Or perhaps they've interacted a few times before the story starts. If you are lucky enough to be in this situation, you need to make sure the reader knows about it. You might choose to share whole pieces of their backstory, or you might just hint at them.

From Linnet by Sally Watson:

Linnet began using stories as a bribe. Not until everyone had made enough progress to suit her would she curl up with Persephone purring raucously in her lap and begin a tale of ancient Greece-or of her own home and family, and Giles, which to the flock was just as fabulous and unreal as any myth. They took a particular fancy to the mischievous Hermes-and to Giles!

 "Well, they aren't a bit alike!" Linnet informed them rather tartly. "Giles doesn't approve of mischief, and he's always trying to prevent me from having adventures."

 "Mayhap 'e just don't want yeh ter 'ave all the fun wiv-out 'im," suggested Peg shrewdly. "'E usually goes along wiv yeh if 'e's around, don't 'e?"

From this short exchange, you realize that Linnet and Giles already know each other very well, and that Lark might have some misconceptions about Giles to overcome if they are ever going to get together.

• Exposition

By exposition, I mean giving information that helps the story to move along. It helps if there is something your characters have to do with each other repetitively.  Developments in their relationship can be easily hinted at.

"As they travelled, the nights got longer and cooler, and she grew accustomed to sitting on a horse for long stretches of time. Jasper smiled the first time she managed to stay in the saddle when the horse decided to jump over a stream, but he didn't offer to buy her drinks until the decision of whether or not to jump became her own--not the horse's."

Or an example from a real book (It's A Mall World After All, by Janette Rallison. I know it's a funky title, but she's a drop dead hilarious author):

"Colton is the only person in our study group who remembers I like diet soda, but not Diet Coke."

• Scenes from the story

Love should transform your characters.
(Chuck and Sarah, I'll miss you!)

Backstory and exposition can only get you so far. In the end, your characters have to get to know each other, and to change each other, right in the middle of your story. Creating actual scenes that give them a history can be challenging and fun-and hopefully your plot will give you some great ways for them to spend time together. If not, bad things must happen to your characters. It's the only way.

It helps if your characters both have strong value systems. For some reason, the moments when these value systems clash are the times that make their future love seem more believable.

The television show Felicity is about a girl who has such a huge crush on a boy who barely knows her that she follows him across the country to college. Her reasons for romance are extremely believable. She's been watching Ben from a distance for years. Ben's reasons for romance seem non-existent. He is attracted to a friend of hers, and you can't overlook the creep factor-Felicity is way too up front and honest about why she is there.

If they want us to believe that these two characters could ever fall in love, the writers of the show have a tough job in front of them. How do they begin? First of all, Felicity gets her own life. She pulls away from Ben as she realizes how unlikely their relationship ever is. They get some friends in common.

And then they are victims of a home invasion. Suddenly they have this shared memory. One of the few things Ben knew about Felicity was that the necklace she always wore had belonged to her grandmother. So when one of the thieves grabs it off her neck, Ben tries and fails to stop him. For days afterward, he can't sleep, and he starts calling her and visiting her in the middle of the night. She's angry because he won't go to the police station to identify the men who did it. He buys her a new necklace to replace her grandmother's. This shared experience changes the whole dynamic of their relationship.

Felicity was not one of my favorite TV shows, but I had such an a-ha moment when I watched this part. Every love story needs at least one Home Invasion crisis, when the characters learn to see each other in different ways. Ben finally stops seeing Felicity as a stalker, but as someone vulnerable, who cares about things other than just him. Felicity learns that Ben is fallible, and is perhaps not the super-hero she'd built him up to be in her head. From that point in the story on, they have a history that includes both of them.

Strategies for Focus and Flow

Most people are lucky enough to at least occasionally experience flow, that state in which time seems to disappear and it's just you and the task at hand. Writing, cooking, spreadsheet calculations... almost any task is conducive to flow, except playing Chutes & Ladders with a cheater 5-year-old. I have yet to make that zen.

Kayaks terrify me. But he's cute.

But what do you do when your mind wanders in fifty different directions and you can't even pick a train of thought, let alone focus on it? How do find flow when you're stuck in chaos?

I have a solidly ADD mind. I can't carry on a conversation while driving, I can't sit still through a Star Wars movie, and I always get the wrong answer on Sesame Street's "One of these things is not like the others". You can call it a disorder or you can call it thinking on a different wavelength. Either way, it has made me a collector of coping skills.

Here are the tricks I've used over the years, in writing and in life. None of them have the kick of  Ritalin, but I hope they are useful to more than just my kind of brain:

A comforting ritual
I love coffee. I mean, I luuurve coffee. Caffeine is my best weapon against a lazy mind, but even in my caffeine-free phases I still have to have a cup of decaf. It's a ritual.

I measure out my coffee, two scoops of regular and two scoops of decaf. I wait for it to brew. I add a splash of goat milk (don't ask) and either a pinch of sugar or, if it's a bad day, a scoop of Ghirardelli hot cocoa mix. I sip. I breathe. And then I face the day.

Music

It's a cherub, playing a violin!

When I'm having a tough writing day, the first thing I do is turn on the Vivaldi. As my mind wanders through the labyrinth of prose and plot, it needs some grounding. Bach, Handel, Boccherini... the music of the Baroque period is orderly, mathematical, and precise. It seems to mesmerize the demons of distraction the way spilled rice tames an arithmomanic vampire.

Anything up to early Beethoven can work, but once you get into the Romantic period, fuhgettaboutit.

The kinder, gentler list
This is not just any list. I have my regular to-do list, and then I have my first-aid list.

The first-aid list is about, as my consultant-husband would say, picking the low-hanging fruit. That has always sounded vaguely dirty to me, but apparently it's part of the office vernacular.

This is an emergency method for paralyzing overwhelm. Write down one thing. Sometimes two, but never EVER more than three. Do it, cross it off, write the next one. Repeat. Go for the smallest discrete tasks you can think of.

• Brush teeth.
• Shower.
• Make the coffee.
• Find my shoes.
• Write 100 words. Write one more sentence.

Is this method sad and pathetic? Yes. It also works. That's why I'm baring my soul here, folks, as a service to the public. You're welcome.

Grit your teeth for 15 minutes
Flylady says you can do anything for 15 minutes, and she's right. (That's the only part of the Flylady system that ever stuck for me, but it's a good one.) You can do anything for fifteen minutes. Except push-ups...but you can still lie on your stomach, grunting and pressing your hands uselessly against the floor until the timer buzzes.

Fifteen minutes is perfect for household tasks, but I set my writing goals at half an hour, which is usually long enough to find my flow.

Writers who prefer tough love should try Write or Die. Stop writing, and the screeching violin sound will make you wish you'd never tried Write or Die.

Clip your wings
Oh, Internet, what was life before you? Disconnecting is easier said than done, so I found hired help. I started with Freedom, which cuts off all access to the Internet. That was freeing until I fell in love with streaming music through Pandora.

So I moved on to Anti-Social. No Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, or any other obvious time-waster that the Anti-Social people can think of. If they haven't already blocked a website for you, just add it yourself. Anti-Social is a great gift to the world; take advantage of it.

You can get around either of these programs by restarting your computer, but you'll have to live with the shame of having rebooted just to check Twitter.

Brain science is fun: More assorted ideas
Everything affects your brain, and your brain affects everything. This makes self-experimentation kind of fun, and I don't just mean what high school kids do with cough syrup.

Rosemary oil is reputed to improve concentration. (See the University of Maryland Medical Center's page on rosemary.) My aromatherapy book says not to use if you are pregnant or epileptic. I found it helpful, so I used to sneak a drop or two onto my desk lamp at work (when I had my own office), and pray no one had a seizure. They didn't. That I know of.

I tried basil oil, too, and while I love pesto, the oil made me nauseous.

Enjoy it now, kid. That gets harder.

I discovered during a yoga phase that a handstand makes me feel more alert, but I didn't know why until I had a child in occupational therapy for sensory integration. The deep pressure against your hands and joints creates proprioceptive input. The short explanation is that it helps your brain self-regulate and find that sweet spot between spacey and wired. If you try this at home, stay next to a wall. And don't sue me.

Writing by hand is a different experience for your brain. I often find when I write by hand, my prose is clumsier but the story comes more easily. If you haven't hand-written more than a page since grade school, then be prepared to cramp. (See this Lifehacker article for more on the handwriting/brain connection.)
  
Then there's the oldest trick of all: A dash of hope and a heap of determination. Flow is on the other side of a river and I just have to find a way to cross. Sometimes I can wade right to it, but sometimes it's like swimming against a really strong current. Then, all I can do is stretch a rope and hold on tight.*

~Sarah

*Thanks to MaryAnn for planting that image in my head.

Volcanoes and wizards

Alas, I have some bad news to share.  I did not complete the volcano story on time, and thus did not submit it to the anthology.

I'm kind of bummed, and a little disappointed in myself.  As I've said a few times, I have lots of time to write.  But once I sit down to write, it's tough for me to focus, and I end up puttering around the internet looking for just one more distraction.

And there were three additional last-minute factors that did not help:

1) My computer seems to have acquired some sort of evil invisible ninja virus.  I get all sorts of pop-up windows, and it runs slow, but two virus software problems report "no infections found!" I'm in the process of getting the problem resolved (it might be a rootkit, still not certain), but having my computer suddenly freak out and slow way down on Friday was NOT helpful

2) Last Thursday, a good friend announced she was having her birthday party Happy Hour on Tuesday, January 31^st- the night the story was due.  I thought about it for a long time, and didn't feel I could skip.  I mean, birthdays are important, and so are friends.

3) On Sunday night, I went over to write at Lawyer Friend's house. We took a break to eat dinner, and she introduced me to the TV show Merlin.

In case you haven't heard of it, Merlin is relatively low budget British tv show about Arthur, Merlin, Guinevere, Morgana, and others as young adults.  As Lawyer Friend summarized it: "King Uther banished magic from the kingdom, but he did a really bad job, since something magical happens in every episode." I've actually grown really sick of the whole Arthurian legend, so I surprised myself by liking this.  I'm also surprised because this show is really terrible. The acting is horrible, the plots have more holes than a donut shop, and none of the characters seem to ever act with anything resembling  common sense.

But yet, I love the show.  My process of addiction went like this:

-This is terrible

-Why am I still watching?

-WHY CAN'T I STOP???

I'm still trying to figure out. I think it might do with the fact that the show doesn't try to take itself seriously.  And also because, despite the bad guys and the one or two townspeople who die per episode, it's actually a rather cheerful show.  And the guy who plays Arthur is the major exception to the bad acting. His character is pretty hilarious.

And I like what they've done with Guinevere (one side note: this story is not set in England, but some made-up land that I can't remember the name of.  This allows them to have a diverse cast).  See, Gwen isn't the standard drop-dead gorgeous girl, not like she usually is in these stories.  I mean, she's definitely pretty, but not your classic supermodel beauty.

Cool, no? I'm really happy that the heroine of the show is going to be more about her strength of character and less about looks.  And in these first few episodes, she's actually rather awkward and dorky.  I'm looking forward to seeing how she grows as a character. 

Wait, was this supposed to be a blog about writing? UH oh.

Let's see… so, to sum up what Merlin can teach us about writing: don't worry if your idea follows a pre-defined track, as long as you're original, and you find your own twist. If you make it fun enough, and have good characters, you'll get readers.

It also doesn't hurt to hire this guy to play one of your characters:

Bradley James as Arthur

What can I say? I like blondes.

Okay! Back to the writing, I swear.

Didn't I start out talking about Volcano Story?

Well, I might not have made the deadline, but at least I learned a few valuable lessons about myself as a writer.  So it's time for yet another list:

1) I can't yet write a story in a month.  So maybe I'd better pay closer attention to those anthology deadlines.

2) I need to learn how to focus.  It's something that could really help all aspects of my life.  There may be a future blog post about this.

3) I should always listen to Melanie.  Not that I didn’t before, but she was 100 percent right that I needed a deadline. It takes me too long to finish short stories.  So, starting now, I'm going to start imposing deadlines for myself.  This month: send out Volcano story, revise the opening of my story "Beneath Shadow" and send out again, and resubmit two other stories that were recently rejected.

Volcano story will probably come in at about 5,000 words, and there are all sorts of markets for stories of that length.  I'm really busy this weekend (another birthday party Friday night, a superbowl party on Sunday, and possibly another party Saturday afternoon… why do these things clump together like this???), but I want to get Volcano Story out to reviewers in this early stage (warning: there may still be passive verbs!!!).  I had several offers for readers last time I posted.  Anyone still interested? Don't worry… there's not deadline to finish your review. 

Disaster Strikes

Yesterday morning started out like most mornings. I woke up five minutes before the 5:30am alarm. (Why do I do that anyway and not enjoy those last five minutes of sleep? Especially when I regularly go to bed near midnight.) Anyway, up and stumbling around I woke the two oldest munchkins with orders to get a move on. #2 child is an early bird and far more chipper than anyone has a right to be when it’s still dark outside. He’s been known to break into song and dance, which is not received kindly by #1 child who can only speak in grunts until he’s had his cup of hot cocoa.

After I got them off to their early morning classes, there was a half hour before the next munchkin needed to hit the showers. The day was starting to hum along in its regular schedule and so I headed for the computer to get a little writing done. Ha, just kidding. I’m much more like child #1 except that my morning fix isn’t cocoa, it’s checking  blogs, mail, celebrity gossip and just about anything other than writing.

My computer is really a little netbook. A very beloved little netbook just a smidge bigger than a hardback book. It’s been with me for nearly my entire writing career (okay, which hasn’t even been two years, but, hey…), and yeah, it’s getting a little old. The battery died and I haven’t replaced it so I have to use a cord. And the cord has a short in it so I have to duct tape it in the magic position so it runs. Because of all the hardwiring, my netbook isn’t as portable as it used to be. No longer can I snuggle up in bed with it and binge-watch Netflix, or lounge in the car while waiting for the kids. Now it just sits plugged in at my Ikea desk. But it’s still my baby.

Although I’m not prepared to let my netbook move on to a better place yet, I do try to be realistic about its future chances of survival. I’ve taken to keeping my novel saved on a jump drive plugged in pretty much permanently to the side of the netbook. Yesterday morning that jump drive blinked reproachfully at me as I booted up, reminding me that I really needed to be writing about Pearl and Dyln and not reading the latest about Heidi and Seal. Finally I decided that what I really needed was a cup of hot cocoa.

Sometime when disaster strikes everything decelerates into slow motion. You can see every detail of what’s happening, and it seems that if your muscles could only move fast enough you could avert impending doom – except that you never can. Well, when I scooted out my chair it wasn’t like that at all. It was fast, and over in the blink of an eye. Unbeknownst to me my netbook’s power cord was wrapped around the chair leg. It took less than a second for the whole thing to fly off the table and land on the jump drive side with the sickening crunch of bent metal and busted plastic.

That drive was utterly mangled, destroyed, finished. Was I numb? Was there weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth? Did I see my novel flash before my eyes and know that over a year’s worth of work was wasted?

Well, actually, no. I am usually so bad at remembering to save things. But I swear, angels must have been whispering in my ears last week. For no discernible reason at all to me, I decided to back up everything I had on Dropbox. And just to be on the safe side I emailed myself a copy of my novel.  (It was a good thing, too, because I’d done something wrong and Dropbox only had a copy of my novel from November.) I can’t even imagine what my mental state would be right now if I hadn’t taken the few seconds to do that.

So, if you’ve read this cautionary tale this far, here’s a bit of wisdom – BACK UP YOUR STUFF.

Oh, and after all that, even though the jump drive is toast, my dear little netbook is still kicking. I’m writing this post on it at this very moment.

What’s the best way you’ve found to keep your writing safe?

~ Susan