Turtle Writer

I've been introduced to a new term, courtesy of Twitter: turtle writer.  Or, as it trends on Twitter, #turtlewriter.

The hashtag was coined about two years ago by author Meka James for the Twitter group she and two friends, fellow writers Rosetta Yorke and M "Ladybug" Moos, co-host. It means precisely what you'd think it means: a writer who writes verrrrrrry sllllllowwwwwly.

I am a turtle writer.

When my last book got published, I was seized with almost manic energy: this time, things would be different.  This time, I would keep up the flow of writing.  This time, I would stop being a turtle writer and be a Productive Writer.

Alas, it was not to be.  I did produce a few manuscripts in the flush following the acceptance and publication of The Stable Cat's Christmas, but as of yet,  I haven't found a home for any of them.  I've sent two manuscripts to the editor I worked with on Stable Cat, but have heard volumes of... nothing.  Sigh.  And now, I'm in a writing slump, feeling like I'll never have another original, draftable thought ever again.

I'm back to being a turtle writer.

But there is, I think, more to being a turtle writer than simply having a slow turnover rate.  Turtles are more than just their lack of speed (which, to anyone who has known a turtle or tortoise personally, is highly exaggerated... they can be speedy little guys when the need arises!)  Turtles are... methodical.  Thoughtful.  They don't wander aimlessly at their "turtle's pace" - they have a clear destination in mind, and are simply taking their time in getting there.  Turtles don't "go" just anywhere.  If they don't have a place to get to, they simply stay where they are.  I like to think that turtle writers are like that, too..
. we don't spend our time on a hundred different projects or writing exercises that aren't going to go anywhere; we plod slowly along with that one good idea, that one spark that will carry us through to our end destination.

What's more, turtles are designed to be protected from the sharp and pointy bits of the wide world out there.  That lovely shell, so easy to pull back into, is one of nature's greatest architectural designs.  We turtle writers are just as susceptible to depression at rejection letters and non-responses (the new alternative to the rejection letter) as anyone else, and we pull back into our shells from time to time... but we don't stay there.  Like our reptilian namesakes, we know that if we're going to get on with this business of living, we have to come out sometime.  Oh, it's tempting to huddle back in one's safe and cozy shell, perhaps filling the time by building a social media platform on Twitter, but if we're ever going to be the writers we dream of being, we're going to have to get back out into the world.

And that's the turtle writer's credo, I think... Imitate the turtle: to make progress, you have to stick your neck out.  In a vocation where getting ahead means long months or even years of querying and rejection for every eventual publication, it's very easy to want to curl up into your shell, protected from the sting of hearing, "Sorry, but your manuscript doesn't meet our current needs" - or having to face the well-meaning family and friends who want to know how your latest project is going.

Inside a shell, however, you aren't getting anywhere.  A turtle who pulls into her shell may be protected, yes, but she also isn't getting to where she wants to be.  The only way to get through the rejection form letters and "don't call us, we'll call you" non-replies is to push past them, eyes firmly focused on the ultimate goal.

With all that in mind, I think I am proud to be a turtle writer.  I may be slow, but I'm moving towards my ultimate goal.

The UnQuiet Mind

It's another snow day, and I'd hoped to make it as productive as the last.  I brought home grading from school and set to it, planning to get it over with and on with the more enjoyable part of the day: writing.  The problem is, writing requires a certain mindset.  A certain quietness of the mind to let the words and worlds flow.  And my mind, as it so often becomes these days, is far from quiet.

You hear a lot about mindfulness lately, about the importance of thinking and feeling in the moment.  I'd love to live a more mindful life, to shed the buzzing whir of my thoughts that don't seem to want to slow down, to be rid of my desire to be anywhere other than where I am.  I feel a bit like T.S. Eliot's cat the Rum Tum Tugger - when I'm in, then I want to be out, always on the wrong side of any door, when I'm at home then I want to get about.  I have a great deal of difficulty being in the "now."  When my presence at home is mandated by bad weather, as it is today, the feeling only intensifies... I need to get out, to be somewhere other than stuck in the house.  Cabin fever is something that sets in all too quickly for me.

This feeling is not conducive to writing, to say the very least.

So what to do?  I tried stretching... an uncomfortable interlude, to say the least.  I threw in a load of wash.  I did my social media duties, trying to build my "platform."  I'm here right now, updating my blog.  And still my thoughts are all a whir and a whirl, and I want, of all things, to go to the GYM.  This is not like me at all, and only goes to show what an odd place my head is in.  It's as if it's consciously trying to keep me from writing.

I think I may just go haul the space heater into the room, make myself a cup of something warm to drink, and try to muscle my way through it.  Try to get some of the buzzing in my head out onto a page.  Quieting my mind may never work, but perhaps I can find a way to make my unquiet mind work for me.

It's worth a shot.

Super Bowl Sunday: Pondering the Question, Is Writing Hard?

My husband and son, who couldn't really care less about football any other day of the year, are in the living room flipping between the Big Game and Animal Planet's Puppy Bowl.  I'm pretty sure they're more interested in the Super Bowl commercials than they are in the game itself.  As for me, I'm at the computer, typing out this blog, and trying to get some thoughts together to write with.

Someone on Twitter just posted a poll... Is writing hard?  I selected yes, but not because I actually find writing hard.  Writing, once I get started doing it, comes as naturally to me as breathing does.  It's the "getting started doing it" part that is hard.  Today, for example, my writing needed to wait for a visit to the in-laws' to be finished, a study guide for an upcoming science test to be written, and Twitter to be perused (because, for some reason I'm still not entirely certain of, I'm trying to build my Platform.  Please don't ask me what that means.  I'm honestly not sure.)  

And now I'm writing.  But wait, Chris, aren't you updating your blog right now?  Well, yes, but writing this blog counts as writing time for me, because a) it IS writing, and b) if I wasn't updating my blog, I wouldn't be getting any writing done at all, because my muse has taken time off to watch the Super Bowl.

THAT is the hard part about writing.  When the ideas come, I can grab them and jot them down in my handy-dandy notebook, but when I settle in for some actual writing time, the words may or may not be there.  Some writers say to just glue your butt to the chair and stare at the screen or page until you can write something.  Others advocate writing exercises, prompts and the like.  Still others say, snarkily, that if you can't commit to writing when you make time for it, you're not a writer.  And there's some truth to what all of these writers say or suggest.  

But for me, if I'm not in the proper zone, with words moving through me like waves through water, just sitting and trying to muscle my way through it is about as helpful as trying to give my son Algebra advice.  (Note: I failed Algebra in high school.)  I'm bound to write something, but it's almost certainly going to be something that I hate.  Something I'll never use.  So... yes, writing is hard, in a way.  Writing itself is easy.  GETTING to the writing... now, that's hard.