How long does it take you to write a short story or a chapter or a scene or even a page?  Do you even know?

If you’re serious about making it as a professional writer, you need to make it your business to know.

How long does it take me to write?  I don’t know, but I’m doing my damnedest to find out.  I’m tired of being in a perpetual state of late on all my deadlines, rushing panicked through first drafts, while my stack of finished stories gains altitude on my desk waiting for revisions.

My last completed short story took me three weeks to write.  Sounds work-intensive, huh?  Not when you look at time actually spent.  I invested maybe two to three hours developing the idea and writing the first section, approximately 2,500 words.  The next two sections — approximately 2,000 words each — I spent an hour each writing.  Incidentally, both of those hours occurred right before my writers’ workshop meeting.*

Just using this one short story as a general idea, my top speed seems to be 2,000 words an hour, assuming I’m right up against a deadline.  So a story that I thought originally took three weeks to write really only took five hours tops.  Quite a difference, huh?  Makes me seem frighteningly fast too, huh?  Wa-pow!

That’s funny.  Because if I have five open hours of uninterrupted writing goodness**, I can fluff out a 1,000-word scene to take up that entire time.  Of course, I’m browsing/”researching”/checking stuff online; I’m making food; I’m answering texts; I’m doing laundry, et cetera.

Thankfully, I never have five open hours of uninterrupted writing time.  Otherwise, I’d never get anything done.

“Willis?”

I have a theory.  I think the more time you have to spend on a project, the longer it will take you to complete it.  Just like your expenses grow to meet your rising income, so will your writing speed slow to fill up your extra time.

So what’s a writer to do?  Well, first, start paying attention to how much actual time you spend writing a piece, whether it’s a short story, article, or poem.  It should only take you a project or two to get a good handle on your general rate of speed.

Once you know whether you’re a Sunday driver or Evel Knievel of the Autobahn — and there’s nothing wrong with being a Sunday driver — then you can figure out how best to optimize your time.

And consider circumstances surrounding each project.  Are you only writing when deadlines come a’callin’?  If so, maybe you need to pile on more deadlines.  I’m serious.  Do you write faster in the wee hours before the household wakes up or the wee hours after everyone goes to bed, or are you able to command full speed in the middle of a loud coffee house?

Is this topic making you nervous?  Am I scaring you? Are you a careful and deliberate writer who squeezes out fiction seemingly one constipated word at a time and has better things to worry about than measuring themselves against some Type A Genetic Freak who channels Muse magic at 80 words per minute with one hand tied behind their back?

Don’t fret.  Being able to write fast isn’t the most critical element to becoming a Professional Writer, but completing projects is.  And no matter what anyone says, that is the goal.  As far as I know, nobody’s ever built their castle on a foundation of half-finished stories and a bunch of good ideas.

So who cares about speed, right?  So long as we’re finishing things…. Hey, if you’re happy with turning out a short story a year, that’s cool.  But I’ve been there.  I was never happy with turning out a short story a year.  Those lean writing years were miserable.  Every time I sat down to write, it was like dragging an old car out of the garage that hadn’t been driven in eons.  Every aspect of getting myself started was just plain hard.

There’s plenty of experts out there who say it takes 10,000 hours of deliberate practice to develop mastery at your art, whatever that may be.  I buy that.  And the way I see it, I’ve got a lot of wasted youth to make up for.  So even though I may be at the bottom end of 10,000 hours, I’m running.  Man, am I running.

So, if you’ve made it this far through this post — which incidentally has taken me two days, at least three hours to write (and is killing my average) — then thank you.  It’s difficult not to write these things in the second person.  I realize I come off sounding like I’m teaching, but I hope it’s clear that most of the teaching and preaching is aimed at myself.  I am a Beginner.  This is just me learning and sharing, trying to get my 10,000 hours in.

So thank you again.  It’s good to know I’ve got a few good people with me as I prepare for launch. :)***

____________________

*Note:  These time estimates concern only the first draft and do not include any revisions or rewrites.

**Note:  These types of writing sessions are so rare as to be pure myth, bald-faced rumor, if you ask me.

***Likewise, anyone who needs any sort of encouragement, kick in the ass, a go-get-’em pep talk, and the like, just ask.  I will talk you into the sky where you belong.  Anyone who’s ballsy enough to be a writer deserves to fly high.

For some reason, it seems perfectly acceptable — hell, expected — for a writer to spend years bleeding over a manuscript.  Why?  Because writers are artists, and you can’t rush art.  On top of that, if you’re a writer who can crank out several novels in a year — and yes, there are lots and lots of writers who do this — you’re considered a hack.

This is not a new lament.  And for the most part, we all know that in this day and age, if you want to make it as a writer professionally, you need to have the habits of a hack and not an artist.  It makes sense, doesn’t it?  The more you write, the more projects you finish, the more “product” you have to sell, the more chances you have at earning income, the more chances you have to be read, the more money you make, the more food you get to eat ultimately, right?

You’re thinking, “Ew.  She called it ‘product.’  She went and used the M word.  This is not about money.  This is about my art.  It has to be perfect.  This is my soul.  I want to make sure I don’t put something out there that shows my ass hanging out.”*

So what got me thinking about speed was my brother, who is a working artist.  He does character design for a gaming company.  He’s got a good job that pays the bills, but that’s not his focus.  Instead, he’s constantly working on new stuff, trying to identify and develop new skills, really trying to stretch himself.  He does this during his lunch hour and after work.

One of the things he’s been working on is his speed.  He keeps track of how long it takes for him to produce a sketch.  He says he knows so many talented artists that spend so much time in the planning stages for a piece, deciding on their color palette, figuring out their composition layout, trying to plan out every aspect for some intensely-imagined drawing…and they never finish anything.  So he figured, hell, let me focus on just getting more stuff done, and hopefully, I’ll get better.

Think about a daily cartoon artist or a graphic novel artist.  They’re not spending days on each panel.  They’ve got deadlines.  They need to be able to draw their character quickly, artfully, in the way they intend for them to be rendered without thinking…not reinvent them every time they sit down at their desk.  That’s called skill.

This, to me, is the mark of a true artist.  Not only that, my brother’s making himself ready.  Ready for what, you ask?  Ready for anything.  When opportunity comes knocking on his door, he’s got an impressive body of work to show as a representative of what he’s capable of.  Nobody puts in unfinished pieces in their portfolio…and if they do, it’s doesn’t make a good impression.

When I attended the screenwriting program at UCLA, one of the things they stressed, stressed, stressed is that you build up a body of work.  You can write the neatest, most inspired screenplay ever written by a mortal, show it to an agent, and invariably, they will say, “Great.  What else do you have?”  You’ve got to be ready.  You want to be asked that question, just so you can pull out your little Fossil messenger bag and say, “Lots.  Are you ready?”

So let’s be honest.  If an editor were to call you up today and ask you what you have to show them, would you be ready?  If not, don’t despair.  Tune in next time to find out how you can go from the speed of art to the speed of a working writer.

[Cue in organ music, smile…5…4…3…2…1…and that’s a wrap].**

_________________

* We used to get young ladies come into our bar and perch themselves on a barstool, much to the delight and chagrin of other customers.  Low-riders and thong undies with a little bow on the back.  You get the picture.  And often, we’d see other, more modest young ladies politely approach said offender and inform them in a slightly embarrassed whisper, “Your underwear’s showing.”  I always loved it when they answered, “Yeah, I know.”

So get brash.  Don’t be afraid.  The only breath you’re guaranteed is the one you just took. Don’t worry about your ass hanging out.  Chances are, it’s hung out before and no one had the guts to tell you then.  Just make sure you’ve got a bow on it.  😉

** I try and try (maybe a little), but the cheese cannot be suppressed.

After Fat Cat left for boot camp, I lost my guaranteed two hours every morning at Starbucks.  So it seems my productivity, in general, has gone down…but not really.  I’ve lost that precious alone time where I’m able to focus completely on what I’m working on without worrying about the baby…however, with the weekly writers’ workshop, plus our monthly writers’ meeting, I feel like I’m producing good stuff in an even shorter amount of time.  Enough so, that I have accumulated a fairly significant pile of stories that have been workshopped and need various degrees of spit and shine before they can go out.

So this morning, at 4:30 a.m., I got up and sorted through everything.  I’m surprised at how quickly the stories add up.  I’ve been so focused on getting the next one done, and the next one, that I didn’t realize just how much I had written.

So although I have a big fat stack of folders awaiting my attention — not to mention the second half of a horror story that’s waiting none too patiently to be written — I am happy.  Fat stacks of folders containing completed stories that I’ve written makes me happy.  🙂

Feeling organized makes me happy too.  😉

This, of course, means that I am hopeful I can return to a more consistent posting schedule with the blog.  I have loads of stuff I want to talk to you guys about!  Stuff like, how fast do you write, how to place limitations to make a better story, and the like.

This is what I like about writing.  And this is why I like writing about writing.  Every single story teaches me something new, and I’m always excited to share it with others, to see if they experience the same thing or hear how they deal with it differently.

This is also, I imagine, why “retirement” doesn’t seem to fall into the writer’s lexicon.

So stayed tuned.  I’ll be serving up lots of writerly food for thought.  And I’ll commit now and say that I will have something new posted tomorrow.

There.  Now will you come back and visit?

According to Wikipedia.org, “Lei is a Hawaiian word for a garland or wreath. More loosely defined, a lei is any series of objects strung together with the intent to be worn. The most popular concept of a lei in Hawaiian culture is a wreath of flowers draped around the neck presented upon arriving or leaving as a symbol of affection….Children and sweethearts are poetically referred to as “lei” and many ancient and modern songs and chants refer to this imagery.”

Thinking of my family, my daughter, my husband, my parents, my brother, this might be one of the sweetest metaphors I’ve run across.  Just finished a rewrite of a story about a family who is separated.  I got two letters from Fat Cat yesterday.  He is homesick.

First of all, for everyone concerned, happy belated holidays.  I hope you all enjoyed yourselves responsibly, ate a lot of crap, and laughed at stupid stuff.  I know I did.  🙂

I keep saying I’m getting caught up — and I am — but I still haven’t gotten back into a habit with writing and the blog.  But rest assured, these things are happening, albeit in tiny little chunks.

I vetted Part 2 of a story I’m in mid-draft on at yesterday’s workshop.  Without going into the mind-numbing details of why I found myself in such a precarious (and unfortunately familiar) position, let me just say that my workshop starts at 5:30 and I stopped writing at 5:11.  It was meant to be Part 2 of 2, but I ran out of time and had to turn it into Part 2 of 3.  I got right up to the final confrontation where the dogs circle around the approaching monster, and then it was, come back next week for the stunning conclusion of “Working Title”!

As I’ve said before, I’m not a big fan of sharing work before it’s finished as it usually burns up enthusiasm that’s better saved for finishing the damn thing.  Not only that, you’re dealing with a first draft that has glaring consistency errors.

*But all that said, I’ve really enjoyed doing a serial in-progress story like this.  The feedback I’ve gotten from my fellow writers has been both heartening and energizing, not to mention inspiring.  (I’m ing-ing, I know.)  A few things got smoothed out in discussion thanks to their suggestions.  But the biggest encouragement were the “Aw!”‘s at the end when I cut it off.  Made my whole writing month!

And thank goodness for my writer’s groups…and the deadlines they bring.  I think if it weren’t for the fact that I have specified dates to meet up with fellow writers and share work, all the craziness of this past month would have shoved writing to the back burners of my back burners.  I’m not crazy about how minimal the work has been this month, but I’m happy that I’m still doing it.

It’s funny how it’s so easy to push aside your greatest passion in order to deal with insurance paperwork, grocery shopping, and laundry.  It’s one of the greatest lies we tell ourselves, that this other stuff doesn’t take much time and it needs to be done, and we’ll get to our greatest passion in a minute.  The truth is, all that other stuff pretty much gets taken care of in the forward momentum of our living, and that our energies are best expended towards what makes our hearts quicken with joy.  At the end of our lives, we will think of the book that we did or did not write, but we won’t think of the coupons we did or did not keep organized.

I have been quite mowed over by Things That Need To Be Done Right Now these past few weeks.  But now I find myself at a nice, comfortable spot.  There’s really Nothing That Needs To Be Done Right Now.

So today I’m regrouping.  I’ve got several stories that are awaiting final polish and prints.  I have to get those closed out and off my desk.  I have to write Part 3 of my workshop submission and revise the whole thing.  (My big ambition is to have my submission printed and ready to go before the day of the workshop.  Wouldn’t that be wild?)  Then I’ve got to jump over to a horror story and finish that for my monthly writer’s group (which is already due in 3 days!).  And then it’s on to the script/short story I’ve been dying to write…and hoping to write for Script Frenzy.  Time is running very short.

But anyway, that’s where I am.  How about you guys?  Anything new?  Hello?

______________________________

* It does make me wonder how I would feel about a work-in-progress if it was not well-received, or if I was doing this with less than supportive writers.  Would I continue writing it?  Therein lies the danger, I suspects.

I’ve been busy every day since Fat Cat shipped off to boot camp it seems like.  Between yard clean-up and spring cleaning and taxes and lots and lots of visiting with friends and relatives, I’m finally slowing down to a subwarp speed.  Which is good because it means me, the baby, and the dogs can return to our evening walks, which I’ve missed.

Mom and Dad watched the little one for an hour and a half today so I could play catch-up on a story that’s due for my Wednesday writer’s workshop.  I ended up with 607 words, most of which I liked, which means I have momentum, which means I’m happy.

After months and months of daily consistent writing, I have reluctantly returned to my old habit of sporadic writing, basically piled against deadlines, mostly due to the adjustment period of having Fat Cat gone.  Me no likey.

So now that I’m fairly caught up with the house for now — though the dogs were helpful enough to pull the car cover off my husband’s ’69 Toyota Crown Royal and rip it apart, which a bird promptly pooped on it — thanks, guys — I’m hoping that today will be the first day back on the wagon.  Not only do I have a ton of short fiction I’m working on, a novel to finish, and a few project proposals to write — oh, and a script! — but I want to get this blog back on track.  I’ve got a pile of crap — um, articles and stuff to share with you guys.

Well, I’m off to see how many words I can add before midnight.  Trying to get my protag to the monster.  That’s going to be a fun scene.

Hope everyone else is doing well out there, writing lots, and eating good food (always)!

Whaddaya know?  It’s April 15th, and I still haven’t filed my taxes yet.  It’s like my destiny to every year visit the post office in a bit of a twist.

Right.  So off I go.  I’m so eager to rush my personal check to the government.  Let me cut in line.  😉

We had our fourth writers’ group meeting on Sunday.  Although half of us missed the deadline, everyone brought something to read.  As usual, we had a lot of fun.  I think it went really well.  We’re starting to hit our stride as a group, methinks.

I can see each member really trying hard to bring something good to the meetings.  The members who missed the deadline <ahem> are all eager not to bring shame to their tribe next time around, so they’re all working diligently on their next submissions as I type this (right?).

We didn’t use a talking stick, but we did have a talking light saber.  Not a talking light saber, but one that you hold when you talk.  You know.  Though not a single person got bopped.  Apparently, it works. <g>

But we got down to business right away and worked through everyone’s piece, which was great.  I thought everyone had something helpful to offer about each piece, and so I was most happy.

Next month will be even better.  Because everyone will upload their submissions on time, and everyone will have read each other’s submission ahead of time…or there will be plastic light saber punishment doled out unmercifully.  (bam! bam! bam! bam!)

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a story to finish.  Nothing like the threat of being bopped by hollow plastic to light the fire under my heinie.   🙂

Please forgive the delays in our regularly scheduled broadcast.  It’s been 12 days since Fat Cat flew the coop, and I’ve been busier than a one-legged man in an — well, you know.

Since FC left, I’ve taken care of various paperwork, done countless errands, had some nice folks come and decimate our weed problem and clean up the yard (got two compliments from the neighbors already), and managed to make the living room look like the washing machine blew up in it.  And that’s just for starters.

By the time FC returns home on leave, this house is going be rocking!  I mean, stuff is going to have its own place (and if it doesn’t, it’s going under the house), all the rooms are going to be clean and in use for something other than storage, and, if all goes well, the dishes just might be done.  So, as you can see, I have big plans.  Big, big plans.  Mwah-ha-ha-ha!

So…so far, so good.  Besides being deprived of my hubby’s company, it was a tough blow losing that guaranteed 5:00 a.m. to 8:00 a.m. Starbucks session every morning.  But after much experimenting, trying to write immediately after the baby goes to bed, at 1:00 a.m., 2:00 a.m., during naps, it turns out the best time for me to write is…well, 5:00 a.m. to 8:00 a.m.  Go figure.

What with all the upheaval, writing’s been hit or miss.  I’m running terribly behind on a few deadlines.  But I’m very happy to report that writing is still happening.

Besides my monthly writer’s group, I’ve signed up for a weekly writer’s workshop through the college with my previous creative writing instructor.  It only goes for eight sessions total, but there’s nothing like an outside deadline to keep you hobbling along the road, even if you’re missing a tire and have to carry one end of the axle yourself.

The dogs gave me a new story idea last week, and the darn thing kept rolling around in my mind, gathering moss, getting bigger and fancier.  By the time I sat down to write it, it just smoothed out on screen like roll-on lip gloss.  It’s not a fast write…but it’s sticky-easy and truly organic.  I’m taking my time, and it’s going well.  Much faster than my kappa story.

And in keeping with my determined attitude to not sweat the small stuff, I’m letting the story unspool at its own pace.  That means, of course, by the time this week’s workshop rolled around, I only had half the story done.  So I broke one of my most stringent rules.  I brought it to class and showed it to people.

Usually, I avoid showing stuff to people before it’s finished because there’s an inherent danger that I won’t go on to complete the story once the energy of discussion has washed over it.  But this time it’s a little different.  First of all, we have a bit of a time constraint/length restriction, so I couldn’t bring the entire story even if it were done.

But what made feedback on an incomplete piece not only okay, but worthwhile and helpful, was the fact that my focus was not on whether or not the idea was okay or cool enough, but whether or not there I raised enough good questions.  Having people read the piece and give feedback in terms of their expectations of the piece was fantastic.  It let me know I was on the right track with where I wanted to lead the reader, and it also let me know where the story was a little on the thin side (sensory, sensory!).  So all in all, it was a good workshop session for me.

Of course, I had started that story as a submission to my regular writers’ group, but since I’ve used it for my college workshop, now I have to come up with another one for the regulars.  I have it.  It’s right here in my tiny brain.  But it’s dark and scary — a creature story — and so I’ve been loathe to write it at night.  You know, sitting on the couch in the lightless wee hours, the computer screen sort of blinds one.  Makes it hard to see if there’s something out there looking at me.  I know.  I’m a wimp that way.  I’ll probably get it going today…this morning…right now…right after I check on the baby, who’s probably warm and fuzzy and cuddly and not at all a temptation to return back to bed.

Anyway, probably way more detail on the update that anyone cared to read about.  Just wanted to apprise people that I haven’t slid off the face of the Earth, but am, in fact, clinging quite stubbornly to it.  Yay for gravity!

But now that things are relatively under control — I got it!  I got it! — I feel relatively safe in saying that we will now return to our regularly schedule broadcast.  So see ya tomorrow.  Maybe I’ll be able to report my itchy dark little story completed and out of my head.

Hope everyone out there is writing!  Oh!  And before I forget, *Script Frenzy!  It’s not too late.  Go!  Sign up!  Jump in!  I’m doing it…just starting next week.  Must get caught up first.  But don’t let 100 pages scare you.  Have you seen pages from scripts?  It’s all white space, my friend.  Be brave.  Commit.

______________________

*  If anyone cares to join me, my user name on Script Frenzy is squishyang.  Yeah!

Yesterday I dropped my husband off at the Army Recruiting Station and watched him get into a car of waiting recruits.  Then I drove away.

I will most likely not see him again until Christmastime.  He has 10 weeks of boot camp followed immediately by 34 weeks of officer candidate school.

Now, my husband and I may act like we’re 12 sometimes, but we’re hardly spring chickens, if you know what I mean.  I, myself, am a robust 36-year-old (pre-pre-pre-cougar, I prefer <g>), and my hero husband just turned a foxy 38.

So, who knew that at age 38, my husband would be entering boot camp?  Who knew that at age 36, I would become an Army wife and have a teeny tiny person attached to my hip…literally?

I know what you’re thinking.  This is a scenario for much younger people.

I know.  I’ve got friends my age who are two years from retiring from the military and their kids drive.  And boy, do they feel sorry for us starting at Square One Designed for Younger People (TM).

That’s okay.  I appreciate all the concern.  I do.  But all I can think is, THANK GOD I’M 36!

Maybe I was more flexible and had more energy when I was younger.  But I was so…unformed in so many ways in my 20s, that I can’t imagine how I might have handled this situation then.  But now…I don’t know.  I feel good.  And I feel bad for feeling good, like I should be feeling worse than I am.

I’ve gotten nice calls from relatives offering favors, expressing concern, letting me know they understand how scared I must be.  If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.* I’m expecting the casseroles to arrive any minute.**

Don’t get me wrong.  There were a few tears.  I may be 36, but I haven’t yet petrified into stone.  I’m going to miss my Fat Cat.  We’ve been together for about 12 years now.  I think the longest we’ve ever spent apart was maybe 4 days.  And it’s hard for me to think about him missing out on a whole year of Puppy’s babyhood and her missing out on a whole year of Dada.  She’ll be 2 the next time he sees her.

So, yeah, I am a little sad.  I’m going to miss him.  But we’ve been prepared for months for this.  It’s a great opportunity for our family.  And the way I see it, it’s a great opportunity for our marriage.  Sometimes it helps in relationships, I think, when there’s enough space that we can get the hell out of each other’s way, if that makes any sense.

And the next time we see each other, we’ll have new stories to share with each other.  We’ll have each other’s successes to share and celebrate.  And we’ll be starting off on new adventures in new places.  It’ll be good times.

So after I drove away from the Army Recruiting Station, I took my little girl for some shopping at Target.  Then I went home and discovered my dogs running amok in the front yard.  Fat Cat had been gone for exactly one hour, and already I could smell a coup brewing amongst the natives.

Anyway, it’s good to know that I can shout-herd two idiot dogs into the backyard and hammer shut dog escape routes with a toddler underfoot.

See?  That’s me, age 36, putting on my Big Girl Panties, handling my business.

I’m an Army of One.***

__________________________

*  Excellent!  There’s a bunch of trim all around the house that Fat Cat wasn’t able to finish painting.  I’ve got a ladder that will reach the peak of that steep roof no problem if you stand on your tippy toes.  Thanks so much!

**  I’m so okay with that.

***  “One is the loneliest number….” just kidding.  But still, I can’t wait until Fat Cat gets home.  I miss him already.