Writing My Way Out of the Maze by Jess Riley

Hi! So, this posting cycle’s topic is pretty timely for me: “Lost in the Cornfield Maze.” I actually feel like my work-in-progress has me somewhere in the middle of the hedge maze in The Shining and Jack’s on the loose, but on with the story.

Last summer I was laid off. It turned out to be temporary, but I immediately strapped myself into my office chair, rolled up my sleeves, and prepared to write my way out of dying in a Dickensian debtor’s prison.

So I wrote. And I wrote. By August, I had nearly a hundred pages of fairly decent material cobbled together. But at that point, three things happened: 1) I was offered three freelance editing jobs that I’d be crazy to pass up; 2) I was offered my old job back; and 3) the novel I’d worked on for more than a decade and released in July had sold barely enough copies to pay for my publicist.

So I stopped working on my novel, at least for the ten-month grant writing season ahead of me. I shelved those hundred pages. I needed a break from thinking about any of it, and I needed to focus on things that actually paid my bills and kept me out of that Dickensian debtor's prison. But over the last few months, I didn't forget about the story—I squirreled away ideas and notes as they came to me, anticipating the month of July when I could dust off my project and finish it.

This July arrived. And when I looked at my manuscript, I got a headache. What was I thinking, writing science fiction? Or featuring four—maybe more!—point-of-view characters? With myriad connections? And interwoven past lives? And a multi-state setting in the year 2060?!

I re-read the whole thing and was surprised that I liked it better than I remembered. But I knew I was lost. I needed to storyboard this beast—color-code characters, including their back stories (and past lives!) and physical appearances and motivations. I needed to outline whose chapter came next, and what would happen in it. I needed to remember what season it was, for crying out loud. There were so many loose ends and bits of incomprehensible nonsense it was like a knitting factory had exploded inside that horrible new Scarlett Johansson movie.

The big picture was overwhelming. So I lost most of July to procrastination. Reading. Gardening. Planning a kitchen and bath reno. Having fun with friends and family. You know, what most people would call living. It was fantastic.

But in the back of my head, I knew I needed to at least finish a decent chunk of the novel, plus a synopsis, if only so I can send it to my agent and see if this sucker has legs. It’s the hardest and strangest and most exciting thing I've ever written. I could have walked away, but it's speaking to me again, and I'm too curious to see what happens next.

So I am butt-in-chair. It’s the only way. I tell myself, Just two pages a day. Bit by bit. Finish your outline and map things visually near your desk. And write your way out of the damn maze.

PS: Do any of you use Scrivener? I have it, but I felt like I needed to storyboard the tutorial and then pour myself a huge glass of wine and play Plants vs. Zombies until my brain stopped buzzing.

~~~~~

Jess Riley is the author of Driving Sideways, All the Lonely People, and Mandatory Release. She is currently remodeling her kitchen, bathroom, and novel-in-progress all at once because she loves a challenge.

Writer Chats: Hits and Misses by Jess Riley

Public speaking is something most of us have an innate anxiety about. But if you've been doing the writing gig for a while, you will probably be asked at some point to speak to a large or small audience about your experiences. And at that point, you need to make friends with your "public speaking" self, which is a side of your personality you may avoided. (We'll never know why, but it tends to hang out somewhere behind the spleen, which isn't very good at parties either.)

Still practicing what to do with my hands during photos.

The month I sold my first book, I attended a reading by Jennifer Weiner. I remember her talk being candid and charming and breezy, but what really impressed me was how FUNNY she was. She had us laughing, engaged, and panicking. Okay, I was the only one in the crowd who was having a panic attack, because I thought to myself, Oh dead God, she's hysterical! She's in my genre! Do I have to be this funny when I talk to people in the future? I can't be this funny!

Over the last six years, I've spoken to 60+ book clubs and given dozens of library talks and readings, and each semester I speak to a captive audience of eighteen and nineteen-year-old freshmen enrolled in my father's English Composition class at UW-Oshkosh. Regardless of audience, I'm always a little nervous before I walk in the room. It used to be worse, but practice and time have wore down the sweaty palms and racing heartbeat.

I always reserve a front-row seat for my invisible friend Becky.

My favorite groups to speak to are the book clubs, because usually everyone is drinking wine, which makes me seem much funnier in person. Most club members are relaxed & open and ask engaging, thoughtful questions.

Library groups can be hit or miss; if you're not a marquee author, you never know if two or sixty people will show up. Half of them will be aspiring authors wanting to know how you broke in, and half will be there because they got lost on their way to the blood drive. I'm totally joking, of course. (My last library talk was awesome, and I was so grateful to all the folks who braved the cold to come see me.)

Anyway, and here are some tips I've found most helpful:

Scarves! Glorious winter scarves. And a cat.

1) Practice: If you're brand-spanking-new at this, practice. In the mirror, to your dog, to your spouse. Have something of a rough draft in mind before you begin. I used to need notecards (yes, I was that terrified I'd forget *something important,* which is crazy-lady-think). Now I pretty much wing it, based on the audience. (Note: this has not always been a good strategy.) Think of what YOU like to hear when you listen to other authors speak, and be inspired.

2) Pre-questions: If you're meeting with a book club, send them a question guide before you get together. If your publisher has a list of questions, great! If not, make your own. For ideas, check out a few sample reading guides / "Questions for Book Clubs" from other books like yours.

If you're meeting with a group of students, ask their teacher/professor to solicit questions from the students in advance, to be passed on to you before your appearance. I've learned from experience that most college freshmen,* for example, WILL NOT be brave enough to ask you anything when you pause for Q & A. But having them submit questions in advance has led to some very thoughtful, entertaining discussions.

I'm lucky enough that I also get to read the response papers students in my dad's class write after my visit. This has also helped me become a better guest speaker.

(*Second graders, however, will ask you a question every twenty seconds, so they're good to go.)

3) Give away a book or bag-o-swag. This is another fun way to engage your audience.

4) Choose your reading material wisely: If you're doing a reading, keep it brief and entertaining. Hook the crowd and convince them they need to buy your book to hear the whole thing. Also (most importantly), consider your audience when selecting reading material. This has been something of a stumbling point for me in the past.

What did I miss? Check out this fantastic recent Writer Unboxed post for more tips, and please comment here with some of your own!

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Jess Riley is the author of Driving Sideways, All the Lonely People, and Mandatory Release. Check her out on Facebook, Twitter, or her badly-neglected blog.

Writerly Gifts by Jess Riley

Our blogging topic this posting cycle is holiday book gifts, but this can be so subjective, depending on the gift recipient. I am giving books for Christmas this year, but they’re pretty specific to the recipients. What I’d like to focus on today instead are gifts for writers: practical, daily use type-gifts. I’ll break this down by category.

What do you write with? Back in the day, laptops cost as much as small used cars. Many years ago—maybe ten or more--I saw an ad for a word processing device in an old issue of Writer’s Digest: the “Neo,” by Alphasmart. (Do any of you remember this thing??) I ordered it, because I am sometimes a sucker and had grandiose fantasies of typing my opus on the sand dunes of Kohler Andrae State Park. I really did do that once, but actually using the Neo was a bit cumbersome.

"Sent from my Neo Alphasmart."

It didn’t take long for the poor Neo to go where old technologies die in my house.  Which is to say, hidden in a drawer somewhere. I’m typing this on a new 2-in-1 Ultrabook, which didn’t cost much more than the Neo. There are hundreds of options for portable word processing these days, and when you’re in the market, the choices can feel overwhelming. Plus, emphasis is on individual use and preference, so recommendations from friends or family may not work for you.  

Guess which one's also a tablet?

So all my writer friends, weigh in, please: what do you write on, and why? What do you like about it? I’ve only had my Lenovo Yoga Ideapad for a day, and so far it’s great for portable writing. However, Windows 8 took some getting used to. For example, I nearly threw the whole thing at the wall an hour after I had it out of the box because I kept downloading Word (and kept playing the intro video) because I couldn’t figure out how to “pin the app” to my start page. My preference is still for my old desktop PC with the huge, bright screen and comfy, worn keyboard, but so far, I’m digging my little Lenovo.

E, I, O, S, D, L, C, N, M. An anagram for "rubbed out of existence."

What do you read with? ("My eyes." Har-har.) I know, I know: this one’s for the e-reader fans. I have a Kindle Fire—not HD, not the new one with live support from Amy (and god bless her for all of the chat roulette-ish images she’ll be getting from teenage boys after the holidays). Anyway, my Kindle is heavy and kind of clunky, and I already wish I’d have waited just one year to upgrade to this year’s model, with its beveled edges and lighter feel. The Fire also works as a tablet, which has come in handy when looking up recipes AND seeing which old boyfriends got bald on Facebook.  I know some people fiercely love their Nooks or reading on their iPads, so this is also an area where personal preference comes to play.

How about some quirky things you can wear? (Other than a Duck Dynasty-themed bra.) I love jewelry and clothing with a writerly-theme. A few years ago my thoughtful sister-in-law gave me a necklace made from old typewriter keys. There are some fun literary-oriented ideas on this website: outofprintclothing.com. You can also check waxingpoetic.com, as well as dozens of Etsy shops devoted to the classics. Jane Austen bracelet? Alice in Wonderland t-shirt? Emily Dickinson necklace? Beyond wearable gifts, there are journals, calendars, pens, organizational tools, fancy bookmarks, reading lights, e-reader cases, frameable prints on old Dictionary pages (Etsy strikes again), even coffee and tea tucked in a nice, big mug.

Not counting books, what writerly gifts are you giving this year? Books are always FABULOUS (particularly signed, personalized copies), but there are so many options!

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Jess Riley is the author of three novels (Driving Sideways, All the Lonely People, Mandatory Release); she wears her Alice in Wonderland shirt when she meets with book clubs. She's on Facebook, Twitter (@JessRileyWrites), and at the moment, the couch.

"Throws Like a Girl, Writes Like a Boy" by Jess Riley

Hey look, a box-o-books!

“Write what you like, then imbue it with life and make it unique by blending in your own personal knowledge of life, friendship, relationships, sex, and work. Especially work. People love to read about work. God knows why, but they do.” –Stephen King, On Writing

I once read in a writing guidebook that you should avoid writing about certain settings, because they’re a turn-off to readers.  Guess where they said you should never set a story? A prison.

So it’s just my luck that: a) I taught part-time in a prison in college and stumbled over so many story threads on a daily basis that b) I had to write a novel loosely inspired by my experiences, which finally releases today.

Mandatory Release. And yes, it is one, fourteen years in the making. I’m banking more on Mr. King’s insight than on that espoused in that long-ago guidebook, and we’ll see where the dust settles in the weeks to come.  (This doesn’t even get into the fact that I wrote half of the novel from a first-person male perspective, oh and did I mention I gave this poor guy a spinal cord injury?) 

Here's the scoop: Lad lit meets chick lit in this dark comedy about broken people who work in a dangerous place, finding hope where they least expect it. Because no matter what you lock up—a person, secrets, or your heart—sooner or later, everything must be released.

People have asked some fun questions about this one, and here are a few tidbits:

1) Yes, my parents did meet in prison. My mom was a secretary, my dad a unit sergeant. They continued to work there together for years, which made dinner table conversation interesting, to say the least.

2) My dad is also a writer, and his desk is a gorgeous behemoth that was actually made by inmates registered in a carpentry program. I only have a set of decorative wooden reindeer made by inmates, and I display them every Christmas.

3) Most people who work in an institutional setting have a terrific sense of humor, because you’re exposed to the infinite capacity of humanity for weirdness, evil, good, and even hope in the face of incredible loss.

4) When my father worked as a DOC social worker, I remember him bringing home a prop he used during staff training events: a suitcase like one a traveling salesman might use, filled with confiscated shanks and shivs.

5) I did have to remove my underwire bra when I passed through the metal detector for my interview, and a few of the interesting inmate anecdotes in the novel are real, but beyond that? Everything’s fiction. Sadly, Joe, Drew, and Graham don’t exist anywhere but on the page. Or in the pixel, whatever the case may be.

A Thank You card signed by the inmate students I worked with.

So what happens if you’re compelled to write a story that bends your typical genre? If you’re passionate about the characters and their journey, if sitting in front of the blank page every day feels more like a trip to an amusement park than a chore, you’re in great shape. Write a book that YOU would want to read.  Write it honestly, from the heart, breathe life into even your secondary characters, and then either put it in a drawer or release it into the world.

This one’s been with me so long it’s starting to feel like an adult child living in my basement, so it’s time to push it out of the nest and hope it flies.

What do you think? Are there settings or subjects to avoid if you’re aiming for commercial success? CAN commercial books get away with handling “literary” subjects?  Or do you write the story that demands attention and let the chips fall where they may (and get eaten by the dog)?
 ~~~~~

Jess Riley is the author of Driving Sideways, All the Lonely People, and Mandatory Release. Now available on all platforms: amazon, BN, iTunes, and Kobo. She lives in Oshkosh, Wisconsin with her husband and crazy terrier. Find her on Facebook, Twitter, or her own blog, where she'll be featuring some awesome authors in the weeks to come.

If you live in the Oshkosh area, help Jess celebrate her book launch at Becket's Restaurant on Tuesday, July 16 at 5 pm. There will be snacks, drinks, and a photo op involving fake jail bars. Wear your favorite jumpsuit and ankle bracelets!

Writing Through Trauma, and What Happens When You Don't by Jess Riley

One suggested prompt this posting cycle was “writing through trauma.” In my own life, I haven’t experienced nearly as much trauma as others, yet I still can point to several traumatic events—two of which I’ll publicly write about, the first being my divorce.  

The kick-off to my first marriage was a big, old-school Wisconsin wedding with full Catholic mass, hundreds of guests at dinner, and a blues band to go with the free beer at the reception. (The fact that I hired a blues band should have been a clue, but …) I thought I was golden. Set for life. Yet there I was months later, on what should have been my one-year anniversary, telling my sweet Grandma why I was getting my own apartment. Fail.

I spent the summer crying and reading self-help books with titles like Something More: Excavating Your Authentic Self. (Blech.) I filled journals with melodramatic, self-indulgent drivel. (Which reminds me--I really need to find them and burn them in case I die in a car accident one of these days). But even at the tender age of 25, I knew two things: First, half of us get divorced. I was only getting mine out of the way sooner than most. Second, I was 25! You’re so resilient at 25; even if you fail at something, the odds of trying again and succeeding are enormous. 

Fast-forward to five months after my first novel was released. I was basking in a fourth printing, on top of the world. It was October 2008, and I was at the Wisconsin Book Festival with friends, awaiting a call from my agent with my editor’s offer to buy my second novel.  The economy was in free-fall around us, shedding hundreds of thousands of jobs daily, yet I was golden. Set for life. (Wait, where did I feel that before….) 

The call came while out to lunch with my author friend Danielle Younge-Ullman and her father, whom she gets to see a handful of times a year. I’d had second-hand information that led me to believe things were going well behind the scenes, but when the call came, it contained nothing but bad news. I remember how cold my heart got, how all the air felt sucked out of the restaurant, how jealous I felt of the other diners, just eating like everything was fine in the world. I spent the afternoon bawling in a spectacularly public flame-out.  (Poor Danielle tried to console me as best she could, but when you’re crushed, you’re crushed.) Now, I want to go back in time and slap the hell out of the entitled, cocky jerk I was back then. Who did I think I was, King Midas? Millions of people were being told to pack up their stuff and get out of their cubicles for reasons that had nothing to do with how well they did their jobs. And I was special? Immune to this kind of thing?

Still, I took it pretty hard. So hard that I immediately stopped reading and writing. I couldn’t stand watching others continue to do well while my own writing career was in a death spiral. I figured I just sucked (oh, fragile ego), so maybe I’d be a dentist now or something. You know, easy career change. Months passed, and I got busy at my day job, which came as a small relief. One night I began to feel a deep, pulling pain that I described to J as “a dump truck driving around my uterus.” The pain grew so intense that I begged him to take me to the Emergency Room. I was there half an hour when the pain got so bad I actually threw up, which felt like an awful kind of validation. (See, I told you it hurt like a mother!) They gave me morphine, which softened the edges, and an ultrasound that revealed … nothing. I was sent home with a prescription for Vicodin. Two days later, the pain subsided, and I went on with life.

A month later, at the funeral for one of my husband’s best friends, I felt the familiar, heavy ache begin again. Still, I tried to power through, because I had grants due. I figured it would go away on its own. By the next night, I could only find relief on my hands and knees, crying and sweating and writhing for hours as waves of pain ripped through me.  It took a lot of Vicodin to sleep.

The next day I could barely stand, and I was back at the ER. More morphine (Aaaaahhhhh…) More tests. I remember looking up through the fog of delicious painkillers to see my gynecologist’s friendly face.  Though I’d mostly just endured awkward conversation with her while she gave me a breast exam or had a finger in my butt, she had come to my book launch party and I’d seen her at Target once, so I felt like we were buds. “You’re going into emergency surgery right now,” she said.

“Hooray!” I said. “Get whatever it is that hurts the f*ck out of me NOW!”

Okay, I didn’t say that, but I remember thinking a weak, ‘Yay!’

Turns out one of my ovaries had a cyst so big it twisted over on itself, cutting off blood supply to the rest of the organ. It was getting ‘necrotic,’ which … just yuck. 

As I healed, my sister gave me Christianne Northrup’s book Women’s Bodies, Women’s Wisdom (not quite another Woo-Woo book, but close), which had a section all about ovaries and base chakra and such. Turns out that our ovaries are connected to creating—life (babies), food, gardens, crafts … and art. 

So the irony of it all is that by NOT writing, it could be that I manifested my own trauma. And my extended tantrum could have short-circuited my ability to have kids.  All that stopped-up creativity, swirling and building, turning on me because I gave it no outlet.

I don’t know. It’s one theory. But when you’re a writer, writing feels as essential to you as breathing. You are compelled to do it. You sometimes wish you weren’t. And there I was, averting my eyes every time I walked by a bookshelf, by my desk, denying a very basic, crucial part of who I am. Not allowing myself to breathe because I was afraid to.

I am writing again, but I don’t have children, perhaps because I refused to write a few years ago. The silver lining is that our house will be paid for this fall and I’m going to Alaska next summer. You might think of me the next time your toddler punches you in the face at Target, or the next time your teenager tells you she hates you—and I will think of you when I don’t get to play Santa at Christmas and die alone with my cats when I’m ninety.

The bottom line is this: when writing is in your blood, keep writing. No matter if it hurts. No matter if you’re afraid to be rejected, if you feel like a failure. Take a tiny break if you must, but get back to it as soon as you can. Forgive yourself for not being perfect. Take rejection as a challenge to rise to the occasion. Channel your anger, your pain, your joy. Don’t. Take. Anything. Personally. Write down the walls. Burn it later in the sink maybe, but never stop.  Keep your girl (or boy) parts, y’all. Mind-body connection.  

*I’m co-writing a novel with Danielle this summer, which shows you how awesome she is.  I mean, I was truly a pathetic, freaked-out wreck that afternoon.

~~~~~

If you're still with me after this TMI Woo-Woo blog, feel free to visit my other blog at www.jessriley.com. No more ovary posts, I promise!

(Jess Riley is the author of the novels Driving Sideways & All the Lonely People and the novella Closer Than They Appear; her third novel, Mandatory Release, is out this July. Stay tuned by following Jess on Facebook.