Tag: Books

Motivation: An Unreliable Muse

Motivation. We’ve all had. We’ve all lost it. Trust me, I know. I have been motivated to get sexy for the summer for over a decade, and I am still not where I desire to be. Why? Because motivation, not discipline, was the driver.

I will explore why I think motivation is-well, you’ve seen the title. It’s unreliable and most of all fleeting. Motivation comes dressed in the most convincing costume you have ever seen. Allow me to prove my posture.

I recently began working on Book 3. An idea that had rattled around in my brain, leaving nicks along already worn surfaces, and after a year, demanded I put it to paper. I was motivated-burning with something I have no words to describe. Hopes were high. I was high (not literally) but you get the sense of euphoria I had for this project.

Then, somewhere around 14,000 words, I lost the spark. For what I set out to achieve that word count was no where near enough. I had embraced the fantasy of this wonderful new project coming to fruition. I invested more in the dream than in the actual work of building it. The dream was intoxicating; the discipline required to see it through was not.

But this wasn’t the first time I have started out full steam ahead only to fizzle out before covering meaningful ground.

Taming Armand and Bloody Endings were not my first endeavors into writing. Neither were my first attempts at finishing a book. If anything, they rank fourth and fifth on a list that the others didn’t make it onto.

Back in 2018, I was motivated. Really motivated. That was the year. I was going to get my sh*t together. I would finally lean into my talents and write the book. That had been my motto: Write the Damn Book. I had attended my first Noir at a local coffee shop and was riding that emotion high. And by golly. I was going to ride it all the way to a finished manuscript.

Somewhere between life well- life-ing-the time spent writing became less and less. Sleeping a full eight hours became sexier than burning the midnight oil a few nights out of the week. My to-do list included everything but writing, and eventually, I chose productivity over creativity. The payoff of a quick, completed task was more exciting than the delayed gratification creativity offered. The thrill had left before the story had began.

The early pages of that manuscript ended up in a binder, alongside other forgotten ideas. Each of their origins forged from fleeting moments of motivation.

Fast forward to 2022. Life shifted in ways that I hadn’t anticipated. Illness pulled my card, and I grazed the hem of Death’s garment. By God’s grace, I was left on this side of the veil. And when I stepped into 2023, what propelled me ahead was not motivation. It was something quieter. Far more stubborn. It was discipline.

Taming Armand had begun to take shape into something serious. I decided to remove it from Inkitt and into a Word document. I set deadlines. I carried my laptop to work and wrote on my lunch break instead of doom scrolling. I showed up for the page even when the page felt like the last place I wanted to be.

With a little self-reflection and a new awareness, I discovered that motivation seduces. It will show up beautifully dressed. Full of promises. Endless possibilities. Then-it will leave. It always leaves. Motivation is not designed for the long haul. It is the spark, not the furnace.

Discipline is the furnace. It is far from romantic. It does not arrive with fanfare nor is it a feeling. No one cheers. There are no t-shirts. Discipline is simply the decision, made again and again, to continue-even when the magic is gone. Even when 14,000 words seems like evidence of failure rather than proof of progress.

I no longer search for motivation. I reach, yearning to touch discipline instead.

Until next time-has motivation carried you through? Or have you found discipline to be the more reliable companion? Sound off in the comments. The Weirdo wants to know.

Mapping a Dystopian World: A Pantser’s Journey with Planning

A pantser tries planning for a change. Let’s just say it was…interesting.

With the new year a little over a month behind us, I thought I would begin to post again. To write again, and to once again try something new. So, I thought I would step away from the Indie Publishing Series to allow it to breathe.

Oddly enough, I first started using a notebook to map out characters for a suspense story. When that fell through and the juices were no longer flowing, so to speak, it turned into a character worksheet for Taming Armand. Although it helped (my definition of ‘help’ is very loose here), I found myself writing out scenes instead of actual character development-which I thought was the exact opposite of a planning notebook. Now, I had the horrid task of transcribing everything from my spiral notebook into a Word doc.

I completed the transcribing with disgust etched into my features while I dredged up memories of why I had forgone writing with pen and paper when and where I could help it. I left the story planning notebook alone until I got into my dystopian sci-fi bag; now I find myself relaying on it to get me going on my first draft.

Why Now?

You may ask that question, and it’s a fair one given that I have let my disgust for planning out stories known. I needed a place, aside from the jumbled and tumbled workroom of my mind, to work out the kinks. To see the world before I put in down on paper. I needed a place to workshop this new world I am building. I needed to see it alive on the paper.

What sounds good in my head at times doesn’t work well on paper. I am sure as a fellow writer you know the struggle. If you’re not a writer then you know as a human.

What Works?

Planning out this dystopian world allows me to keep the rules straight, to keep order to the creative disorder I am writing. See, when you’re building a world from scratch—especially one where society has collapsed or twisted into something unrecognizable—there are rules. Lots of them. Who has power? Who doesn’t? What technology survived? What died with the old world?

If I don’t keep track of these things, I’ll end up with a character using electricity in Chapter 3 when I clearly stated in Chapter 1 that the grid’s been dead for twenty years. Or worse, I’ll forget which factions are at war with each other and accidentally write a alliance that makes zero sense.

The notebook gives me a reference point. A map, if you will. And for someone who usually flies by the seat of their pants, having that safety net is both liberating…and terrifying.

The Balance

Here’s the thing I’m learning: I don’t have to choose between being a pantser and being a planner. I can be both. I can sketch out the bones of this dystopian world—the geography, the power structures, the technology, the history—and then let my characters run wild within those boundaries.

It’s like building a playground. I construct the equipment, set the perimeter, establish the rules, and then I let the kids play however they want. Sometimes they surprise me. Sometimes they break things. But at least I know where the boundaries are.

I’m still writing scenes in that notebook—old habits die hard—but now they’re scenes that fit. They make sense within the world I’ve built. They don’t contradict the rules I’ve laid out three pages earlier.

Moving Forward

Will I become a full-time planner? Probably not. I assure you no. At least no time soon. I still believe in the magic that happens when you just write, when you let the story surprise you, when you let your characters speak, rather than manufacture them. But I’m also learning that some stories—particularly ones with complex world-building—need a little structure to keep them from collapsing under their own weight.

So here I am, a pantser with a planning notebook, building a dystopian world one scribbled note at a time. It’s messy. It’s imperfect. And yes, I’ll probably still end up transcribing half of it into a Word doc with disgust etched into my features.

But it’s working. And sometimes, that’s enough.

Have you ever tried planning when you’re naturally a pantser? Or vice versa? The Weirdo Writes wants to know.

My Rocky Road to NaNoWriMo

My attempts at participating in NaNoWriMo…haven’t always gone as planned.

With this not so new year and ,most importantly, a new me I think I can conquer NaNoWriMo 2024. Okay, maybe not conquer necessarily but I can definitely inflict some serious word count wounds and finish up Bloody Endings: Book 2 of the Coven Origins Series. The highly anticipated sequel to Taming Armand: Book 1 of the Coven Origins Series (yes, a shameless plug is not beneath me, lol).

In order to take you down this path to finally and actively participating in NaNoWriMo I must set the scene. So, I will need to take you back to October 2022 as the treasured and much anticipated writing month of November was looming large. It’s a time of the year where writers seasoned and new make something akin to a resolution, a challenge, if you will to write 50K of a novel. Or to start or finish that manuscript that has been sitting idly in the word processor of your choice or stuffed away in a notebook collecting dust.

That year I had finally narrowed down a focus to one manuscript and only days before November 1st I had broken the 10K word count. Talk about elation. I was finally doing it. I was finally writing a book. I was ready and enthusiastic, this would be my first NaNoWriMo, and I was ready and more than willing to give it all I had. My beady black eyes were set on exceeding my personal goal of 40k by the end of November.

But fate or rather my body had other disruptive plans.

Illness happened and not just a bout of the flu but something that not only set me back but had me lying at Death’s door, or rather I like to think I was in his driveway. I like to believe I wasn’t that close, but the encyclopedia of medical notes and list of diagnoses say I was closer than I will ever be without actually have died.

So, while I awaited on an official diagnosis and subsequently my fate curled in a hospital bed my manuscript sat on my laptop at home far out of my grasp. Long story short, I couldn’t participate.

I was heartbroken that my first real attempt at gaining major ground on my manuscript was derailed by my unruly body. My treasonous immune system had the final say and NaNoWriMo 2022 was a no go.

The year 2023 hits and I made progress. I was well enough to start trying to bring some normalcy to my life. I was back in my room with my cat, my books and iced coffee. The year and my health seemed to be going well.

Although I did not hit the 40k I had promised myself, I am grateful to have walked away with my life and a renewed sense of self and a rededication to my writing.

Then Life once again lifed.

My mother suddenly became ill, my grandmother’s cognitive abilities continued and rapidly declined. My own health was stagnant. I wasn’t getting better but I hadn’t gotten worse and took that small victory, and gasping for breath, ran for the hills.

Ultimately, Mother lost her battle with cancer leaving behind a heartbroken author that didn’t want to write. Prior to my mother’s death, Babe my beloved four legged feline confidant lost her own battle. Completing the old saying ‘Death comes in threes’ was Granny. After months of forgetting, she too threw in the towel seeking a place where she could finally remember.

I grieved.

I am still grieving.

Eeven as a year will be marked for each of their deaths. But the will and the spirit to write has returned. The passion that was lost has returned and I plan to take full advantage of it.

NaNoWriMo 2024 here I am.