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Said the Phlebotomist to the Writer….

“Too much fear stops the flow.”

Blood-letting. It happens, at The Blood Center and in writing — both for good cause. And for me, it’s happening simultaneously. My appointment to give blood looms on the horizon, and I have a short story due to a group of writing friends this week. Both events put the fear in me, so I figured this was a good a time as any to re-publish an old post.

Give it up.

This weekend, I gave blood. This wasn’t my first time, but let me say that (in my case anyway) it never gets easier.

I know the routine: the check-in, the donor questionnaire, the finger stick. I know exactly what to expect, which is the whole reason I break out into a sweat and forget how to breathe the second the phlebotomist cracks the cover on the needle. And, that sitcom rerun playing on the television across the room does nothing to distract me from the snaking tube sticking out of my arm for a solid ten minutes — or more, depending on whether or not my vein cooperates.

I am mess from the minute I walk into the Blood Center to the second I hear the beep from the machine that announces my pint-size bag is full up.

It’s the anticipation of discomfort that gets to me, and the worry that I might not make my quota. What if I didn’t drink enough water? What if something goes wrong and she has to re-insert the needle? What if I pass out and never make it to the sugar-filled treats at the end of Donor’s Row?

Oddly enough (or maybe not so much), a recent sit down with my work in progress felt a lot like this blood-letting. The same anxiety crept up on me seconds before I opened the file. I started to sweat as I scrolled down to my page mark. And, the initial string of words I typed out cut across the page and sounded choppy and slow. Then, all of the “what if’s” flooded my mind.

What if this scene doesn’t come together?
What if the story falls apart, right here, right now?
What if…I.Never. Finish.

I can’t avoid that anxiety, really. It’s genetic, and it’s part of my writing process. In many ways, dealing with it helps move me forward. I could give in to those fears, but that would mean I quit, and I’ve come too far to quit.

So, just like I squeezed that little stress ball and survived my stint at the Blood Center, I’ll write through my fears as best I can on a given day. Each word that falls onto the page fills that page, eventually, and some of those words will gel into a decent story. I’ll remember what the phlebotomist told me, in between her constant chatter that she hoped would settle my nerves: the more you relax, the better your blood flows, and – before you know it – you’re at the end!

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed. ~Ernest Hemingway

* photo credit: rvoegtli on Flickr.com

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In the spirit of NaNoWriMo

Thirty days, 50,000 words, one first draft. That’s a sure-fire way to jump-start a novel.

In a few weeks, writers from every walk of life will crack their knuckles and punch out that dreamy first line of a story that will carry them through a mass, online write-in. Coffee shops will break out the extension cords. Families will go ignored. Stories will get written, dammit, no matter what.

National Novel Writing Month.

I’m not participating this year. Several other projects demand my attention, one of those being the rewrite of a novel draft born during my first NaNo experience. Though, I won’t be a slave to the purple word-count bar this November, you will find me hunched over my laptop – crazy – this October.

That’s right. I’m doing all my mad writing this month.

I joined up with a group of authors on an anthology project, and I have it easy. I just have to write a 10,000 word story.

Just.

I’ve been sweating over this story.

So, in an effort to accentuate the “fun” part of this project, one of the authors spearheading the anthology suggested our own mini-NaNo: 10,000 words in thirty-one days. And, in true NaNo form, someone sent out a rally cry from the discussion board. I’m holding fast to that cry each time I sit down and open my file: No looking back.

. . .

Okay, that’s not entirely true. I’m sort of looking back. But only to recall the spirit of my first NaNoWriMo experience, in which I made it all the way to the 50,000 mark. If I could do that then, I can do this now. Here’s my plan (tips that apply, really, to any first-draft writing spree):

1. Start once, and stick with that beginning.

I’ve restarted this short story three times, and each restart kills my confidence. Restructuring the beginning can come later. When I get to that point, I know exactly what resource I’ll turn to: the October 2011 issue of Writer’s Digest, page 52, where Les Edgerton, Nancy Kress, and James Scott Bell talk about the first 50 pages. Their articles mainly address the novel writing process, but successful short stories and novels have a lot in common, one being powerful beginnings.

2. Write a scene at a time.

If the scene I know should come next  absolutely won’t come forth, from my mind to the screen, I’ll write whatever scene is formulated in my mind. Reordering can also come later. . . . I’ll be honest here. Practicing this tip is more difficult than it sounds; I want desperately to write in a linear way. But, I also want to reach the end of the story.

3. Don’t worry about where the story is going.

Not yet. There’s plenty that must be written in order to discover the roots in a story, which keep all the characters bound together. Will Boast said it in his essay for Glimmer Train (the link to which I found on Jane Friedman’s site):

Give yourself a good deal of raw material to work with before you begin to edit.

My friend, E. Victoria Flynn, spoke of a similar idea in her comment on my most recent post, where we talked about the amount of writing we put down on paper in relation to the writing we send out into the world:

My stories wouldn’t exist…if it weren’t for [all] the chaff.

Write the chaff. Trust the process. No looking back.

I’m not kidding.

Scroll down, not up.

Forge ahead. Whether you’re about to embark on a 50,000 word journey, or are in the middle of a 700 word blog post that’s choking your muse, remember a first draft isn’t the be-all-end-all of your writing career (…this I will repeat to myself in the mirror tomorrow morning, you know).

If it’s the 50,000 journey you’re on, leave your Twitter handle. I’ll cheer for you. I have pom-poms.

Now, get moving. Get to writing.