The Writer's Journey

It's difficult, being aware of your mortality or possessing copious limitations.

Sometimes, being disabled/neurodivergent means complicated medical histories--surgeries, specialists, medication lists longer than a grocery list, susceptibility to illnesses, doctors disbelieving and misdiagnosing.  We often have to be careful with ourselves.

For people with chronic pain or illness, pushing themselves can be risky to their health.
People on the Autism Spectrum can become exhausted with too much stimuli.
Those with memory issues may have extra difficulty when they take on too many projects.
It goes on.

But, we all try to push ourselves because we're taught that's how we reach our goals.  We push, strive, and sweat until we ache with it, until we shake with exhaustion and tears.  If we don't, we don't really want to succeed, we're just lazy and don't deserve it.

Some of us have a more tenuous life span than others.  When people feel like they're racing a clock, they tend to push too hard, jeopardizing their health faster (and more often).  It creates a catch-22:  Race and risk your life or take it easier and don't accomplish what you want/need before you die.

So, what do we do when one day of furiously fast work can set us back days or weeks?  We prioritize, figure out the task most important.  We start small, with only a five-minute task if needed.  We know our limitations and honor them, not pushing to the point of injury or illness.  Progress does not have to be made every day, either.

If you're a short story writer, start writing Twitter-fiction or shoot for one short story a month.  The writing will add up.
Poets can write haiku or other short forms.
Novelists can start by paragraph... sentence if they must.
Creative nonfiction writers can write in micro-journals.

It doesn't matter where the starting point is as long as the journey happens.  It doesn't matter how slow it goes, if it's moving.  Some writers take years off between projects and no one thinks less of them, their journeys are just more leisurely.  There are benefits in downtime, too.  Just keep the path in mind, and visit it whenever you can.

There are no true destinations in the writing life anyway, merely way stations.

Ableist Language in Dialogue

The majority of the population still thinks words like "dumb" and "crazy" are fine to lob in everyday conversation.  Even a lot of disabled/neurodivergent folks use them without being in the position to reclaim them.  Then, there are some who don't want to use the words because of ableism.

For the writers in the "hell no" camp of using certain words, telling a story without them can become complex.  A character doing something ridiculous in modern times is rarely told he's being preposterous.  A highly erratic protagonist isn't going to be told by each character her demeanor is strange or odd, though it might work for a few characters' interactions.  

Child characters are even more difficult.  Few children know words like "ludicrous" or "off-putting", and probably wouldn't use them if they did.  Unless one avoids putting kids in a situation where they need to address someone (or something) with extreme behavior and/or properties, the writer will need to address it, somehow.

Do writers who see words like "stupid" as ableism give themselves a pass when writing fiction?  I haven't asked every single writer, but a fair amount do.  Especially when writing realistic, modern stories.  It isn't easy to work around words the majority of people use.  It's not as simple as avoiding vulgar language.

But a small section of writers refuse to use those words, regardless.  Some set stories in strange lands with made-up words.  Some don't put characters in a situation where they need to address another's odd mannerisms... at all.  Or place their books in a past where different words are said.  Or, maybe, they use words like "odd", "strange", "preposterous".

It's up to each writer to decide.  

What words do you use?

Writing Retreat at Home (Tips)

Last month, I addressed planning a DIY writing retreat.  It is less expensive, there isn't an application, and you can pick a venue more suited to your needs.  But, if the options presented during the last post aren't feasible, perhaps creating a retreat at home is what you need.

First, a caveat:  Not every tip will work or benefit every person.  
Take what you can and/or want.
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1. Schedule your retreat and let everyone know.  
Figure out when you have time and schedule a weekend (or other span of time) to have your retreat.  Unless there is an emergency, don't cancel.  It is easy to dismiss a retreat at home as unimportant.
After you schedule, let your friends and family know you won't be available (or will only be available on a limited basis).  Tell caretakers what your plans are, what you need from them, and how this might change your interactions for a few days.  Let everyone who follows you on social media know so they don't think anything is wrong.

2.  Disconnect from online... and television... and cellphones.
If you're constantly checking Twitter, or are on your fiftieth cute cat video, you are probably not writing.  Cut yourself off from distraction.  If you need to research something for a story, make a note in the margin and look it up when the retreat is over.  Can't stop social media entirely?  Give yourself a half-hour before bed and no more.

3.  Pack your bags.
Get yourself in the right frame of mind by packing.  Put all the clothes you intend to wear for the duration (including extras for various accidents) into a suitcase and ignore your dresser while on retreat.  Gather your pens, laptop, notebooks, and anything else you would need to write and add them to your stuff.  Everything should be in one place for your needs and will help keep you focused.

4.  Plan your meals.
For those who do your own cooking, prepare meals ahead of time and freeze them so preparation time doesn't distract or cut into writing time. Those who don't cook for themselves can still save time by having discussions about meals in advance.  No one has to interrupt your creative flow to ask you what you want to eat when everyone knows beforehand.

5.  State what you hope to accomplish, but go easy on yourself.
Know what you want to get done, put it into words (write it down, record it on a sound device, etc.), and visit your intentions every time your day begins while on retreat.  Give yourself a goal.  Don't just leave it at "write every day", but try something specific.  Do you want to complete your novel's first draft?  Do you want to write six poems?  Are you in dire need of finished (and brainstormed) blog posts?  Make it clear what you're working towards.
But, if you didn't accomplish everything you wanted on your retreat, don't hate yourself afterward.  You might have had chronic pain flare-ups for two days and couldn't function.  You might have had news from a doctor that stopped your progress.  Things happen, in the skins of cripples and gimps.  Focus on what you managed to get done, no matter how little.  Progress is always something to celebrate.

6.  Try to write near nature...
A change in environment can do wonders for creativity.  Try writing outside your home one day during your retreat, if you're able.  If you can't go outside, sit beside an open window for awhile to feel, see, hear, and smell a different slice of the world.

 7.  ...or change your surroundings.
Your sleeping and/or writing area may also benefit from alterations.  Borrow different art from a friend and switch it with what's currently on your walls.  Buy a blanket in a different texture (one you like) and put it on your bed.  Put on a CD that has nature sounds or soft music.  Find an appealing, subtle fragrance you enjoy (that no one in your residence is allergic to) and add that to your room.  Give your senses pleasing things that aren't daily occurrences, but remember any allergies or sensitivities.  No one can write on overload.  Anything added to your environment should enhance your experience, not distract from your writing.

8.  Remember your comfort and health.
Wear comfortable clothing.  Find a spot to write that gives you the least amount of pain.  Take your medications.  Eat.  Stay hydrated.
Your health, comfort, and safety come before your writing.

9.  Write!
It's what you made time for, right?

Pigeonholed

Every writer working in a specific genre or writing a certain type of story thinks about being pigeonholed.  For those of us writing about disabled and/or neurodivergent issues, it can get tricky.  We want to have the freedom to write about whatever we want, apart from us or a part of us.  Once we're known as the "disabled person writing about disabled themes", however, it's a super glue spiderweb we can't escape from.

Some writers don't mind being pigeonholed.  They know what their audience expects and are happy delivering it.  It's a kingdom to build upon.

The rest of us aren't quite as thrilled at the thought.  Not exploring whatever we want chafes like sandpaper underwear.
There is always the option to use a pseudonym, of course, but not everyone wants to take one.  Starting a fan base from scratch can take more energy than some of us have to give.  The thought of an editor accidentally publishing the story under your real name can cause anxiety (it happens).

Society likes to keep authors and poets in categories.  It makes it easier to find books someone likes, but organization also makes people feel safe and part of something.  To have minorities writing about ourselves is more acceptable to the majority because (to them) it's mental segregation on a micro-level.

Once we start crossing creative lines repeatedly, however, some able-bodied/neurotypical people get uncomfortable.  How can we accurately write books for/about them, they wonder, since we're supposedly so far removed from them.  (They never consider not writing about us because their knowledge, creativity, and skill are beyond reproach.)
It's just easier to keep us on one side of the line, inserting us (and our work) into rooms without doors.
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It helps, I suppose, to cover a wide variety of topics/themes/characters from the start of your career if you don't want to be tied to a "type".  Not every reader will hop around with you through different projects but many will still be around, regardless.

Are you afraid of being pigeonholed?  Are you okay with being known as "that disabled/neurodivergent writer"?

When Caretakers Write

Caretakers often write about those they care for.  It makes sense; the person needing assistance is a big part of the caretaker's life.  And caring for someone who needs help can be difficult, funny, bittersweet.  Many excellent essays have come from those who are caretakers in their everyday lives.

There are ethical problems with writing a story about someone else but, often, disabled/neurodivergent people's feelings aren't taken into account.  Our embarrassments, problems, and difficulties are exposed by those who care for us without so much as an acknowledgement of how it could affect us.  We become the subject, and not people.

Caretakers need an outlet for dealing with frustration and it can benefit them to write about their hardships.  It can also help other caretakers to read about others' struggles.  But an essay shouldn't be a gripe-filled diatribe against the person needing assistance, nor should it be humiliation of that person brought to light.
If a caretaker needs to let off steam, he/she should join a support group or keep a diary, not seek out a magazine.

Why aren't more caretakers seeking permission from (or at least talking to) the person they're going to write about?  If they would extend that courtesy to a neurotypical/able-bodied person, they can extend it to us!  If the people who help us the most can't see us as worthy of common decency, we're in trouble.
Here's another idea:  Why don't more caretakers write stories with their disabled/neurodivergent person?  It would make a more balanced, illuminating piece.

We need more stories about us, yes, but not if they come at the expense of dignity and are targeted at people who "other" us.  And if the people who care for us really care, they will write with honesty but, also, with an underlying respect.

Chronic Pain Impacts Writing (Tips)

Writing is not as physically demanding as many other occupations.  When you have chronic pain (and/or fatigue) however, it can feel like writing wrings the mind and body totally, leaving you drained and hurting.  And, if writing is uncomfortable at best, marketing in person is often out of the question.

Writers are pressured to produce, submit, market, and repeat.  If you aren't constantly writing, fans supposedly get bored and drift away from your work.  If you don't submit/query (for months or years), your work doesn't find an audience (unless you go indie, but that can take even more energy and agony).  And you're taught to market your writing (and yourself) from the moment you decide to write.
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So, how do you handle it?

Everyone has their own way of coping, but here are some ideas:

1.  Be okay with your own schedule - You're not going to write daily.  Sometimes, your blog will be neglected.  It doesn't mean you're not committed, it means you honor your limitations.  Being angry with yourself won't help (and may even hinder) you.

2.  Try to find a comfortable spot and compatible technology or devices - A lot of people with chronic pain write lying down.  There are tablets, tables that slide over the bed, voice recorders, and other things that may help you.  *I'm composing this post on the Wii U gaming system, for instance.*

3.  Maybe recruit a friend or family member - Some of us may be lucky enough to have someone close to us who will transcribe what we say or help us submit to literary magazines.  There are also submission services but most are outrageously expensive.

4.  Market online - You can reach many people using Facebook and Twitter alone.  You can even schedule posts ahead of time with programs like TweetDeck so you can allocate your spoons easier.

5.  And spread out in-person events - Figure out which events would have the biggest chance of boosting your career and/or sales.  Try to schedule them far enough apart so you have a chance to recharge.  Keep local, if at all possible.

6.  Seek out (or advocate) for online or elastic workshops or groups - Some writing groups dictate a page amount per week.  Some people with chronic pain/fatigue may not be able to produce the required amount.  Same with workshops.

7.  Reading is necessary - Don't feel guilty if you read more than you write.  Reading will only assist you in your craft.  In a way, you're working right now!

8. When brain fog sets in... eat chocolate, drink juice, listen to music, binge on Netflix. Because brain fog sucks.

Okay fellow spoonies, your turn:  Share your tips in the comments.

No One Can Tell You How to Be a Writer

Hi, there.

I’m Katherine Lampe. In the unlikely event that you’ve heard of me, you probably know me as the author of the Caitlin Ross Urban Fantasy series. Or as a loudmouth with no censor, who doesn’t balk at sharing her bathroom habits on social media. But you might not know I have Bipolar Disorder (Type II).

Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t balk at sharing the details of my mental health, either.

Bipolar II isn’t the “fun” kind of Bipolar, where you do things like blow your savings on fantastic money-making inventions or tell random strangers you’re a movie star incognito. That is, it isn’t characterized by extreme mania. When those of us with Bipolar II experience mania, it’s generally of a milder sort. The kind that lets you clean your entire house in a couple hours, which is useful, but not particularly exciting. The main feature of Bipolar II is debilitating depression, sometimes lasting years. The depression has its own rhythm. There are days or weeks when you can’t get out of bed. Then there are periods when you’re kind of functional. You can accomplish stuff that needs done, but all of it is drained of emotional content. Nothing’s particularly worrisome, but nothing is particularly enjoyable, either. Sometimes duty and expectation are the only things keeping you going, because you don’t want much. Nothing appeals and nothing matters. And when you accomplish something, you don’t feel any internal sense of reward.

About ten years ago, give or take, a bunch of stressors fell on my head all at once. I’ve been in a Bipolar depression ever since. And before you ask, yes, I’m in treatment. Without it, I wouldn’t be alive to write this. Medication alleviates some of the distress. It doesn’t make me normal, whatever that means. I have about as many good days as bad days now. Of course, on the bad days the good days seem nonexistent. And even on the good days, good feelings are distant. More an intellectual recognition of “Oh, I don’t want to die today,” than true wellbeing.

At the same time as I’ve been experiencing this extended depressive period, I’ve written seven novels, six of which I’ve published (the seventh is due out in August). I’ve also written and published a book of fairy tales and another of short stories, and I’m piddling around with a trio of related novellas. All without any motivation or feeling of gratification from the process.

Okay, there were those twelve weeks when I was manic and I completed two novels. That was pretty cool.

Until now, I’ve never really thought much about how I wrote seven novels in the state I’m in. The first one, I’d been plodding along at for some time. When the depression got bad, I abandoned it for years on end. Then a new medication started working, and one day I went back to it. Rewrote most of it. That’s when the manic period hit, and I wrote the next two books in the series. The mania left, and I didn’t write for another couple years. After that, I found reasons. Sometimes reasons within the series itself: an event that needed to happen, an issue that needed to be addressed. Sometimes it seemed like writing was the only thing I could do, the only thing I’m good at. When all else fails, I can still put words together, whether or not they matter to me. Maybe sometimes I was just telling myself stories as a kind of distraction from the dreariness of life. This last novel has been an absolute nightmare, by the way. It took me two years, and in the process I tried and abandoned half a dozen different plots and tossed tens of thousands of words.

The thing is, it doesn’t matter how I did it. I found a way that worked for me. If my way doesn’t look like anyone else’s, who cares?

Well, sometimes I care. I care when I see people post writing tips or blog about How to Do It. I have a bad habit of comparing my process to other people’s process, and when mine isn’t the same, I wonder if I’ve Done It Wrong. When a writer I follow on Instagram or Twitter mentions in May they’ve completed three manuscripts since January, I wonder what’s wrong with me. What essential quality am I lacking?

I know the answer. What’s “wrong” with me is, I have a mental illness. What I’m lacking is the normative distribution of chemicals in my brain.

Most of the lists of writing tips you see, most of the posts about “how to be a writer,” are written from a neurotypical perspective. An ableist perspective. (They’re often classist and sexist as well, and probably racist, but I’m white so I can’t speak to that.) When you’re struggling with a chronic illness, be it mental or physical, advice like “write every day” isn’t just worthless, it’s actively damaging. Well-meaning saws like “it’s not always going to be fun” or “don’t wait around for inspiration or the right moment” are meaningless when you never experience “fun” or “inspiration” and every moment is wrong. Saying “push through and get it done,” without considering whether your audience has the physical and mental stamina to push anything is insensitive at best. It really drags down those of us who write but are unable to follow the directive. It contributes to an already frustrating experience, and sometimes provokes us to overextend the few resources at our disposal. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard a friend struggling with the balance of illness and writing say “I just have to knuckle down and do it,” knowing they can’t do any such thing, knowing they’re going to judge themselves later when they don’t “measure up.”

A lot of that advice comes from a capitalist standard where output at any cost is considered more inherently valuable than a person’s wellbeing, and where failure to make quota is taken as a sign of laziness or not trying hard enough. It relegates words to the category of product rather than art or expression, and it’s bullshit. If you perpetuate that standard (or suspect you do), I ask you, please, to check yourself and knock it the hell off. If you suffer from that standard, I’m here to tell you it’s okay to ignore it. The most anyone giving advice can do is tell you what works for them. Being a bestselling novelist does not make anyone an authority on you and your process. No one else can define “what works” for you. No one else can tell you how to do you, and you don’t have to feel guilty or beat yourself up for not listening.

Maybe you write every day for three months and then not at all for two years. Maybe you think for a week before every word. Maybe you don’t think about writing at all for weeks on end. It’s all fine. It’s fine if you finish things, and it’s fine if you don’t. It’s fine if you’re published and if you’re not, and it’s fine if you don’t care one way or the other. It’s fine if you want to write but health limitations mean you can’t right now, and it’s fine if you need to spend quality time with your cat. It’s fine if the stories go away. And you know what? If they never come back, that’s fine too. It’s a loss and a grief, maybe. Maybe it’s a relief. Whatever your feeling about it, it doesn’t make you, the essential you, worthless or invalid.

You have the moment in front of you. Nothing else. Do it your own way and screw the haters.