Category: Random Aside

Shouting Into Wind Tunnels (Or, Disclosures)

by Shoshana, posted in Random Aside

What is the hardest thing to do, in your opinion? Think about it for a second. Be really really serious. What do you find hardest?

Now imagine doing it in public for people.

That’s about what I’m going to try to do here. So you’ll forgive me if it comes off a little odd.

I’m going to talk about being sick. And not just physically ill sometimes. I’m going to cover my eyes (I can type with my eyes closed) and talk about having a mental illness. For those not interested or for those for whom a discussion like this is uncomfortable, go forth good sir or madam elsewhere. I’m going to talk about this for a reason, so… there ya go.

I’ve lived with bipolar disorder since I was diagnosed when I was sixteen years old. I’m guessing that I had this for a very long time before that but I couldn’t tell you. How do you know whether you were wacky back in your early teens because you were a hormonal git or because your brain chemistry was doing the Macarena? Who knows and who cares. The point is, when I was sixteen, a doctor told me that all the weirdness going on with my moods, some of the weird things that I did that people told me were just ‘bad’ or ‘weird’ was because there was a part of my brain chemistry that got put in sideways. Then he gave me a bunch of medication and didn’t really explain a hell of a lot more. It took me years to fully get what bipolar disorder was, that I was technically diagnosed with bipolar type II (which is a ‘lesser’ type for an uncomplicated explanation), and that I was one of the unlucky ladies out there who responds BADLY to lots of medications one would put you on for bipolar disorder. I did a merry dance for years on medicine which led me to some amazingly funny, horrible, scary and weird reactions.

But what it really lead me to in the end was trying to live without medication. And I’ve done that since I was about twenty two. That’s eight years now I’ve been without medicine at all, except for a brief period two years ago where for three months I roller-coastered all over with my friends looking on in worry. At least those who knew what was going on. The others just thought I was having a ‘hard time’.

See I’m one of those people who grew up in a place where you don’t talk about mental issues. Where people said you were just ‘bad’ or ‘acting out’, where you were told to just ‘get up and get over it’ or ‘try harder’ if you were depressed. And if I was manic, well, I was just really happy or had to much sugar or should just ‘calm down’. And if I acted out under a manic episode, well, I was bad. See where this goes, huh? Does not lead to good things. It leads to a lot of shame, denial, and coping on my part. It leads to a lifelong interest in keeping my symptoms so tightly under control that no one would know what was going on, even the closest people in my life. So years of repression and bottled up tension later, I’m pretty type A and have built a hell of a network of coping mechanisms. To quote a doctor I saw today, “you handle all this rather remarkably.” That was meant as a compliment, I think, and I took it that way. I’ve worked hard to keep myself in check for years because otherwise… well, what do you do? Go nuts? Do the wacky things that my brain sometimes wants me to do or say? I’ve worked hard to build my life as stable as I can and I fight hard every day to keep it that way.

I’ve done that mostly quietly. I haven’t spoken about things. Remember that culture of quiet? That’s where I come from. But I realized lately that what that has accomplished is making me isolated when I’m having trouble. And professionally, that can be deadly.

I’m a freelance writer and a graduate student. I’m a game designer. I’m a blogger. I’m a speaker at conventions. I’m busy.

I’m also bipolar. And have anxiety attacks. And I do it mostly where people can’t see.

Sometimes that means that I have to step aside and not be around people. Or sometimes that means that my deadlines slide around a little bit because I spent a few days digging myself out of a low that had me locked in place. Sometimes that means I’m so manic that I accept projects that I maybe shouldn’t on deadlines I maybe shouldn’t.

It’s the last one that made me finally sit up and take notice that I needed to seek out help. Why? Because I’m a professional. I want my reputation to be one of good work, timeliness and reliability. I don’t want to be ‘that person who blew that deadline because she took on too much work’. I respect the opportunities given to me too much to let that happen. And in my life I’m trying to balance a lot. Maybe, some would say, too much. I don’t know. I’m hoping that isn’t the case.

I know that there is a lot I want to do. And I take on a lot because my tabletop and LARP writing is equally as important to me as my work at the NYU Game Center. I would not put aside any opportunity to write because it’s what lights me up every day. And so far, I’ve managed to meet deadlines and produce good work through a judicious use of caffeine, time management and sheer goddamn stubbornness.

This week I met my limit, I believe. And fell over the side.

This is the part that’s hard to write. I had a manic episode as school. It was what I like to call a ‘Red Line’ episode, where my blood pressure was going so high I could hear my blood racing in my ears. My heart was pounding and I couldn’t stop talking. To the people around me, I’m sure they couldn’t tell anything. I asked a friend who was working with me afterward whether they could tell, and he said that he couldn’t. “You’re very good at hiding” he said. And I am. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared to pieces. Afterwards, I knew a crash was coming and it was going to be huge. I thankfully reached out to a friend, who talked to me for two hours while I shook and cried and tried to stop my brain from going to dark places.

Two days later, I walked into the NYU health center and requested referrals for therapy and a medical consultation. It’s time I recognize limits and start to make more boundaries for myself. It’s time that I realize that if I want to be a good writer, a good team player, even a good organizer and speaker and leader, it’s by recognizing limits and boundaries. It’s time I recognize how my illness is not something to be fought with or overcome but as something to be worked with and understood better. For years I’ve been fighting my brain – now it’s time that me and my brain strike an accord to work together. And that starts with this, with talking, with admitting.

I was afraid to write this post because I was afraid people would stop working with me on projects. They wouldn’t want a writer who is bipolar for fear that I’ll flake. I was afraid to admit what’s going on because I was afraid people would call it a plea for attention, or an excuse for behavior. It’s neither of these. In fact, I’m writing this with the full notion that it’s long and people’s attention spans are short (if you’re still with me, thanks for sticking around!) If nobody reads this, that’s okay too. But I’m here, talking into the wind tunnel that is the internet and hoping that somewhere, this hits a distant shore that understands: I’m a writer just trying to create some great things while living inside a tornado that is my brain. Sometimes that tornado tries to lift me up. Sometimes, it slams me into the ground face first.

But being me, I’m gonna get right back up and go back to writing some crazy shit. Maybe about vampires, or ancient fae civilizations. Or robots on Roman spaceships (seriously, that’s a thing I’m doing).

And I’m going to do that now with help. With a doctor who I can talk to. Maybe even with medicine, provided it doesn’t mess me up. With coping mechanisms that work and hopefully support that I can reach out to.

And what does that mean for my work? Absolutely nothing in my eyes. I’m going to be careful about how much I take on and try to gage a little more fairly how much time I have. I’m going to be fair to myself and try to enjoy my life instead of running at a crazy pace because my manic little brain says ‘hey you can do everything and anything ever and always, yay!’ But I’m still going to be the writer who wants to write awesome things for great companies, and even wants to get her own off the ground. I’m going to be the girl who is slamming through five classes in NYU this semester while trying to convince folk that LARP is awesome.

I’m still me. But this is honest me. And maybe even a little scared me. Shouting into the wind tunnel that is the internet, hoping not to get smacked in the face by it.

So here’s to wind tunnels. Thanks for listening.

Dice, Dead Deer and Dire Cabin Fever: Hurricane Sandy After-Report

by Shoshana, posted in Game Design, Random Aside

I, Shoshana Kessock, have never been so glad to sit at a computer and type things to the Interwebs.

It’s been a few days now since I escaped the blacked out portions of New Jersey and got to a place with power, and I’m still counting my blessings every time I turn on a light switch. The devastation of Hurricane Sandy that wrecked portions of the East Coast and walloped the Tri-State area had me sheltering in place with some friends in Jersey City for the duration. We returned from an amazing weekend at Deathcon, Dystopia Rising’s Halloween season ender, just in time to hunker down for the storm. Eschaton Media staffers Ashley Zdeb, Sean and Megan Jaffe, their roommate Shaheen, my best friend Andrea and our friend Schuyler made ourselves at home for the crisis. The story has become my favorite example for how generous and welcoming gamers can be, as the good folks opened their home to me for six days when the power went out during the storm Monday and stayed that way until Friday evening.

Now, you’d ask: what did you do during that time? Well, folks, we did what any good gamers would do during a shut-in period of a few days. In between trips to the local Target to charge our items, gather supplies and generally touch base with the outside world, we did what gamers will do. We found games we liked and we played the hell out of them. What did we play? I’m glad you asked!

  1. Fiasco: For those of you unfamiliar with Fiasco, it’s an amazing tabletop storytelling game written by Jason Morningstar. Described on Amazon.com as ‘a roleplaying game about ordinary people with powerful ambitions and poor impulse control’, Fiasco is an incredible narrative-driven game that lets you essentially play out a Coen Bros. movie with little to no prep and a lot of interpersonal insanity. The version we played was based on a horror world created by Sean Jaffe where some folks from a small town were hanging out in a bar when they’re offered $50,000 each to watch a shiny red Cadillac for one month. The catch? They just couldn’t open the trunk. But what happens when you hear the trunk a’thumping? Yeah, it was that kind of game. Sean also included some amazing horror elements in the game that had us genuinely clawing at each other’s arms and jumping at the smallest noise… which was funny, since we were playing it through the worst of the Hurricane. It’s a testament to how good a GM Sean is and how solid Fiasco is as a game that we barely blinked when the power went out – we just picked up candles and kept going.
  2. Munchkin Cthulhu– What could make a card game like Steve Jackson’s Munchkin better? Toss Cthulhu into it! The popular card game has about a dozen editions now, including one based on Firefly, on White Wolf games, on James Bond and Super Heroes, but it’s the Cthulhu one that’s nearly standard for any gamer nerd. We played the ‘kick down the door and kill a monster, but don’t forget to screw your friends over!’ game by candlelight on the third night of our forced Staycation and it was actually the most civilized session of this game I’ve ever played. Maybe we just didn’t want to get all Lord of the Flies over defeating the Dread Cthulhu, but I’ve had some wicked competitive games of Munchkin in the past. This one managed to stay fun and supportive all the way thru, like when we all let Sean beat up on Dread Cthulhu because, heck, why not?
  3. Lego: It’s not really a game so much as a toy, I guess, but I’ll include this here. Designing Legos by candlelight can be fun. Watching friends try to create a better spaceship than the other is hilarious and awesome.
  4. Super Hexagon: Got some battery left on your iPhone? Why not try an amazing game called Super Hexagon, why doncha? If you can’t get a signal out to friends and family, you might as well play this super abstract, super hard game to pass the time.

The other thing this vacation from the land of power and cell service did was give me an opportunity to prepare for Metatopia, the game design convention which passed this last weekend. Friday I was lucky to get out to Morristown for the con and had such an amazing time, it will get it’s own blog post. However, during the blackout, I got the opportunity to toss around ideas for finalizing the system for my tabletop RPG, Wanderlust. I also gave feedback for a project Sean was working on as we game designed in the dark.

All in all, I learned a couple of valuable things during this hurricane. One, when putting a car in a garage, make sure it has a way to be opened without utilizing electricity BEFORE the power goes out. Two, I can cook better than I ever imagined using just a stovetop. Three, games can make the worst situation so much better. And four, MAN do I get cabin fever in the dark. Special thanks to Justin Cronin’s new book, The Twelve, for helping me to get through it all.

Next post will talk about the amazing time I had at this year’s Metatopia. Until then, let’s wish everyone recovering from Hurricane Sandy good thoughts and much help. Also don’t forget to vote!

Sharing Dreams In The Dark: Aurora Colorado Shooting Response

by Shoshana, posted in Random Aside, Uncategorized

I started off today thinking I would sit down to work on various writing projects. I had a blog post planned about organizing one’s thoughts and some flash fiction to post. Those might go up later. Instead, I want to discuss something that happened early this morning that the world woke up hearing about. While lots of folks were snug in their beds, fans across the country were going out to midnight showings of The Dark Knight Rises. In Colorado, some of those fans aren’t going home again.

It’s no surprise to me that the event caught such media-wide attention. A massacre at a blockbuster film premiere will catch the world’s attention. What amazed me instead was the responses people have had. Overwhelmingly, I have seen an outpouring of thoughts and prayers for those injured and deceased, as well as to the families of those affected by the events in Aurora, Colorado. But there have also been the negative responses. Here are some of my favorites:

“Well, if we had more gun control in this country…”
“Well if we had less gun control in this country…”
“Well it’s the fault of (insert political/religious fall-guy here).”

But here was the one that got me the most. And you’ll forgive me if I paraphrase.

“Well, why should I care about something that happened across the country? Bad things happen here all the time! You don’t see me sitting around getting all musty-eyed about bad things here, I’d be depressed all the time! Don’t forget, people get shot in (insert local community) and you don’t see people getting so upset when that happens! This is just because it’s a big media event that people care.”

No. And no. And no.

This isn’t about it being big media. Or local crime. This isn’t about modern cynicism or jaded attempts to distance one’s self from tragedy. This is about one thing only: the following sentence, which has followed me all day.

Last night, people walked into a movie theater to watch Batman save Gotham from evil and died in the darkness there.

It’s no secret today that this whole tragedy has caught me in a way I didn’t expect. Perhaps it’s because, growing up, theaters were a place to get away for a little while from the things that were bothering me. Perhaps its because, while those people were across the country dying in a theater, I was on my way home from my own midnight showing where I was lucky enough not to be menaced by a madman with a gun and where instead I had a lovely evening with my friends. Perhaps its because the idea that someone would go into a Batman movie with a gun feels oddly more horrifying and violating to me. But this entire event has me shaken and the answer of ‘why should I care, it’s not in my hometown’ has me worse than boggled. It has me horrified.

I’m a media girl, there’s no question about that. I believe in the power of cinema and the written word and the visual arts to bring light to places that are dark, to spin ideas into words that can spark understanding in the mind and hope in the heart. Special and dear to my heart are comic books and their heroes, a pantheon of characters that stand almost inviolate in their presentation of higher ideals and ethical idealism. There are few constants in this world as universal as the Big S on Superman’s chest and the fact that as long as there’s a Gotham being written in comics, there’s a masked man named Batman out to protect it’s people. Comics spawn larger than life guardians that, sadly, this world could use in the everyday. Yet generations have grown up inspired by their stories to try and be better, do better, in the image of their fictional heroes. Up on the silver screen, their stories have reached wider audiences than ever before with their messages of justice, equality and integrity.

And some madman with a gun violated that last night when he walked into that theater.

Maybe I’m an idealist. Maybe I put too much stock in comic book heroes and the impact they have on people. But I am not afraid to admit that I was one of those kids growing up with my head in a comic book. I went to see Superman in theaters and marveled at the idea that in these stories, people stood for truth and justice in a big way. I know that I read comic books and dreamed bigger because of the stories presented there. And in my mind, I keep thinking about a kid who might have gone last night to a theater to share in that idealism and who might not be returning home. There is a violation in the destruction of that illusion in the darkness, that safe social construct shared in a theater by those who come to enjoy the dreams on screen.

And it makes me sad and furious.

I have no problem feeling for people who are a thousand miles away who died for no reason last night. In my own city or across the world, they are gone and they were out doing something that celebrates our ability to dream in big pictures and big ways.

My wishes for a full recovery for those wounded and my thoughts to those whose lives were lost. I’m sorry someone couldn’t find it in themselves to share the dream.

Recharge: Writer Fuel, Burnout and the Importance of Being You

by Shoshana, posted in Random Aside

As I often say when I begin these posts, it’s been a while since I put something together for this blog. Why? Because rather than talking about writing, I’ve taken to heart the idea that you must write instead of speaking about or dissecting the act of writing. There are tons of blogs about writers and the issues of being a writer, but the time put into them takes away from the act of creation. Still, every once in a while, a post about what is going on, what projects I’m up to, and insights into the writing process come across my desk and I think “Hey, when the hell did I update this blog last?!”

Since I started freelancing for Tor.com (one of the best gigs in the world by the way), I’ve had less time to do my own blogging, but I want today to talk about something very important. I want to talk about burnout.

People use that term all the time: burnout. Being fried. Running out of juice. Whatever you call it, writers and creative types talk about being too burnt out to work, unable to come up with any kind of ideas to go forward. I, like other people, have experienced this from time to time. Usually, something will snap me out of it and I will go on about my work without a problem. But lately, I was having a problem. I hit a patch of funk so deep there was no way out of it and I didn’t know what was wrong. And here’s the crazy part: it started when I started getting successful.

I’m not talking like I’ve sold a book kind of successful (though please holy baby snow leopards  let that happen sometime soon). I’ve been blessed lately with several opportunities to work on amazing projects that are fulfilling and challenging and that are giving me the opportunity, as a writer, to stretch my legs and try new mediums with new people. It’s been exciting, and difficult, but overall it’s been a wonderful experience. All of this work, however, has put my life at a very hectic pace. As I’m on disability from my job, I’ve been getting up in the morning, doing a little eating, watching a bit of television, and then writing. I sit in front of my laptop for hours at a time and try to write. And for a while, the whole process was working. I was producing a lot of work.

Over time, it stopped working. I started to slow down in productivity. The work I was producing was getting worse. And my deadlines would get closer, which would mean I would have to rush to get things done. My anxiety started to climb over the feasibility of getting things done and when I would squeak past deadlines, I would barely take a break afterwards before diving back into my work. Eventually, the anxiety became so crippling that I woke up one morning this past week unable to look at my laptop. There was no way, I told myself, that I could get all my work done. There was no chance, I thought, that I could even create anything that could be successful. It became a deep, dark hole of scary depression that I did not want to dance down. I didn’t have a choice — the monkey on my back that writers seem to inherit took me for that ride.

Today was the worst, however. I woke up this morning having slept for nearly twelve hours. I had been unable to sleep the night before due to my anxiety and when I woke up, it was evening. I was confused by the weird sleep schedule, stressed by the work I’d not been doing all day, and furious at myself for getting into this funk to begin with.

In a tizzy I wrote on Facebook “Hates being slowed down due to not ‘feeling up to’ something. It’s vague and hard to describe but no less the case.” And a friend of mine replied that she explained that feeling as the need to recharge.

And I sat back and thought: well, shit. This is it. I’ve worked myself into a burnout.

The fact is, her comment reminded me that I hadn’t done anything to recharge my batteries in weeks. Sure, I’d watch some television and I’d rest. But mostly, I was working. And when I wasn’t working, I was focused on working. I would go out and have lunch with my father, and be thinking about all the work I had to do. And I’d go out to see friends, and be worrying about what I could be doing at home at my laptop. I would eschew going out for events because I had to write things that were on deadline, because I had projects to complete. I had turned aside tabletop roleplaying opportunities, chances to go out to do fun things even by myself, all because I had these projects. And the stress of that kind of pressure I was putting on myself to perform was destroying not only my love of my work, but my actual capability to produce. I had removed the things that recharged my life and let me enjoy what I was doing.

So I forced myself out of the house. I went to see some friends for karaoke. And sure, for a little bit, I was thinking about the projects on my desk. I thought about the chapters in my novel that needed revision, the prep for the upcoming gaming convention in a few weeks that wouldn’t work itself out. And then, two friends of mine showed up and announced their engagement. And I remembered that life comes before work and that life is as important as the legacy of writing I’m going to put out into the world. I promptly forgot my work for a little while and focused on the night ahead of me. In the end, I had a marvelous time.

In the cab home, I spoke with one of the women who was at the party. She had a game idea she wanted to write. And when I started to talk to her about game design and writing, I felt that old spark of creative fire I had before. I remembered why I enjoyed doing this. And I remembered that chaining myself to my computer wasn’t going to help me find inspiration for my work. I couldn’t slave-drive myself to get results. My writing could not be whipped out of me and there is a difference between enforcing discipline in my craft and punishing myself with some kind of self-imposed creative forced march. Somewhere, I would start to hate my work and I had to remember that life had more than just eating, sleeping and writing.

Recharging is any little thing that helps light you up inside. Whether that’s reading or going out walking or playing with cats or seeing your friends or going to a show. Whatever it is, it needs to be done to keep the creative juices flowing. Otherwise you start to get frustrated, the taps close and you’re suddenly wondering why the faucet of creative ideas just started turning into the barest trickle. To be a good writer, you need to take care of you. Get up, take breaks, and don’t forget that the rest of the world exists.

Lesson learned. I’m taking tomorrow to hang with my best friend and tonight, before I go to bed, I’m catching up on some of my favorite graphic novel right now (B.P.R.D.) before I get some decent sleep. I’m going to do chores in the morning and when I sit down to work, I’m going to make sure it’s after I’ve stretched and gotten some sunlight. Bizarre as it might sound, I’m going to try looking after myself more and hope that encourages my muse, or my daemon as Elizabeth Gilbert likes to call them, will look after me. I write this in the hope that, anyone out there feeling the same in their work might see the similarities in my experience and heed perhaps the call for self-care. We have ourselves to look after as custodians of our work. Let’s take the time to do it.

Facebook is the devil for writing

by Shoshana, posted in Random Aside

Facebook may indeed be the devil or at least it may be for writers.

Stop me if this sounds like something that’s happened to you:

You sit down at your computer and all you want to do is write. All these wonderful ideas in the back of your head just want to get out and you are raring to go. Then comes the little ping: you get a Facebook update. You say “I’m just going to check it for two seconds.” Half an hour later you’re looking at some silly video of foxes jumping on a trampoline, giggling your head off having completely forgotten that you had a deadline. Hell you may have forgotten your own damn name because, well, they’re foxes and they’re adorable.

That is what Facebook is for. It tells us all about the world according to Jim, Bob and Sue but keeps you from reaching the inner worlds you can create. I am a notorious Facebook camper. When I take a break from writing, I can usually be found making snarky comments about geek-related nonsense on Twitter or posting ‘artistic’ pictures on Instagram like the hipster I pretend not to be morphing into. But mostly I can be found on Facebook catching up with folk or just posting every random piece of weirdness that skims my brain. Oh yeah and videos of cute animals. There’s like a law about those being mandatory.

But then I try to get back to writing and sometimes, all I can think about is the Facebook stuff. I’m so distracted by the poke wars, the liking, the pseudo-political arguments and the kittens being adorable. And then how can I get literary? The answer is I can’t.

So here’s to Facebook eating my productivity. I will be making an effort to block my Internet- something author Joe Hill mentioned on Twitter today- so it doesn’t distract. And my phone will go away from me. To quote a friend of mine’s play, I am of the generation that seems to have their phone surgically attached to their hand. I will go into the writer trance and have to answer some messages. Worse things could happen.

Like not finishing my damn novel.

The Importance of Being Criticized, and Earnest Too

by Shoshana, posted in Random Aside

An important topic of discussion I’ve had with a lot of people in the last six months is that of criticism. How to take it, where to get it, and whose to listen to are all factors when considering the issue of critique and creative input on projects you’re working on. Everyone who has written knows that you have to be prepared to have your stuff reviewed by others and have to get used to taking criticism. The old adage “you can’t please everyone all the time” comes to mind when I think about putting forward work. Yet I keep chasing a problem or two about critiques in my head, such as:

  • When do you put your work up for critique (when it is finished? when you’re in the middle? while you’re working?)
  • Whose opinion counts more, the critique or the authors? Is your work in need of work or are you facing down injection of personal opinion?
  • How do you deal with negative criticism?

The first problem is one I’m running into constantly, and an issue that recently cost me partnerships on a bigger project. I am a writer who does not work well with criticism being laid on the work while I’m writing it. The reviewing process and critique drives me completely out of my work and into the ‘is this going to work/why not/what’s wrong with it’ worry stage too early. In short, it impedes my creative process. This has caused a great deal of issue when working with partners recently, and caused me to become very consternated when being asked to critique in middle of a project we were working on. The resulting friction was a major contributing factor to our partnership being dissolved – I was very uncomfortable with sharing work for review and critique while it was unfinished and was unable to articulate why. I came out of the situation realizing that in this case, sharing for critique for me was still too raw of an issue to do in mid-project, but I also had to acknowledge it doesn’t work that way for everyone. Some people thrive on getting input during the process and find the cooperation involved refreshing. Others find it nerve-wracking (like me).

The process made me consider what it was about review that bothered me, and brought up another issue – namely, the issue of creative control and review as opinion. When putting your work up for review, you are essentially asking creative input from an outside source. You are acknowledging that you respect that source enough to hear them out as a reader who is taking in what you’ve created, and giving you feedback based upon their experience of reading your work. Yet a good number of times, you are going to come up against opinions on your work that ask you to consider changing fundamental elements of your story. At that point, you come to a juncture where you must consider whose ideas you want to incorporate, and whether or not you want to trust your vision for the project alone or go with the outside view of an objective eye.

This is another issue that rubs raw sometimes with authors and certainly with me. Mostly the issue becomes a problem for me because of the idea of personal taste. Sometimes, a critique will point out important plot holes, issues of continuity, and even glaring errors of fact that are important to correct. Grammar and style issues are also important to correct, and can be tagged by a good critique. Yet there also comes times when a reviewer simply objects to some of your material and suggests a change, even arguing that it will improve your work. At that point, it is a question of that person’s opinion versus your own. And it comes back down to ‘you can’t please everyone’. I have found that its difficult sometimes to separate a reviewers personal displeasure and opinion from their critique and for that reason choose very carefully who reviews and critiques my work. Yet I will admit, I’m overly protective of my projects and realize I need to relax a LOT about it. Sometimes a fresh eye with fresh ideas and suggestions can lead you down amazing paths with your work if you have the balls to accept what they are offering over your own concepts. Sometimes, your stuff really just will stink and a new idea can give inspiration. Just beware of people who think that “You know what’s a better idea?” is a good critique technique and just want to input their own framework onto your already existing work. That’s not critique: that’s project hijacking.

And that comes down to the last issue of dealing with negative criticism. It’s always hard to hear that something doesn’t jive, that your characters are flat or your action sequences don’t work. It’s hard to hear that you’re not coming right out of the gate smelling like a Newberry Award or a New York Times Best Seller. The trouble is how to take that kind of input. I’ve found that a good critique is not only based on content but on how the critique is developed. Let’s face it: we all have our inner angry Simon Cowel, ready to rip and shred thru other people’s work with scathing glee. We do it in part because we believe our witty and harsh criticism will ‘be brutally honest’ about ‘how we feel’. The problem is, criticism isn’t about how we feel. It’s about how we see the other work might be improved. And bringing feelings into it makes the situation messy. Keeping that in mind, we also ought to consider the time, effort and difficulty of producing anything creative. For the other person, it’s a labor like bringing offspring into the world. If you’re the kind of person who can walk up to someone else’s newborn infant and say ‘Goddamn, that is an ugly baby! You should go back to the drawing board and try again because it’s face is just… whew, not quite right!’ then you’re not someone I want reviewing my work. Tact is as important as content.

That said, there is something to be said for being too sensitive. And here, I offer up my confession that I speak from experience on this one. Look, the act of creation is an act of passion and giving for some, and it can make an artist feel terrifyingly vulnerable. Putting forward something you have created and saying ‘I hope you like it’ is like stepping out naked and blindfolded onto a firing range… you’re asking in a lot of ways to be hit. Our insecurities hang out all over and when our work is attacked by someone’s negative input or review, we can get defensive. Hell, taking out the we here… I know I get defensive like hell. And yet it’s all part of the process of becoming a better writer.

So how to deal with it well? I’ll be honest – I’ll tell you when I figure it out. But I know that there are some tricks that have helped me. One is finding voices that you trust to not only be fair in their critique but to be fair in their delivery. You don’t want people who are going to kiss your ass, but you want people who will speak truth in a manner respectful to your work and the energy you put into it. (Brutally honest is good, brutal for the sake of brutal is just rude and ineffectual). The second trick is to separate yourself from the work as much as possible, or separate your connection to the work from the critique. If necessary, repeat: “Its not me out there, it’s the words/the art/the song.” And third is a phrase I’ve come to love and try to keep in mind when I’m being pecked at by critique and I’m feeling defensive. “There are no good ideas in a vacuum.” Genius may be the illusive beast we all chase, but the stories of madmen, dreamers and poets locking themselves away and coming out of their caves ages later with fully realized masterpieces is not the way the process works for everyone. More voices enrich a project, so long as you keep your eye on the vision you began with.

These are the lessons I’ve learned so far with critique. I’m working to follow my own rules about dealing with them, though it’s not easy. So I wrote this not only to share, but as a reminder to myself.

So going out there, whoever reads this: beware the naysayers, the so-called experts, the ego-destroyers and the worrywarts. Try to hear the words of those that warn you about marketability and content, about your ideas being too far out, or ‘hey, wouldn’t it be great if…’ But never lose sight of what you set out to do, and if their words don’t jive with your vision, weigh it all as equal and take what works best for you. After all, you’re in the driver’s seat. Trust your instincts and create. The rest will sort itself.

NaNoWriMo gives props to its writers.

by Shoshana, posted in Random Aside

So apparently, my little rant about how I kicked NaNo in the butt last year got on the NaNoWriMo Blog! It’s kind of ridiculous to me that I googled my name (yes, everyone’s done it, don’t lie, you have too) and this is what popped up in the top slot. It was linked to other groups and other blogs!

http://blog.nanowrimo.org/node/125

Check that noise out. It kinda blows me away.

The name of this blog.

by Shoshana, posted in Random Aside

If you read my previous post (and you’re still here, you poor fool!), you will notice that I… am verbose, even while typing. My sentences are long, my paragraphs longer, and I don’t stop writing until I say my piece. If you ever meet me in real life, you’re in for a treat: I’m like this in person too! Language is my crack and I’m an addict if I ever met one. So then comes the funny question: why the name of this blog?

Irony, folks, it’s a kicker. I read an amazing book not too long ago called Dune by the illustrious Frank Herbert. In it, he writes about his protagonist, the incomparable Paul Atriedes, who later becomes (or always was?) the foretold Muad’Dib, visionary, tyrant leader, and ultimately religious figure (that is an altogether simplistic overview of this amazing story: go pick it up to see why). In the book, there are quotes about Muad’Dib’s life written by his wife the Princess Irulan and one of them struck me. It went like this:

“At the age of fifteen, he had already learned silence.”

There was a connection between silence and wisdom, silence and the understanding to keep ones tongue and think instead of speak, silence being a medium for intellect before rash action and forethought rather than afterthought. 

This is not my nature. I am probably one of the most chaotic, helter-skelter individuals I’ve ever seen. And I talk a lot. That is the most no bullshit assessment of myself that I can give. So it seemed impossible to me that I can achieve a state of such forethought if there was this never-ending torrent of ideas in my brain trying to get out of my mouth. In short, I was not made for silence because language to me was a symphony of sound and silence was the absence of music. Then some years went by and I taught myself that sometimes, the silence before the symphony can be just as sweet as the music, the refining of the tune can make it even a more enriching experience.

In other words, I learned to shut my mouth and think before I spoke more often than not.

That changed who I am a lot in the last couple of years. It has taught me forethought, it has taught me caution, it has taught me the nature of human fascination lies in deriving truth from silence and uncovering mystery in our fellow human beings. I think this means I’m growing up, Peter Pan, but maybe I’m just a richer human being. Who knows if that means I’m a richer person, who knows? All I know is, the symphony is stronger when I open my mouth and the pay-off oh that much sweeter.

So this blog is called Wisdom in Silence because there is, I’ve learned, and while I still open my mouth to massive torrents of words sometimes, I’ve also learned to close the floodgate and just listen. And that has allowed a richer human being to be blogging here today.

So put that on a fortune cookie if you can.