It’s been four and a half months since I talked about my passion for walking, and all the clear and obvious benefits I’d gotten from the simple act of going out every day and exercising. That was a popular post back then, and getting in that habit was one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself.

Two and a half months ago, I got back out of the habit. And I’ve been paying the price ever since.

I have to feel a little bit stupid, saying it like that. I wrote that blog post with a perfect understanding of exactly what exercise meant to me, and still somehow managed to get off track.

It wasn’t too hard. I started school. I published a book. And I still had a full-time job, and a full-time family, and all the little unpredictable catastrophes we all face every day.

Those are the same kind of arguments that made it so hard for me to get started in the first place, but when I did, I saw such results that I made the time to walk. Right up until September.

Since then, I’ve been stressed. I’ve been working long hours and sleeping short ones. I’ve been gaining weight (although, thankfully, not too much), and hiding from social interactions, and wrestling with all kinds of things I thought I’d left behind.

I knew it, too. I knew all of this was happening, I watched it happen, and I knew every moment of it what the solution was. I’d come home from work, crash on the couch, and tell Trish, “I’ve got to get started walking again.”

And then I wouldn’t. Maybe tomorrow. And then the next thing I know, October’s almost gone.

It finally got bad enough the last weekend of October. I knew NaNoWriMo was approaching, and I knew just how much I wanted to get done. I knew I had big homework assignments due in November, too, and several deadlines at work. I knew how much I needed to finish in October if November was going to happen at all….

And I knew it wasn’t done. The last weekend of October rolled around, and I spent all my free time that weekend napping. Like all the rest, that was a symptom I recognized — one I knew all too well.

So I came home from work Monday (tired as ever), changed into my running shoes, and went for a jog. And by the time I got home, I felt better. Physically, mentally, emotionally…I was firing on all cylinders. I used that energy to get some work done, too.

It was exciting to be back to it. I made my plans for Tuesday afternoon. And Wednesday work and classes would keep me busy until nearly 11 at night, so I just decided to wake up early and go running then. I’d gladly give up an hour of sleep to feel this good….

Except I didn’t. I didn’t work out when I got home on Tuesday, and when the alarm went off Wednesday morning I slept right through it. Thursday I walked again, but then Friday we had plans right after work, and I couldn’t quite find the time. Saturday I was busy, but Sunday I went out again.

That’s been my whole November. I’m getting in my recommended 45 minutes, 3 times a week, but it’s nothing like the miracle cure I experienced last spring. And, worse than that, it’s hard.

When I was in the habit of doing it every single day, it was easy to slip on the shoes and go. When I’m only doing it sometimes, I have to fight with myself every time. I have to consider all the reasons I’m too busy today, all the reasons I should just put this off until tomorrow…and if I’m not careful, next thing I know, it’ll be January.

I’m not interested in letting that happen. I can’t afford to. So I work out every chance I get, and when the chances don’t show up…I’m working on making them.

Wish me luck. I’m going to need it.

I talked on Tuesday about climbing mountains — about facing and overcoming an arbitrary challenge in an arbitrary amount of time, just to become a better person. And now…welcome to NaNoWriMo Week Two.

For the productive among us (or just the prepared) Week One was all about the pell-mell rush into productivity, and Week Two was when they slammed to a painful stop. There’s another set of WriMos out there who wrestle with Week Two for a completely different reason, though:

We showed up late.

Remember last week’s story about my Category Fiction class, and those eleven novels I’ve had to read? Three of those novels came due in November, and one of them required a major paper. So I spent my first work week writing on my novel when I could, but mostly I was focused on getting a month’s worth of homework out of the way.

Of all my classmates this semester, I only know one who’s doing NaNoWriMo, and I asked her last night what her word count was. She shrugged one shoulder, gave me a story much like that one (since she’s taking the same class I am), and said her count was just over 2,000, but she was really ready to get going now. That’s quite a deficit to start with, though.

Writing a Book

No matter why you find Week Two frustrating, most writers find Week Two frustrating. That’s okay. It’s part of the process. In fact, if you’ve been reading your pep talk emails (and you should be), you’ve now heard two successful writers tell you precisely that.

The thing about Week Two is that it forces us to realize (or remember, if we’ve done this before) just how big a project writing a book is. Writing 1,667 words a day isn’t so huge. It’s kinda like hearing you’re going to scale a 13,000-foot mountain with reasonable hiking trails. That’s a doable thing. It could be a pleasant day trip.

When you realize you’re doing it with a group of twenty inexperienced lowlanders, though, and the nobody gets to the top unless everybody gets to the top, suddenly it becomes a challenge.

Because the trick isn’t hitting a target of vertical-feet-per-hour. The trick is coordinating a whole bunch of moving parts, some of which are working directly against you, and shepherding the whole lot of them into a real challenge.

It’s the same way with NaNoWriMo. The trick isn’t really getting words on the page, no matter what Chris Baty says. During the course of one month you’ve got to create a cast of character, dream up a plot, manage an outline, suppress an inner editor, and somehow find your way to an ending. That’s a lot of coordinating.

Every scene I write tries to take on a life of its own, deviating from the path I’ve set out for my book. Every time my nuisance/nemesis character (Eddie McSisters) says something charming, he risks wrecking the plot points my later pages depend on.

On the other hand, a lot of the time those deviations represent the true life of a writing project. They can be a nudge toward a much better story. If I follow that nudge, though, I’ll have to come up with a new plot, and find a way to a different ending. That’s a lot more work, and most of it doesn’t take place in the document that counts toward my total words.

Getting Behind

Week Two is all about writing from behind.

• Maybe you’re starting from a deficit because you had other projects distracting you.
• Maybe you’re struggling to hit your daily minimum because you’re too busy doing maintenance on your reference documents.
• Maybe you’re ahead of schedule, but you still feel behind because you can’t come close to the productivity you were achieving last week.

It doesn’t matter why. Week Two is all about writing from behind, and learning a critical lesson that every successful writer must eventually master:

Success has nothing to do with staying ahead. Success is catching up.

I once said that I used to try, at least once a year, to go skiing or mountain climbing. I’m finding my unwritten memory as unreliable as ever, but to my best recollection, I’ve climbed four mountains. Walker and Wheeler in New Mexico (both peaks a one-day climb out of Red River), and two more while on Wilderness Trek in Colorado.

Wilderness Trek was an interesting experience. The first time I went, it was with a group from our church that included me, Brian from that skiing story (this was about a year before that story took place), and one or our deacons or elders who irritated and intimidated me.

For that matter, Brian and I didn’t get along too well, either. We ended up climbing with a large group from Duncan, OK. We went up the mountain, came back down, and by the end of that we were all friends.

It’s odd, but that’s really all I remember of my first time on Trek. Brian and I both came back with such good things to say about it, though, that the next year our youth group put together a full 20-member group, including me and my sisters and all my friends but Trish.

And that one I remember. We drove out to Colorado, to some campground up in the mountains, and got to spend an evening in cabins before going to a big dinner together in the central meeting room.

That was Saturday night, and Sunday morning we got up early, had a little devotional, then brought out packs with us and rode in vans away from the camp and up into the mountains. We spent a long afternoon rappelling — killing time while us flatlanders acclimated to the higher altitude — and then struck out for Base Camp, which was no more than an hour’s hike into the woods.

There we set up camp, lit fires, and prepared dinner under the close supervision of our guides.  Afterward, sun setting, we had another impromptu devotional, and then we were dismissed.  We explored a little bit, played cards, I wrote in my scribblebook, but mostly we talked. The whole event was set up to create connections.

Monday morning we broke camp and hiked all day. That was the hardest day by far, pushing through lots of different terrain. None of it required ropes or climbing gear, but there were steep climbs, there were tricky boulders and dense woods.

After stopping for a break, one of our guides accidentally left six or seven of our group off on an alternate route up the mountain, and it took a while before that was discovered. Then we had to double back, and suddenly the mountain felt very big, and our guide seemed very small. The other group ended up doubling back, too, and they met us nearly back to the point we’d separated. Then we all had to push double-time — many of us back over ground we’d already covered twice — to make it to High Camp before nightfall.

We threw our tents up quickly that night, threw together a cold dinner long after the sun had set, and huddled together in little groups instead of playing Frisbee and Hacky Sack. Still, there were stories to tell. It was a scary day.

Tuesday, we pushed the summit. We’d had to push hard Monday night, to get into position, because afternoon thunderstorms can be a real threat on Rocky Mountain peaks, so we absolutely had to get to the top of the mountain and start heading back down by noon.

Because things had gone wrong on Monday, though, our big group of inexperienced climbers was more exhausted than usual, and we had a couple injuries. It was nothing serious — a sprained ankle, a sore knee — but it was enough to slow us down. We decided as a group not to leave anyone behind, and the stronger among us helped the injured along.

We broke out of the tree line early in the morning, and from there on it was dry brown rocks, all the way to the peak. I remember starting the morning thinking I was one of the injured (with an old sore in my right ankle slowing me down), but an hour into the hike I was one of the helpers. I even ended up carrying my older sister’s pack for an hour, and I think that was one of the first steps in us rebuilding a relationship that had been seriously strained by…well, being adolescent siblings.

We made the summit, too, with five minutes to spare. Everyone looked around, we snapped a bunch of pictures, and then our guides clapped their hands loudly to get our attention and herded us right back down the mountain.

Getting down is harder than going up. It may seem strange, but it’s true. On top of that, we were worn out from the climb, so the path that had taken us four hours ascending took us about seven in the descent.

We made it, though, and then our guides told us all to take a break while they prepared dinner for us. It was a glorious feast, and by the time we set into our dessert we were all in high spirits, because we’d done something amazing.

Looking back on it now — comparing it to those two one-day climbs in New Mexico — I really don’t think there was much of a difference in the mountains. The group was larger, maybe less experienced, but a lot of it came from the guides, too.

They chose a path that pushed us, harder than it needed to be, to force us to take the time and grow through the experience. We did, too. Every one of us came back from that experience changed.

I’m quite lucky to be surrounded by the kind of creative talent I am, and quite conniving to get all that talent working on my behalf. That’s something I think (and am told) fairly often, but in this case it’s because of yesterday’s guest post.

With no prompting whatsoever, Courtney wrote a perfect introduction to this week’s writing series. I wanted to talk about the role of inspiration for the serious writer.

Chasing Inspiration

That’s not a new topic at Unstressed Syllables. Courtney and I both have mentioned it at times, and almost always in the same context:

Enjoy it when you’ve got it, and write anyway when you haven’t.

That’s a core tenet of daily writing. In fact, that’s most of the point. If you want to be a master of your craft (instead of a slave to it), you have to be able to write on your schedule — not on the schedule of some fickle muse.

Dividing Your Efforts

And that’s just the problem: it’s fickle. I almost used the word “elusive” before, but that’s not quite right. If you’re really trying to be an artist (and since you’re putting in the time to read this article, I’m sure you are), chances are good you’ve had your fair share of run-ins with inspiration.

Inspiration is amazing. Inspiration is wonderful. I’ve told the story of the time inspiration drove me to finish my first novel overnight — doing as much before dawn as many serious contestants do during all of NaNoWriMo.

The problem is, it usually doesn’t work that way. It usually does the opposite, prompting you with the start of a story. That’s my experience, anyway. I’ve got a real knack for stumbling across an extraordinarily compelling book idea every two or three months.

Problem is, I’m not producing at that rate. That means, for every shiny new story I start on, I leave a whole pile of unfinished (and quite promising) titles back in the pile.

I mention that as a warning. Too often, everything you read on this topic is about the dangers of not writing while waiting for inspiration, and that’s because it’s a bigger tragedy.

For most creative types, though, the danger of skipping from project to project is much higher. Instead of leading to roadblocks, chasing after inspiration can be more like following a will-o-the-wisp as it leads you merrily off into the woods, never to see your former project again.

Finishing What You’ve Started

I wish I could say that the answer is to ignore that siren call (to mix my mythy metaphors), to find within yourself the self-control and personal determination to complete the project that needs completing. And…well, I will.

The thing that separates a real writer from someone who wants to be a writer, ultimately, is the ability to write all the way to an ending. Lots of people start lots of creative projects, but only a handful of them ever see anything through to completion.

And that’s what NaNoWriMo is all about: prodding you on toward completion. Ideally, that means you buckle down, focus hard, and write a perfect new novel start to finish.

Making a Casserole

That’s not always how it turns out in reality, though. Last year, facing the imminent start of NaNoWriMo, I couldn’t decide which project to work on. I had two unfinished projects that needed ends, one brand new novel with most of its prewriting done, and a series of non-fiction articles I wanted to expand into a book.

I chose the right one. The new novel. Oberon’s Dreams. It was perfect for NaNoWriMo. I went to the infamous 2009 kickoff party, bragged about having a scribblebook so I could write even when everyone with their laptops realized there was no wifi…and then I sat there with nothing to write.

I panicked. Tons of prewriting done (same as Courtney talked about yesterday), weeks of preparation put into this, and yet I didn’t have a single word to write. Seconds ticked by, minutes, and then inspiration struck.

For a scene in one of the half-finished books.

I worked on that instead, putting off the blank page until a time when I wasn’t so tired. Then the next morning, bright and early, I sat down to write…and ended up working on the other unfinished novel. By the end of the month I had more than 50,000 new words spread over half a dozen projects, all pasted together into a single Google Doc like some sort of story casserole, and in the whole bulk of it there was less than a page written on Oberon’s Dreams.

Working in Parallel

This year isn’t any better. I’m bouncing like a pinball from Thriller to Sci-Fi to Young Adult to Paranormal Romance, and back again. What matters, though, is that I’m finishing projects.

Last year I finished two in November (and made significant progress on two more). This year I intend to finish one (my highest priority) no later than the 15th. I’ll be working on three or four more in parallel, though, and the moment I write The End on my Ghost Targets book, I’m pouring all that time straight into Seatac.

That won’t necessarily work for everyone, but it certainly works for me. I’m way ahead on word count already, and I don’t really feel like I’ve even had a chance to really get started yet.

But I spent years accomplishing nothing because I was following those same impulses…and leaving projects behind. These days, I’ve got the discipline to stick to an old project, even when a shiny new one comes along. That’s the trick. Working in parallel, instead of hopping from one thing to the next.

Eventually, it gets to be too much. Eventually, you’re spread too thin — and that is true for everyone. Maybe your limit is four or five projects at once. Maybe it’s one. Whatever it is, you’ve got to know your limit…and stop taking new ones until one of the old ones is done.

NaNoWriMo is always a busy time of year, even without the 50,000 word commitment, and as my fourth NaNoWriMo kicks into gear I find myself halfway through the first semester of a graduate degree at the University of Oklahoma.

I’m taking “Writing the Screenplay” which requires me to write a feature-length movie by mid-December, and I’m taking “Category Fiction” which has me reading 12 novels in 14 weeks. I’ll be writing a major paper (15-20 pages, worth 25% of my grade) over Die Trying, a novel by Lee Child, and that’ll be due the day before Thanksgiving break.

Knowing I’d have a major paper due late in NaNoWriMo, I decided to get an early start on it (probably for the first time in my academic career). So I spent last week finishing up our last Fantasy novel (A Curse Dark as Gold by Elizabeth Bunce, which I highly recommend), and then dove straight into Die Trying.

I read it in two days, and over the weekend I got a rough draft of my paper written. I’m pretty proud of myself. I also found myself having to fight the urge to buy the next book in the series — for the first time this semester.

At this point, we as a class have read six books: How to Train Your Dragon, Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life, The Cinderella Deal, First Lady, Hunger Games, and A Curse Dark as Gold. I’ve really like four of those (all but the two Romance titles in the middle). I’ve recommended them. I’ve defended them in class discussions.

Mainly I’ve defended them against one particular classmate, Jordan, who’s the most outspoken aside from me. And he’s viciously critical. I’ve learned over these few weeks that there are readers who expect extraordinary things from every book they pick up. He’s one of them.

He’s also become a good friend. After class we’ll walk to the parking garage together, carrying on a conversation we didn’t have time to finish during the 75-minute period. And last time, as we were walking, I asked him how he could be such an avid reader if he hated books so much.

He tilted his head, and said,

I don’t hate them. Oh, I can be critical, but it’s because I’m always looking for the best. The only time you’ll hear me say, ‘This book is awesome!’ is when that’s the best book I’ve read — by that author, or on that topic, or in that genre. Once I’ve read that, though, everything worse than that book is just okay. It might be better than average, but if it’s not as good as the best, I can’t really sing its praises.

I guess I’m way more of a cheerleader than that. I enjoy finding the positives in the books I read, even if they’re only mediocre overall. I enjoy spotting an artist’s genius, even if I have to do a little digging to find it. So, six books into the semester, the only two we’ve agreed on were the two we both intensely disliked.

But then, as I was writing my paper on Die Trying last weekend and trying to resist the urge to buy the sequel, something struck me: that was the first time all semester I’d felt that urge. Even Hunger Games left me astonished, impressed, excited about her vivid fantasy world…and entirely uninterested in reading the sequel.

Instead, it made me want to write a post-apocalyptic adventure. Jeremy Fink inspired me to write a coming-of-age young-adult mainstream novel (that I’ll probably be working on in November). How to Train Your Dragon had me chomping at the bit to dust off Taming Fire and get it ready for primetime. A Curse Dark as Gold, which I told the whole class I’d loved, really just made me want to try my hand at a historical fairy tale. Die Trying is the first book that actually made me want to read — all the rest just made me want to write.

Lucky for me, I’ve got a whole month dedicated just to that. I’m ready to go. I’ve been ready since late September. NaNoWriMo, here we come!