Life-Hack for the Writer

In life, there are few things I like better than knowing that some of the people I love best sometimes take the short-cuts I love. There's a trend going around on Pinterest - how repetitive that feels! - of people posting these things called "life hacks". I don't exactly want my life hacked, but I think what it means is Ways To Do Things That Make Life Easier. Today, I'm here to give you a Writer's Life Hack from P.G. Wodehouse himself:

Ask for Help

We, as writers, value our independence. Some of us have self-published and are therefore terribly conscious of our space, our needs, our turf, and our lack of marketing reach. How short is the reach of an arm that lauds itself! (That sounds like some ancient proverb. It isn't. It's a new one I just made up but it thoroughly represents the trouble of marketing your novel on your word alone.) But I'm not here to talk about the difficulties of marketing your work. Independence. 

I am going to assume that each of you gets stuck in your writing process sometimes. Not writer's block, exactly (I heard someone say once that Writer's Block is a disease that affects amateurs), but the sticky mires of What The Heck Comes Next? For some of you it might be character creation, or the research that must go into your setting. For me, it's plot and structure. I can have all the bright baubles of humor, wit, sass, great characters, promising setting, and nothing for all these fine-feathered blokes to do. When you get to such a spot, it is quite easy to panic and figure that successful writers (or, on a bad day, "'Real Writers") never experience the same. I surely never assumed that someone like P.G. Wodehouse would ever have found himself short up on plot or, if he did, he drank some Jeeves-esque cocktail that jolted him out of it and into a success like Something Fresh.

Recently, I read P.G. Wodehouse: a Life in Letters edited by Sophie Ratcliffe. I found many interesting things among this prolific writer's correspondence, but the most surprising and, hence, most gratifying, was the number of times he begged plotting help from his colleagues and gave it to them in return:

"If you have a moment of leisure, here is a bit of a story that is bothering me. I want a tough burglar to break into a country-house and there to have such a series of mishaps that his nerve breaks and he retires from the profession. The conditions can be anything you like, - e.g. Pekingese on the floor who bite his ankle, etc. It ought to be one of my big comic scenes like the flower-pot scene in Leave it to Psmith. Don't bother about it if you are busy, but if anything occurs to you send it along."

and later:

"Listen, laddie. Have you read 'Pig-Hoo-o-o-o-ey'? I have a sort of idea you once wrote a story constructed on those lines - i.e. some perfectly trivial thing which is important to a man and the story is apparently about how he gets it. But in the process of getting it he gets entangled in somebody else's love story and all sorts of things happen but he pays no attention to them, being wholly concentrated on his small thing. If you never did a yarn on these lines, try one with Cap Crupper. It's an awfully good formula."

There are so many instances of advice begged and advice given that I'm holding this book rather close and taking notes. Is there anything like correspondence between writers to give one a peek into what made them successful? With so many occasions of P.G. Wodehouse begging help, I had to acknowledge that there might be something to the idea. What then? Why would it be a good idea to beg someone to help you out of your rut? The answer is obvious:

Other writers are gifted in other areas.

It amazes me how many spiritual parallels one can draw from writing. I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised - Dorothy Sayers did much the same thing (though in reverse) with The Mind of The Maker. We are told that within the body of Christ, we are given various gifts and talents:

"For in fact the body is not one member but many. If the foot should say, 'Because I am not a hand, I am not of the body,' is it therefore not of the body? And if the ear should say, 'Because I am not an eye, I am not of the body,' is it therefore not of the body? If the whole body were an eye, where would be the hearing? If the whole were hearing, where would be the smelling? But now God has set the members, each one of them, in the body just as He pleased. And if they were all one member, where would the body be?"

- 1 Corinthians 12: 14-19

Continuing this mental exercise, each of us is gifted in a certain realm of writing talent. There are very few - indeed, show me one - who are good at all of it all of the time. We must choose someone, one person if you cannot bear the idea of more, and ask for help at some point in time. The trick is that we have to be humble enough to take their suggestions and adapt them to fit our idea. That is probably the toughest part of the whole thing. I feel so independent that it can be a struggle for me to not reject ideas based on the fact that I did not think of them first. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it is true. I suppose it comes from some shadowy fear of plagiarism, or not being able to say, 'I wrote this book' because one aspect of it - heck, even a phrase - was not my own but was brought to mind by someone else. However, there is a difference between plagiarism and between, as Austin Kleon says, "Stealing like an artist". There is a way to accept ideas and even pay homage to other authors' work without copying just as there is a way to take fashion advice and inspiration without having to buy the $1253 dress from Michael Kors.

Yesterday, I asked Jenny for plotting advice. Last week, I got a whole email full of advice for Anon, Sir, Anon from Elisabeth Foley and what's more, I intend to examine and apply some of it. I didn't come to this point easily. It still isn't comfortable to go to a friend and say, "Look, I haven't the foggiest what I ought to do with this, but if you can figure it out and tell me, I'll work with it." But sometimes that is what you need and that could possibly be the only place you'll find that perfect idea.

If anyone ever criticizes you for this method, send them here. You know what I'll tell them?

"P.G. Wodehouse did it."

That'll probably shut them up.

Pay Up, Globe-Trotter

"Where HAVE you been?" Their voices were cold, accusing, and I knew I was in for it.

"I've been....I've been..."

"Don't say busy," the Larger One warned, his breath coming in chilly-looking puffs from his over-red nostrils.

"I was about to say gone," I corrected. "I've been gone, that's what."

"Ohhhh. Gone." Their eyes commiserated with one another as if to say, 'That's no excuse at all, but I suppose we must take it.' "Well, next time at least tell us."

I nodded, relieved that All and Sundry hadn't booted me off the blogosphere and blotted me out of their minds. "Next time I'll tell you."

"Is that a promise?" the Larger One inquired.

"It is."

"And your word is good?"

"It is good."

"Then," he said, "I suppose we must forgive you."

-Pay Up, Globe-Trotter (an unofficial series of reprimands to Myself from Me)

I have been globe-trotting once again and instructing 130-some students in the mysteries of Political Involvement as Youth in America, and shepherding their hearts toward Christ, and buying more Wodehouse and Machiavelli and a bit of Shakespeare to balance it out. I did forget to tell you I was leaving, but you see, I didn't think there was much purpose in posting about writing when I hadn't been doing it in practice because that is called Deception in most nations and is generally frowned upon. I have, however, been doing a lot of Conversation and much Converting. I have found a mutual Wodehouse-Lover quite by accident when we were lolling about my brother's apartment and said Lover of Wodehouse made fun of me for adoring Scotch accents and then promptly remembered The Coming of Gowf, which he then proceeded to read amidst much chuckling from me and the rest of the assembled company. Then, after having taught kids how to be a lobbyist (or, rather, how to discern whether you ought to take money from a particular lobbyist or not) I lobbied feverishly to convince the very wise and learned minds of Jeremiah Lorrig & Co. of the worth of Winnie-The-Pooh. I could hardly believe that anyone of so broad and genteel a mind could have managed to grow up and entirely escape an acquaintance with A.A. Milne. I remedied that by having another unacquainted friend read us a bit. They laughed even harder than they did over Gowf. I think I have converted them. This pleases me.

As far as the production of Writing, it has been very slow in practice, but productive in the fact that I've been thinking and reading a great deal, and my store of expendable-matter is now finally filling back up. I'd quite drained it a month or two back. I failed to mention to you that beyond my novel-writing, I am also going all-tackle into a non-fiction book that you can read about in this post. I am excited about this very different way to use my talents that will, hopefully, be fruitful. It is a project I need to read myself, and thus I sort of have fallen into having to write it as well.

In addition, I have been rummaging up all sorts of peachy ideas for Fly Away Home-themed this-and-that which you might be able to buy someday. I will keep you updated on all things pertaining to that. I am in the process, actually, of making some rather large decisions. (Don't get too excited, I haven't been offered any contracts.) In other news, I would like to do a plug for two friends. First off, Mirriam Neal:
She is releasing her pro-life, gripping, threatening, victory-claiming novel, Monster. I was so excited to hear that this novel was finally coming out because by Jove! I read the first edition and cried. It is such a good story. Dark and terrible at moments, but so full of light in the end! It's a book I think every American needs to read since we are facing large decisions about the preciousness of Life. Please buy a copy when it comes out. You can read more about it here.

Also, my details-loving friend Rachelle Rea (whose work I totally recommend, as I've experienced its healing scourge) has started in as a freelance editor!  I may or may not have mentioned her already, but of all the beginning-editors I know, Rachelle has the credentials. She's done unofficial editing (but professional quality) for several years, and if you're needing an extra brain to coincide with your own when it comes to judging your book, please give her a chance! In closing, (because Alfredo-sauce-making calls) I will leave you with this Cleverness of Wodehouse which I happened upon on the drive home. It says it's about portrait-painters, but I swear he meant Aspiring Novelists:

"A portrait-painter, he called himself, but as a matter of fact his score up to date had been nil. You see, the catch about portrait-painting--I've looked into the thing a bit--is that you can't started painting portraits till people come along and ask you to, and they won't come and ask you to until you've painted a lot first. This makes it kind of difficult , not to say tough, for the ambitious youngster."

-Carry On, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse

P.S. How would you feel about another contest?

Jeeves and W--Percy.

Since my mind has been gamboling 'round Wodehouse lately, and since it never strays far from thinking about The Scarlet Pimpernel at any time, I recently recalled a very intriguing post one of the sharp-eyed Leaguettes of The Day Dream had written up concerning P.G. Wodehouse mentioning The Scarlet Pimpernel and even spoofing it in one of his own novels. This post I have copied down in hopes that you will give them all the credit, pop over to their blog to look at the rest of their genius, and enjoy this sighting of Sir Percy smack-dab in the center of Jeeves.

From Sink Me! A period-drama nonsense blog--must read.

“And with the graceful gesture of an accomplished dandy, Sir Percy flicked off a grain of a dust from his immaculate Mechlin ruffles.” (-I Will Repay by Baroness Orczy)

“Sir Percy Blakeney- a prisoner since seventeen days in close, solitary confinement, half-starved, deprived of rest, and of that mental and physical activity which had been the very essence of life to him hitherto- might be outwardly but a shadow of his former brilliant self, but nevertheless he was still that same elegant English gentleman, that prince of dandies whom Chauvelin had first met eighteen months ago at the most courtly Court in Europe.  His clothes, despite constant wear and the want of attention from a scrupulous valet, still betrayed the perfection of London tailoring; he had put them on with meticulous care, they were free from the slightest particle of dust, and the flimy folds of priceless Mechlin still half-veiled the delicate whiteness of his shapely hands.”  (-El Dorado by Baroness Orczy)

“I remember reading in one of those historical novels once about a chap -a buck he would have been, no doubt, or a macaroni or some such bird as that- who, when people said the wrong thing, merely laughed down from lazy eyelids and flicked a speak of dust from the irreproachable Mechlin lace at his wrists.  This was practically what I did now.  At least, I straightened my tie and smiled one of those inscrutable smiles of mine.  I then withdrew and went out for a saunter in the garden.”  (-Right Ho, Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse)

“I know you did, Jeeves,”  I said, laughing down from lazy eyelids and nicking a speck of dust from the irreproachable Mechlin lace at my wrists."  (-ibid.)

"Psmith flicked a speck of dust from his coat sleeve."  (Mike and Psmith by P.G. Wodehouse)

What more is there to say?

(And I, Rachel, say that if I have to say something more it shall only be that you ought to read something of Wodehouse. Please do. It just about takes the giddy biscuit and that's no fib.)

Your Daily Dose of Genius... :)

I have just begun reading P.G. Wodehouse's Thank you, Jeeves. Long had I heard about this character, Jeeves, and yet I knew nothing about him. I had heard about Bertram Wooster, of course, in Something Fresh, but sadly no Jeeves. Then I went online with a dubious expression on my face to see if our library system might have any hint of Wodehouse about it. They did. They had rather a lot of Wodehouse about them. I was very happy.

 I am proud to say that I have found another favorite author in P.G. Wodehouse. There is something about his writing that fires my brain. It doesn't pen-slay me--it's too light and laughing for that--but it inspires me and eggs me on and makes me want to sit down and write brilliant characters who have such hilarious misadventures. :) The author also has an uncanny ability to describe things in his dry, British way so that I routinely laugh aloud. Cricket was staring in a "Good grief!" way this morning as I read over a hilarious scene and chuckled to myself. He is so original he leaves me breathless and marveling. I could sit there laughing like a loon for hours...and I do. :D Here's what I mean:

"She looked as if she had been poured into her clothes and had forgotten to say 'when.'"

***

"She gave me the sort of look she would have given a leper she wasn't fond of."

***

"I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled." <--that is pure genius in my book.

***

"The least thing upset him on the links. He missed short putts because of the uproar of the butterflies in the adjoining meadow." 

***

“What ho!" I said. 
"What ho!" said Motty. 
"What ho! What ho!" 
"What ho! What ho! What ho!" 
After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation.”

***

“There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself, 'Do trousers matter?'" "The mood will pass, sir.”

***

“Lady Glossip: Mr. Wooster, how would you support a wife? Bertie Wooster: Well, I suppose it depends on who's wife it was, a little gentle pressure beneath the elbow while crossing a busy street usually fits the bill.”

***

“The drowsy stillness of the afternoon was shattered by what sounded to his strained senses like G.K. Chesterton falling on a sheet of tin.” 

If that did not cause you to snort, chuckle, laugh, or guffaw, I'm afraid it's all up with you--you must have swallowed your sense of humor by mistake when you thought it was your clumpy oatmeal. Do go fetch a doctor to examine you. I am much worried by your symptoms. ;)

Something Fresh: My new love affair with Wodehouse. :)

I love P.G. Wodehouse. A friend brought me Something Fresh to read when she came up, and I devoured it in an evening and a morning. I am now a sworn Wodehouse fan (despite how stupid I sound walking about saying "Wodehouse" as if I was Lady Cumnor in Wives and Daughters: "She expwesses hewself vewy fwankly, Cwaire." :P) Something Fresh was the first of the Blandings Castle books and it was enough to convince me that P.G. Wodehouse is now a favorite author of mine. There is an indescribable something or other about him that resonates with me and makes me want more...now to see if our abominable library has anything of Jeeves about it. Toodles! I'm going to see a Broadway show this evening! (*eeep!*) Not on Broadway of course, but it is one of the traveling set, and my uncle is playing 60 (yes, count them) percussion instruments in it! :) I think that's something to feel a tidge of family pride in, eh? :) But I've got to get all my baking done before then so I'd better scat!

                "The Lining of my Stomach is not what the Lining of my Stomach ought to be."

 -Beach, the Butler

***

"What is a Black Wand of Death?"

-Ashe Marson <3

***

"What a dashed business!...and I was so dashed happy!"

-The Hon. Freddie Threepwood

 

(oh yes, I do love Wodehouse! :)

P.S. I discovered this morning (as I hit over 69,000 words in The Scarlet-Gypsy Song!) that a violent thunderstorm is just the right time to write a battle scene. :)