Whew.

We'll see how it looks tomorrow.

4,172 words from the end of this draft, and this book starts screaming for a new and different ending. It says I've got it all wrong, I just don't understand its true inner self, and where it's headed now. The old one doesn't make it happy any more.

And I've tried, really, I've tried. I've spliced and diced scenes into other scenes, trying to give it everything I possibly can, trying my best to support it as it goes. Trying to keep from holding it back. It's hard, when you can see something better than what you've got the skill to create.

And I think it's right, but I don't know how to do it yet. I know the elements, but I don't know the shape or the flow. This is one of the monsters that lives under the beds of writers: that blurry shape of knowing you can come so far, and still not know how to finish. I think it's all of these, exhaustion, indecision, and not being able to find the perfect puzzle piece, or losing sight of the puzzle altogether, that feeds into the endings I find unsatisfying.

1. I can see that the end that's in my old draft is wrong. Not in its components, but the shape of how it hits the page.

2. I know that the right end needs to match the book, and I now understand the book better than I ever have before.

But I cannot find the shape. And this is not something I can outline, or diagram, or ask someone else. It has to come from the same place the "Aha!" comes from, and I cannot force the "Aha!".

So I will have a handful of chocolate chips. And a walk. And I will give my brain nothing else to play with until it finds the shape of the true end. Because I am not on deadline, and this is not a performance art (thank you for this wisdom, matociquala). I may be lacking in talent and skill -- some days it certainly feels that way -- but I've got stubborness in spades. And I will not give up.

I'm in the middle of revisions again, tearing my hair and rending my sheets (of paper), and I'm in the deep, dark middle, where I wonder if I'm actually making the book better or not. And even though I know more about my own processes and also about what other writers advise, the tensions are growing, not decreasing. Because all the reasons sound good. All the arguments have validity. And this is yet another area where the answer is "it depends", and where I must pick my own way through. What's right for me, for this book, for this revision, for this point in my own learning?

In one camp: the writers who say that the job of the writer is to keep writing books, each one hopefully being stronger than the last. I've found it's true that it's easier to write a new, better book than it is to fix an older one. I also believe them when they say this is the job of the professional writer; few authors can live on the sale of one book for long. Beginning writers who follow this approach strictly often end up with 5-10 unpublished novels buried beneath their beds. (Note to those of you who don't hang out with writers: this is not sarcasm, this is what it can take to learn the craft.)

In another camp are the Walt Whitmans, those who polish the same novel over and over and over, trying to make it perfect. I've found that I learn different skills when I write later drafts than when I write new novels; my brain engages in different ways, and I'm able to look at different views of it. I also do believe that it's best to make sure my work is in the best possible shape when I look for an agent and try to sell a book in the current market. Beginning writers who follow this approach strictly often end up with 10-15 drafts of the same novel, and no other books. (Again, not joking, nor am I saying this is a bad thing: this is the process of learning to write, an apprenticeship, not a career approach.)

I'm somewhere in the middle, these days. I've written six novels to varying degrees, with a seventh poking at my brain, but it has taken me a number of drafts to learn how to really make them shine. It's been a good mix for my learning, partly because the skills involved are different: learning to begin novels doesn't teach me how to end novels. Learning to write novels doesn't teach me how to rewrite novels. And I tend to follow a layering approach; I can't usually get it all the way I want it in a single pass, because I can't look at it on all levels in a single pass (plot arc, sentence-level, rhythmic, thematic, series-wide, etc.) The more I write (and the more I revise), the more I'm able to hold in my head at once, but it's still difficult. And although I'm excited to move on to the next set of skills I really need to work on (presenting my work to possible agents), I also want to make sure I'm not shortchanging the work I've put in by rushing my learning. I figure time is on my side up until I sell a book; after that, I need to be able to produce quality work quickly, to keep my name alive in the market. So I better make sure I've learned as much as I can before then.

I've spent a lot of years trying to match readers up with books. So, periodically I become re-obsessed with appeal characteristics and doorways and other methods of categorizing the things readers look for in books.

Because most readers ask for books in code.

"I want to read something really good."

"I'm looking for a fun beach read."

"I like books I can't put down."

"I want something I've never read before."

"I need a comfort read."

These are really general statements, unless you pick up on the code. So, for instance, I usually associate "really good" books with award-winning literary novels that focus heavily on language. "Beach read" indicates light tone and a hopeful/happy ending that bring out a general sense of well-being in the reader. "Can't put down" is often fast pacing, lots of action. "Something I've never read before" can be idea or setting (say, Stiff by Mary Roach or The Red Tent by Anita Diamant, as examples). "Comfort read" is a specific tone/emotion combined with a slower pacing, to my mind, and may have characters triumphing over emotional hardships. But there's no guarantee we're speaking the same code here.

Why even bring this up? Because the more I read and the more I talk about books and think about books, the more I understand what I want to read at any given moment. And the better I get at putting that understanding into words, the better chance I have that other book-loving folks will think of something marvelous that fits my need. Hoorah for book match-making!

So tell me: what kind of book are you looking for right now?

(I want a funny book with a strong voice that isn't so compelling I miss my bus stops, to be my new favorite bus read and to put me in a good mood all day long. Any suggestions?)

In a conversation at WisCon, I was asked to share my list of questions for prospective agents. I'll start carrying these with me at all times once I begin querying the latest project, just in case. (An excellent memory is not one of my gifts, alas.) I've borrowed and adapted this from various agent and writing blogs that either suggested questions outright or made me think about what I really wanted to know and how to go about finding it out. (agent arcaedia and Agent Kristin come to mind particularly, but I know there have been lots more sources!) So, I give the knowledge I gained back to the interwebs for the purposes of once and future edification...

My personal list of questions for an agent who wants to sign me as a client, in no particular order:

QUESTIONS FOR PROSPECTIVE AGENTS, Or, After the Squeeing and Before the Answer:
Please note, I don't ask everyone I query these questions. (I have a separate research list for information such as current clients, AAR membership, accepting submissions, etc, but those are things I can generally find on the web.) These are only for agents who are interested in me as a client. It's also not an exhaustive list; it's something to keep my mind from going blank. These are my interview questions, the ones I want to ask before signing with an agent, to help me determine whether this agent would be a good fit for me and the kind of career I want. That means they're also specific to me, and so you'll have to think about what to include on your own list, and why. Do note the lack of yes/no questions on this list.

What do you like best about my work?

How would you pitch this book?

What do you see as this book's biggest challenge?

Do you see this book as "hot"? Why or why not?

What do you see as the next steps for this book?

How do you see those next steps fitting into a career?

What would you love to see next from me?

What do you expect of your authors?

What would concern you about an author?

What do you offer your authors?

Can you describe an ideal working relationship?

What have you learned from past problems with authors?

I am a planner, and I am planning for a writing career. In your opinion, what are some of the strongest early career moves an author can make?

What are some of the weakest moves?

Other books planned or in progress fall in three different fantasy subgenres. How would you approach this from an agent perspective?

How would you recommend I approach this from a writing career perspective?

(What is your agency agreement, if unknown)

Do you have any questions for me?

So, do you all have questions for me about these questions? Other suggestions, or questions you wish you'd asked? Links to your own lists? Let's share the knowledge!

Yes, I'm home again, and glad to be here,though WisCon was amazing and overwhelming, as always. Part of what I love about going is having those days to focus solely on being a writer and reader -- to only think about that one aspect of my life. And one of the wonderful things about coming home again is that feeling of being filled with excitement to get to work.

I had a grand goal for this afternoon: to create audio files of myself reading the first five pages of two different works, and to add them to my web page. I haven't attempted anything with this capacity for technical disaster in a while, so I was preparing for the worst (aka peering through my fingers at the help pages for the audio recording program).

Surprisingly, the technical aspects were much easier than I expected; it was the actual reading that was harder. I ought to know better -- after doing children's story times and book talks for years, I know how hard it is to read smoothly, even something you've practiced! And some of the sound and rhythm contrasts I play with in my work are hard to read smoothly. (For instance, dialogue between members of two different classes has different rhythms, and can be hard to read aloud.)

After about ten tries with each piece, I decided this might be a better day to practice the gentle art of frequent sample uploading and updating than that of perfectionism. I hate to put anything out into the world that isn't my work's best side, but I'm not a professional voice actor, either. I do plan to try it again when I next find time, and to reload the audio files when I get ones I like better. My voice was awfully tired after a couple of hours, though.

Anyway, for anyone who's curious, I used iTalk (a recording program for the iPhone -- we're gadget-heavy in my household) to record the pieces. The html was fairly simple also; I added the audio files to my site folder and added a link directly to the file from the current works page. (You can view the source code if you're not sure what I mean, or send me a message -- I'm not at all fancy with my coding.)

Why am I doing this? Hmm, a couple of reasons, I guess. One is that I'm working on my web site and wanted to provide some real content -- my actual work, instead of just yammering about my work. I wanted to provide text pages, but I also know lots of people who enjoy audio books, so I thought I'd try for another format as well.
These works aren't sold yet, and I have no plans to self-publish them, so this isn't really advertising... Just, professionalism, I guess. More treating myself and my work seriously; perhaps that's the theme for the week.

You can go here to click on links to view my sample pages or to hear the audio files .

If you do check them out, I'd love to hear what you think!

Woohoo -- a clean space to write! I'm trying to catch up on a bunch of admin tasks before jumping back into a different project, so I took time to clean off my desk today... And found all kinds of junk, dumped there when frantically making space for eating or other projects.

And yes, I tend towards the pack rat/junk magnet side of the spectrum, but still! It feels like a physical reflection of how shoved aside my writing time can get, if I'm not careful. It's not okay with me. (Worst of all, it's entirely my fault -- no one but me put a thing on my desk.)

So, new policy instituted as of today: I will clear all the stuff of the surface at the end of every session, and I'll have a thorough cleaning at the end of every draft. I feel a bit grumbly about it, even now, while enjoying the full glory of clean-desk-ness; I hate to have to stop even a few minutes earlier, and I hate having one last thing to do. But if it makes me more eager to sit down and get started the next time? Definitely worth it!!

I love the idea of writing a synopsis. After all, I love tiny, perfect things, and why wouldn't I want an exquisite miniature of my latest novel?

Except, if I could write it in one to two pages, with the right tone and quirks and beauty and all the other things that had me sweating and swearing over the long version, I wouldn't have had to write the novel. Reality sinks in, otherwise known as despair.

Queries are easier for me. Queries are the perfect glimpse, the bit that makes you want to see the rest. But synopses need the shape of the plot to fit the whole, with the right emphasis and connections, only there's no space to build anything up; it is, or it isn't, one sentence or less.

Queries are peepholes; synopses are snow globes. I think I'd be better off if my sense of craftsmanship failed to engage in synopses -- it'd be nice to just write them off as an outline, boring but necessary. Instead, I obsess over how perfect I can get that tiny world.

Here are a few hard lessons learned:

1. I'm better off writing the synopsis without referring to the full manuscript. If I look back, I remember all my favorite characters and the best parts, all of which I'll try to cram in there somewhere, never mind whether it makes any sense or not. No, what I need to start with is the big picture, the overall shape, and I ought to know that after working with it for months.

2. The basic shape by itself is really boring. Who wants a lumpy grey snow globe? Time to add tone, the few details that fit, and enough character to give it color.

3. The plot may be the basic shape, but the protagonist's motivations are the glass, water, and glitter. Something has to contain this thing, to cause it to make sense, to tie it all together. Something starts the story, and something else ends it. Without it, I can't tell the snow globe from the rest of the junk on my table.

4. Sometimes I see things in the finished globe that make me rush back to the manuscript and change it to match. Here's the value and danger of snow globe as art: where do you stop? I can rush back and forth, making tinier and tinier adjustments, until the idea of another snow globe is unthinkable, let alone another book. It's a snow globe, not the work itself.

5. Beta-readers are essential. I try to get a couple of readers who haven't read they story and a couple who have. I ask those who have read the original if the synopsis represents it well or not. I ask those who haven't read the original if the synopsis makes any sense by itself. Usually, the answers from both groups provoke a lot of teeth-gnashing and hair-tearing. As do most valuable criticism.

Tips? Tricks? Examples? Sympathies? I should dearly love to hear them, as I mush up the clay and start again...

The WisCon Fans of Color Assistance Program has kicked off their (Wis)Con Or Bust Auction, and there are many fabulous things to be won:

for Writers:

Lunch with Cat Valente!
Professional Manuscript or Book Proposal Critique from Hanne Blank!
Publishing Contract Consultation from a publishing professional!

and my own small offering: Research Assistance!

for Eaters:

Brownies of Doom!
The Same Cinnamon Rolls that Once Inspired a Four-Page Love Letter!
not to mention, Toronto-Specific Cakethulu!!! (with photographic evidence)

for Appreciators of Useful Objects:

Inkwell Earrings!
Bellydancing Gear!
Pants!
not to mention a functional Steampunk Spigot Cane!

Peruse! Be Amazed! Feel your hand slowly reaching towards the "comments" button, and watch your bid join the others...

(Confused? Take a look a Mary Anne Mohanraj's post People of Color and SF/F on John Scalzi's blog; premises like hers are why I want to support this cause.)

Recently, I've been volunteering with 826 Seattle (part of the national 826 program) to help young writers work on developing and refining their skills.

As usual, it's been interesting in ways I didn't expect. The kids I'm working with have a huge range of interest and ability in the fiction we're working on, and more often than not, I'm questioning my own definitions of what good writing is as much as I'm trying to teach them how to write better. In a limited period of time, what's the most important skill to get across? What's the easiest to learn one one's own? Should I focus attention on spelling and grammar, or how to build character motivation and plot? Where does originality of idea fit in?

They help me remember, too, that not everyone loves fiction. They want to know why they need to learn to write, and what it's good for. It's been an interesting discussion all around, and it's good for me to have my assumptions and preferences questioned so rigorously.

There are a few students who are clearly already working hard at their writing; it's been a pleasure to teach them a trick here or there, and to watch them immediately apply it. That's my "I wish I'd learned that when I was their age!" moment. They tend to need to learn to cut and refine. Often, they're mirroring authors they like to read, but I'm less concerned about that; many of us learn that way, after all. Better to get it out of the way this young.

There are other students who are either highly resistant to the project or feel they lack the skills to even get started. In desperation, I challenged one table to a write-off one day. This is something I read about on Maureen Johnson or Justine Larbalestier's blog, and belongs to that crowd of NY YA writers, so I ought to have known it would work with a crowd of pre-teens. Here's how it went:

Me: I challenge you to a write-off! Whoever writes the most words of their story in five minutes wins!
Student: What do we win?
Me: Glory and honor!
Students: (grumbling)
Me: On your marks! Get set! Go!!!
(silence; frantic writing fills the table)

Five minutes later, most of them had at least a paragraph or two of their stories, and were looking pretty dang pleased with themselves.

The ones that interest me the most are the stories that seem to come out of nowhere, weirdly wonderful tales welling up out of students whose skills are not yet up to the task, and who aren't necessarily all that interested in writing. My goal for the next few weeks is to try and figure out how to help them improve their skills without ruining their voice, their originality, and the effort they're making. I'd hate for any of them to think they did it wrong, or they're just not good at this writing stuff. But they've got a steep climb to get to the point where most folks take their work seriously. This wasn't my path to writing, but it fascinates me.

I'm sure it looks like I've done nothing at all for a month, but really, I've been working!

I'm winding up my post-novel ennui, and have played with a new idea (modern urban wishes) until I'm stuck. Meanwhile, the fabulous folks at the Online Writing Workshop have been examining the first three chapters of my "East of the Sun, West of the Moon" retelling, finding all kinds of ways for me to improve it (thanks, everyone!). Almost time to rewrite them in prep for the WisCon Writers' Workshop -- deadline is 4/1/09!

I'm stuck on a major middle piece of that draft, and I'm starting to understand why. I've critted a few chapters lately where I've questioned how active a role the protagonist is taking in his or her own story. Part of that is from my own personal reading preference -- I like characters who struggle and strategize and always have something more to try, even when I can't guess what it will be or how it will help. Part of that's certainly from my own culture, which tends to prize struggle and strategy over acceptance. And part of it's from my own assumption that characters will grow more via struggling than via accepting their fates.

Fairy tales are interesting, at least European ones, because their characters (particularly women) tend to be pushed around by fate a bit more, and tend to have less say in the matter. Things tend to happen to them, and then they live with it until something else happens to them. And I found that in order to write my fairy tales, I've had to give my characters reasons to do things, or some sort of choice (even if it's between two unpleasant things, or two similar ends). Because I would find writing a whole book controlled by fate or other outside influences and not at all by my protagonist's choices quite boring.

Still, it may just be my preference. There are plenty of stories where indecision is key -- Hamlet, for example, or Death of a Salesman. But even then, the plot is that the protagonist makes small choices that eventually lead to his having to make the big choice. So, I don't think every story needs to have a protagonist who's constantly taking action, but I do feel like the protagonist's choices are what move things along (even/especially if the protagonist chooses poorly).

Anyone have an opinion on this? Or is it just me? (I'm sure the degree to which stories need such choices -- and therefore my feedback on the works that made me think about this -- is very subjective, and just my own opinion. But is this a necessary element at all?)

Time for me to go think up a way for my protagonist to have another choice to make, to move her story along...

7 hours of last read-through and tweaking, and this draft is out of my head!
It's a good feeling. Weird, but good.

I love my part-time day job. It pays the bills, provides health care, and gets me away from home and among interesting people for a good portion of my week. (I think public transit will also have a large place in a future work. Oh, the stories on my bus every day...) And, it gives me a chance to do really good work for families and children.

But switching between the day job and writing can be a challenge. I've got a pretty good bag of tricks -- everything from using the same music (without lyrics) to the same scented candle -- to trigger my brain to know it's writing time. I have a bus ride and a lunch break in between, on the days I do both. But loose pieces from either one rattling around can disturb the other.

Today, I had no trouble getting the writing done. I made it through the last few chapters' revisions. Only a review pass left, then on to readers.

But now all I want to do is write, and get it done. I think I might have some trouble concentrating on the day job for the next few days...

Had a good walk in the snow today to pick up my library books. Funny, how I always forget what a great job a little exercise can do in shaking my head out of a stuck place and into new ideas! Somehow, it's always the first thing to go when I get busy... even though I know it's good for my health, my stress, and the place my writing comes from. I know I learn best kinesthetically; guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that I've always been far better with moving meditations than still ones.

Today I've been working at inserting slivers of sympathy for characters and hints of motivations, and managed to work in a small but natural scene that accomplishes both, after some extended thought. I've got a good shakedown of the last four chapters next on my list, and then off to the next readers...

The strangest feeling of all in writing is letting something go.

I'm nearing the end of a long, long revision process, made longer still by needing to stop and learn how to fix things that needed fixing. Since half the challenge of fixing such things comes in recognizing the problems that exist, this book has also been through many rounds of critiques.

One of my beta readers asked me the other day whether I fear critiques. To be honest, it's difficult to know how to truly answer such a question.

Here's the thing: all critiques are different. Every book, and even every draft is different. I'm different every time I offer a draft up for critique.

My very first true critique was of a short story I'd submitted to one of Marion Zimmer Bradley's anthologies when I was fourteen. I thought it was an artistic, surreal dream sequence, totally beautiful and haunting. She wrote back that it lacked any sort of characterization and plot, and needed major work.

I treasured that rejection because it was the first response I'd ever had that treated my work as though I could be professional. I wish I'd thought to write and thank her for it.

Now, my response may seem very masochistic to some. But for me, the critiques I fear most are the ones that pat me on the head and say "Very nice, dear." Because those are the ones that tell me there's no hope for me, that I might as well enjoy my sparkly dream of writing without even bothering to try and improve.

There are, of course, critiques that are just plain mean. I hope I've never given one of those, but let's face it, we all have bad days, and sometimes we choose really unfortunate ways of expressing our frustration. The best thing I can do when I get one of these is to let it sit for a few days before responding, and see if it magically transforms into an honest-but-not-what-I-wanted-to-hear critique, in which case I'd better listen up, or if it stays plain mean. The ones that stay plain mean sometimes give me the necessary "I'll show them!" kick in the pants on hard days.

The honest-but-not-what-I-wanted-to-hear critiques can be daunting, indeed. What to do, when told your story is trite, boring, or unintelligible? That your characters are cardboard, unsympathetic, or that the reader cannot begin to connect with them and would prefer they drop dead immediately? That the reader cannot tell if scenes are happening inside or outside and has no idea when or where this is taking place? These cannot be ignored as purely mean when they have a certain resonance in my brain, that tells me I sort of knew this was going to be an issue. One response is to drop the work (temporarily or permanently) and start something else, preferably trying to learn to address these new issues. Another is to try and learn to fix the problem. (The one I'm wrapping up had several of these; another needs its external conflict gutted and replaced. No, I don't know how I'm going to do that quite yet.) Either response can help a writer grow and learn; I think it's personal preference mixed with how sick you are of the book that's been critiqued, unless of course you're under contract. I will say it's pretty darn thrilling to receive a later round of critiques on a book that indicate one of these major issues has actually been solved.

I do fear the critiques that want my book to be an entirely different kind of book. I purposefully choose critiquers and beta readers whose tastes and strengths don't match my own; I already know what I like. But wanting to please everyone can twist a book off its original course and mush it into something no one likes, far more easily than it can create a book many people enjoy. I respect critiquers who tell me they don't enjoy my kind of book, and still address what they see I'm trying to do. It's tough, and I hope I'm getting better at giving those kinds of critiques as well.

But there are also critiques I can hardly wait to receive. There is really nothing so exciting as having someone read your book and understand it well enough to see where you got something wrong. There is nothing so inspiring as having someone push your book to be better, put the work in themselves to try and help you make it so. It's the first time that someone other than me believes in the story, and that's exciting too, after countless hours of struggling with it alone.

For me, though, critiques are a feedback check, not a goal. Anything that keeps me moving towards what I feel improves the story, or keeps me learning how to write, is good. Anything that distracts me, slows me, or stops me is a waste of writing time. And it's my job to keep myself moving, use what I've got, and figure out what to do with it all.

Finally got around to checking out the LIFE photo archive hosted by Google today, and discovered a cool feature: it looks like you can search by the decade of the item in the photo.

The home page currently states you can search this archive by using source:life in your search box along with your other search term.

To search by decade, add the first year of the decade + s (e.g. 1750s) to the search term above.

So, 1810s source:life seems to bring up engravings, fashion plates, paintings, etc. that date to the 1810s. (Anyone who's ever searched an image database for each year of a decade individually, and then weeded out the birth/death dates that were accidentally picked up, understands my considerable excitement.)

I wish there was more information about the images provided, but I'm also a little in awe of how much time it takes to hard code in a decade for each image. I have no secret Google insider knowledge here, but it looks to my ex-librarian eye as though they've got more projects planned for this: possibly some sort of medium search (some results have specific terms such as "etching" included in title and/or label), maybe a proper name search (for instance, compare the title and labels of this image of Muhammad Ali). I'd hope for a place search, also, but we'll see.

I hadn't noticed before, but it also looks like Google Image Labeler is a cooperative tag cloud effort to improve Google image searches. Interesting! Images are one of the hardest things to effectively catalog, in my opinion, so I'm intrigued to see how this concept works on such a large scale.

(For geeks who haven't already seen it, here's an opinionated, interesting article on the concepts behind tag clouds and differences between this kind of cataloging and the kind of cataloging traditionally used in the U.S. libraries, found via LibraryThing.)

Due to a happy combination of holidays falling on day job dates, it looks as though I may manage a week off (otherwise known as a week of furious writing). I do like the chance to bite off really big chunks of a book in a short period of time!

With NaNoWriMo in full sway, I thought other writers might appreciate some of the steps I try to take before throwing myself head first into an extended writing session:

1. Fill your freezer/fridge/pantry with food. The easier to fix, the better. If you are responsible for anyone's meals other than your own, involve them in what goes in and how to make it edible. You'll appreciate the lack of "how long does this cook?" questions later on. If you are solely responsible for your own meals, you'll appreciate something that can be eaten quickly and without requiring extra brain power.

2. Have plenty of clean socks and underwear. Even if you don't plan to go anywhere. C'mon, act like a professional, even if you don't quite feel like one yet.

3. Have a backup system in place. Make it as seamless as you can manage, because you'll want to backup your files several times a day, if you're writing lots. In a pinch, some writers email their files to themselves at a free web email account, such as Gmail.

4. Have a timer of some sort set to go off at periodic intervals, to protect yourself from repetitive stress injuries. The kind that shuts off your computer for ten minutes, the kind that rolls across the room after going off, the feline variety (if sufficiently demanding and reliable) -- whatever works for you. Don't hurt yourself!

5. Set an exercise routine. Movement helps me unstick myself when I get stuck, and gives my mind space to puzzle things out. I may not go anywhere else, but a quick walk around the neighborhood is worth every minute it takes.

Anyone have others I should know about?

Once upon a time, a fearless young writer had many, many, many ideas for novels. She grew quite skilled at choosing and writing beginnings. Then things would bog down a bit in the middle, and by the time the end came -- if she made it that far -- it would all fall apart. So, she would choose a new idea, as clearly that one hadn't been good enough. It took the combined powers of a group of learned critiquers to convince her that really, it would be a good idea to practice writing some endings, too.

The next day, she was eaten by a pack of zombified squirrels. Or, maybe she wasn't.

My point? That learning to write a satisfying ending that fits the story is harder than it looks, and doesn't necessarily use the same skill set as writing beginnings or middles. I'm still trying to figure out ways of learning this skill without writing quite a lot of novels.

Now, some of you have books where you know the end but not the beginning, or enough of the overall arc to understand the end scenes. And I sure I wish I had those kinds of books, or that kind of process. But for those of us who muddle along, or think we know the end, but somehow it turns out to be the wrong end for this book, or the right end, but not written to its fullest potential, well, we're going to have to learn to do this somehow.

Here are my current thoughts on what might be worth trying:

1. Studying how others have done it -- good and bad. You know, the whole read and think about what you read thing.

2. Write all the way to the end, or as close as you can get, on every draft, even if you know the story is changing in ways that make this end useless and irrelevant. It's still good practice. (I hate that this works for me, but cannot deny that it does.)

3. Try to write an alternate end to a story whose characters you know well. (I keep thinking this would be a good idea, but then I start wanting to rewrite the beginning first, so I'm not sure this one's going to work for me. But it sounds like it ought to, doesn't it?)

If all these fail: Write a lot of novels. Keep trying until you write an end that feels satisfying to you. Figure out what on earth you did.

Does anyone have any other ways?

So, once the work ethic gets me up and writing once more, the ideas can carry me along for a little while. There's really nothing better than being entranced by one's own stories. For a while, it's all shoes and ships and sealing wax, cabbages and kings.

Until it all gets suddenly boring. Rather than whizzing through the air in a dirigible, it's an interminable train full of whining characters in either a fog bank or a blazing hot summer (depending on your tolerance for seeping cold or sweaty smells). You just want to get off, and yet there's nothing to do but move forward. But it will never, ever, end.

This is when I have to get out the crayons and amuse my own subconscious.
And, after the crayons break and get dropped down the seat and melt, I start up with the bribery.

Bribery of one's own self (aka rewards) turns out to be remarkably effective with me. It turns out that once it's gotten boring, I no longer care about the big picture, or my personal aspirations, or giving back to the reading community. Nothing will make me sit in that chair one more hour.
Except, for instance, a chocolate peanut butter cup.

Now, I agree that it is indeed an odd world where a peanut butter cup might carry more weight than one's carefully identified goals for life, but hey, who am I to argue with my own brain? My brain insists that the peanut butter cup is 1.) Immediate and 2.) Concrete and 3.) Easily Attainable. Besides, I'm hungry.

Lest I become responsible for the ill-nutrition of millions of writers, let me say that the chocolate peanut butter cup is only one possible instance of a small, inexpensive reward. A treat.

The trick seems to be keeping it attainable and concrete. Even I won't write for four more hours for a peanut butter cup; I'll starve first, or spend my hours trying to figure out how to get around my carefully constructed rules. Or just stage a revolution. The reward much match the effort. (That's also why I can't use a standard system every day. There can be a vast difference between one day's 250 words and the next day's.)

And once it's gotten boring, I must be writing for something I can imagine happening that same day (or, rarely, that same week, for a larger effort and reward.) Clearly my petulant inner writer has no interest in the big picture. It's like time does a rubber band trick and the only imaginable time is this present boring train. I can't see the end. I can't even believe past the next few hours (and I do have a pretty good imagination). So, the reward has to fit in that time, on that train. A half-hour reading blogs, a walk around the block, a peanut butter cup. I know what these feel like. They aren't multi-step processes, and I can make them happen.

Who knew these would be the tricks in my writer's toolkit? But hey, if it works, it's going in.