Right now I’m under a couple of tight deadlines and a little less clingy to my works-in-progress. But last year, I fiddled with my manuscript just about every waking hour (this would be the book that’s being released in August.) I couldn’t decide when it was done. I mean, editing and rewriting are completely necessary and a vital part of writing. But when do you know that you’re done? When do you know when you’ve finally dotted your i’s and crossed your t’s and are ready to send your baby off into the big, bad world?

I don’t really have an answer to that question. Now I think that when my deadline day comes then, obviously, I need to have something ready to send in that is as perfect as I can possibly make it.

I think, also, that I got to the point last year where my rewrites were actually making things worse and not better. Do you know what I’m talking about? It seemed like I’d just starched some darned scene and ironed it out flat. Grammatically beautiful but I’d lost the soul of what I’d originally written. That’s when I printed the manuscript and sent it off. But it would have been nice to have known before that point that I was done.

I was thinking today about how I broke my children of their pacifier habit. I know this seems like a complete non sequitur, but bear with me. They were determined little suckers (oooh, I’m punny today) and slept with the darned binkies. Actually, they did everything with them but eat with them in their mouths. So one day we went to the party supply store and got a bunch of helium balloons. A lot of helium balloons. I tied every one of their little binkies onto them and we went out to a park. There we stood in the middle of the park and I handed my children the balloons. They let them go and it was a spectacular sight, let me tell you. The balloons were a vivid splash against the blue skies and they soared off. My children waved at the balloons as they left. They didn’t ask for them that night at bedtime because they KNEW the pacifiers were gone. They were off in space, as far as they could tell. And they had a nice toy in their place.

I’m thinking this is how I need to approach my writing. I need still need to rewrite ad nauseum, but now I’m approaching it differently. I need to move on after I’ve submitted. When the edits come in, I’ll work on them, but then get back to my work-in-progress. I need to figuratively attach that submission to a bunch of balloons and move on. Work on the next story. Not have empty-nest syndrome over the end of that project or get too wound up in the reviews that come out later. To remember that I’ve done my best.

I’ve mentioned on my blog before that I’m generally a fan of happy endings.  The Brady Bunch always ended happily, too—Mom and Dad had a talk with the wayward Brady child about whatever mess they’d gotten into.  Maybe the kid had to mow the Astroturf lawn as restitution for their wrong.  Then everyone was cracking jokes for the final segment before the credits rolled.

The books I like to read have happy endings, loose ends tied up, and normalcy restored.  I think it’s a satisfying feeling.

But I have to wonder if the phenomenon of the happy ending is primarily a modern one and dictated by reader preference.  As an English major, many of the books I read didn’t have happy endings.  In fact, I want to say that most of the novels I read didn’t.  There’s Moby Dick, The Awakening, House of Mirth, Lord of the Flies, King Lear, Metamorphosis, Animal Farm, etc.

I think that most people view reading as an escape.  We want to take a little break from our lives and be transported somewhere else.  Somewhere maybe a little happier.

I’m not opposed to reading the occasional unhappy ending in modern books.  Oddly enough, the unhappy endings in classic literature doesn’t bother me as much—it may be because it takes place in another place and time and while I emphasize with the protagonist, I don’t identify quite as much or put myself in their shoes.  I’m an outsider, looking in.

Maybe with modern literature it hits too close to home to be able to maintain a sense of separateness.

Are there books with sad endings that you enjoyed? Do you write unhappy endings?

Today, I was put in a situation that I was not at all comfortable with.  In fact, I was stuck in a situation that I frequently have nightmares about.

I was back in middle school.

Well, today I was an adult volunteer at my son’s middle school and proctoring a state exam (the North Carolina EOGs).  But gosh, the flashbacks.  The lockers with unworkable combination locks.  The hormones.  The cliques.

When you proctor a test, you’re basically there to ensure that the teacher and the students aren’t cheating and that nothing funny is going on.  Yes, it’s hours long and borrrrring.  My mind wandered.

I started thinking that if I were writing a book about myself, this would be a fantastic conflict for the character representing myself.  Because middle school was miserable.  I mean, you could promise me eternal youth, but if I had to spend it as a middle schooler, I’d turn you down flat.

That’s the best way to create internal or external conflict for your characters.  What’s their worst nightmare?  What scares them the most?  That’s what needs to happen to them, for the best internal/external plot conflicts.  That’s what keeps us, as readers, interested. It’s an: “Oh Lord!  How are they gonna get out of this one?”

So make them rush into a burning building.  Make their child get kidnapped.  Have them lose their job or their home.  Torture them a little for the sake of the story and see what happens.  Riveting reading is usually the outcome.

It’s funny how my perspective changed on book series when I started writing two different ones. As a reader, I was very impatient to see the next book in a series be released. Really, I was about as bad as my son with the Harry Potter books. When was the next Elizabeth George book coming out? What do you mean she’s not writing an Inspector Lynley novel? A book of short stories, instead? Oh no…

You get the idea. I was just as bad when the incredibly productive M.C. Beaton would turn out an Agatha Raisin instead of a Hamish Macbeth. Although I enjoy both, Hamish is my favorite.

Then I started writing series.

I thought it was very interesting to read a post by author Neil Gaiman on this same issue. Because, if you think about it, we now have a real window into the world of our favorite authors. We can follow them during the day on Twitter, we can read their blog posts, we can see that they’re messing around on Facebook. So what if you do have a dedicated reader who’s put out that you blogged about spending the day doing yard work instead of churning out his eagerly awaited book? What obligation do writers owe their readers?

Writing can be a very isolating activity.  Actually, it’s the perfect activity for an introvert (which most writers are by nature.)

But most writers don’t just define themselves by their writing.  They’re also sons and daughters who may have a role in the care of their parents, employees, caregivers of small or older children, and volunteers.

And yet we still have to spend time wracking our brains, delving into our emotions, and creating something exciting on a blank word processing screen. So we’re just a wee bit busy. 

Usually, I put myself at the bottom of the list of things I need to take care of for the day.  This isn’t something I do on purpose, but it’s just sort of how the chips fall.  This is what I’m looking at for today:  Sheets need to be changed, upstairs badly needs dusting, cat fur everywhere that needs vacuuming, oh gosh—we’re out of eggs, the car needs an oil change, the garage is a wreck, the children need to rest up for the EOG testing, blogs and writing goals need to be met, oh…and I need to maybe look decent and possibly even wear makeup today.  Because I might be going to an ice cream party for Brownie scout leaders, if I can get there.

I think my husband and son are classic enablers.  My husband says things every day like: “You always look nice” or “That color looks great on you” or “Wow, you’re aging well.”  My middle school son says “You’re the prettiest mom I know.”

But then there’s my daughter—the truth-teller.  She squints as she looks at me and winces.   “Did you wear that shirt two days ago?”  “But it’s clean,” I say.  “But you have a pretty dress in the closet.  Why don’t you put it on?”  Hmm.  And “Mama.  Don’t you ever wear lipstick anymore?”  And “Mama.  You’re not going out in that?”  

That may sound awful, but really, she’s looking out for me.  It’s a reminder that I need to show myself a little respect and TLC or what can I expect from everybody else?

This isn’t limited to personal appearance, although that’s probably the most obvious indicator of where we’ve put ourselves on our to-do list for the day. We also should eat well, exercise, drink water, and get plenty of sleep.  (The sleep thing probably won’t happen for me—major insomniac—but I can try to rack up a few more minutes at least.)

I wrote yesterday on Poe.  There’s an extreme example of someone who didn’t look out for himself.  But I think most of us could do a little better.  Maybe if we take better care of ourselves, our work will improve.  I think it’s worth a try.