You know you have one hiding in a box somewhere. Or maybe you burned it long ago…but it haunts you.

I’m talking about that piece of writing you toiled and sweated over, the one you loved. For months and maybe years you hammered on the keys or scrawled in notebooks or whatever your process is. It was your baby. You finally finished, feeling accomplished and hopeful. Whether through a series of rejection letters or a harsh critique by reading partners or even your own realization a few months or a year later as you revisit it.

Your beautiful baby? A terrible piece of writing. Your baby sucks. (Click to Tweet)

In the move, I found boxes full of such babies. I wrote my first novel in third grade in a Hello Kitty notebook with rainbow pages. Each year, I wrote something new. Some finished, some not. All terrible. I can hardly stand to look at these now, and yet I can’t throw them away. I can forgive the terrible because I was so young. I mean, hey—I wrote a novel at age 8. That counts for something, even it’s dreadful.

But what about my more mature, adult failures? My I-should-know-better-by-now manuscripts that are, with distance, actually terrible. I’m often devastated when I see my writing in an objective light. But maybe I shouldn’t be. (Click to Tweet)

In this fabulous post from Jane Friedman, she says that when you hate your writing, it’s a good sign that you’re on the right track. Come again?

The idea (which comes from  a YouTube series on storytelling from Ira Glass) is that there is often a gap between your understanding of what is good and your ability to produce it. There may be years of struggle to narrow that gap. The fact that you know there is a gap between where you want to be and where you are tells you that you’re heading the right way. You will get there.

I feel a little better knowing that. Because I have produced a lot of crap over the years. A LOT. Much of it I loved until I had some time and looked again, or someone with great eyes looked and gave me a critique that helped me see it with better focus. So if you’re feeling stuck, frustrated, or otherwise like you’re never going to get to where you want to be, let this encourage you to push on. Don’t stop because you realize that your manuscript is not the pretty and polished baby that you hoped it would be. You will get there, one piece of poo bit of writing at a time.

Last week, we talked vomit versions and this week, it’s vomit-y final drafts. There is no prompt, so link up any recent blog post of your writing. Let’s keep the community a community: visit all the others. Leave a comment to let them know you were there. If you like what you read, consider sharing the love. If you want more of a connection, join the FB community. Link back to this post either in text, by downloading the photo and linking to it, or snagging the code in my right sidebar and pasting it (while you’re in the “text” or “html” mode of composing). I will be visiting, reading, and sharing in the next week. So glad for every one of you reading and being brave to share your work!

The biggest cost of my depression was new tires for my car.

I was a senior in college before I had a name for the heavy, helpless periods that crushed me. I never noticed the warning flurries until it was too late. The weight and cold pressed in on my chest, burying me in a snowdrift: Depression.

It came and went from the time I was a girl, bringing with it at its most innocuous a restless discontent or, at worst, a paralyzing sense of hopelessness. Most people sleep, but I became charged with manic energy: staying up all night to rearrange my bedroom furniture, reading whole novels in a few hours, or writing on the humming old typewriter my dad brought me home from his office.

When I turned 16, if I felt it coming on I would get behind the wheel. Windows down in my 84 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, the latest mix tape turning and clicking in the dash. I wore a track up and down River Road. On light days I went only as far as Goochland and the plantation where I learned to ride horses, but on harder days I drove as far as the prison where the sun set low and red over the hills beyond the razor wire.

Recognizing the name for this restless heaviness did little to settle it. Except now I had more understanding and a choice: feed or fight.

If I was feeling self-destructive, I would give into it: drinking vodka from a coffee mug and lying on the wooden floor of my dorm room for hours. I kept the song “Looming” by Jason Harrod on repeat, a song that echoed my ache. Here I am, I would say. Have me. Do your worst.

But if I wanted to fight, I would drive. I had no smartphone, no GPS. Only gas station coffee and an old map of the US under the passenger seat. Once I remember trying to shake a particularly heavy bout of it, crying as I drove, feeling that I couldn’t turn back until it was gone.

The rolling hills outside Fredericksburg gave way to dense woods and then changed to something else altogether. I sensed I was near water before I came to the long bridge over a bay. A sign greeted me on the other side: Welcome to Maryland! I drove along the coast for a while. No beaches but trees akin to cypress with their knobby roots showing above the shallows. It was beautiful, but somehow crossing the state line freed me to go home.

Moving to Houston mostly cleared away the snowdrifts. Living on the far west side on what were once rice fields, there are no hills and few trees to shadow the sun’s unending sky. The light has driven up my serotonin, dispersing the snowdrifts.

I still wear out tires and rack up the miles on my car. Driving brings peace, whether from the weight of depression or simply the difficult of the daily. I’m not driving away from my problems so much as driving straight through them, returning home healed somehow by the road.

_______

Linking up this week with Not So (Small) Stories. Each week we talk about an aspect of writing or blogging and then have a prompt. The prompt this week was Drive. Clearly.

 

I hadn’t planned to see the movie at all. I loved Shakespeare, but Leonardo DiCaprio as Romeo? No thanks. But a last minute invitation with a free ticket attached had me in the theater seat next to my friend Matty when the lights went down. A tiny TV screen appeared on the big screen with a news broadcast:

Two households, both alike in dignity
in fair Verona where we lay our scene,
from ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

Then a swell of music and dizzying flurry of images across the screen, finally settling on a group of tattooed guys shouting out Shakespearean insults in a way that felt wholly fresh and modern: “A dog of the house of Capulet moves me!”

I didn’t breathe for two hours. “Well? Did you like it?” Matty asked. I could not even find the words to answer. To this day, Romeo + Juliet is one of my favorite movies, and by far my most memorable experience in the cinema.

Baz Luhrmann knows how to create an experience in film. Through sound, color, and other tricks of the trade that someone like me couldn’t even pinpoint. He has a distinct style that carries through his movies, from the manic and madcap Strictly Ballroom to the outrageous and over-the-top Moulin Rouge.

This distinct personal flair is what we talked about in writing as voice last week. But beyond Luhrmann’s style, his films have a way of grabbing and keeping you. In Romeo + Juliet the loud opening gas station scene soon gives ways to quieter, more introspective moments. By then, Luhrmann has acclimated us to iambic pentameter and married it to his distinctly modern Verona. 

The idea of a hook is pretty common, from commercials to short stories to news articles. It’s an opening that doesn’t just draw you in, it yanks you in so effectively that you don’t even know how it happened— you’re simply weeping at scrawny, starving puppy’s sad eyes while Sarah Mclachlan’s “Angel” plays softly.

One of the things that makes a hook so vital to a blog post is that the average time spent on a site is often under two minutes. Two minutes. Last month, the average time spent on my site (according to Google Analytics) was one minute, twenty-seven seconds. Which means that the majority of people would not still be reading this post right now. Without a hook, you will lose your already fickle readers. It is simply too easy to click away.

We suffer from an epidemic of internet ADD: with something like 5-20 browser tabs open, we do nothing but click, click, click. Navigate in, navigate away. A hook at the beginning of the post stills that hovering finger over the button on the mouse to head to the next site.

A hook can be dropping the reader right in the middle of a scene (my technique in this post) like Peach from 50Peach did in last week’s link-up. There were tears and almost immediate dialogue, creating a sense of curiosity to the larger story and at the same time, bringing us intimately close. Laura from Blogging Blackbird began directly with dialogue, creating that same effect.

Amy from Middle of the Mess began with a question, another great hook. A well-formed question creates a sense of urgency to answer and a connection to the asker as well. Kami from Zoetica Media employed a photo with the popular hashtag #winning, drawing the readers in with a sense of familiarity before the words even began. With a blog being more than simply a written genre, photos or images can be a great way to bring in and keep your audience (as Roxy from GrrFeisty did with her gorgeous images throughout her post).

What would keep you reading? What might keep you from clicking away before the two minute mark?

This week’s prompt: Drive.

Any definition of the word will do. Again, I want the prompt to be a springboard and a general spurring-on of thought that can go in any direction that fits with your blog. This week, as you write about drive, think about how you begin. Consider what tools you might use to draw in and keep your readers on your page. Each week when I write about writing and blogging, I hope that these topics and tools become familiar in your hands as you write. Don’t forget about voice, but as you write this week, keep that hook in mind. (Now we are ALL going to be paranoid about our openings, aren’t we??)

***I’ve been a little out of the blogging and internet sphere as we are doing the whole selling-our-house-buying-another thing, so I am JUST NOW getting around to reading and sharing last week’s posts. Math isn’t my strong suit, but there were 16 links last week and some blogs are only getting a fraction of that in comments. PLEASE READ ALL THE LINKS. Even if it takes you until the next week’s prompt (like me this week). I want this to be a community, not a place to just dump your own link. If you visit, take the time to comment. If you love something, show the love by sharing.***

Guidelines

-Write in ANY genre, but at least loosely find inspiration from the prompt.
-Please include a link to this post or use the handy button over in my main sidebar. If you don’t, I’ll politely ask, and if you still don’t, I’ll un-link you. This just helps keep building the community and bringing new readers to the linky itself.
-Link to your specific post, not to your whole blog.
-Write a new post or use a post that fits from within the last week.
-Please visit ALL the other blogs. A comment is a great way to show you were there and if you love something, share it!
-Don’t be spammy or link to a giveaway or another linky or something weird like that. Just a post.
-Try to find a sweet spot under 1000 words, if possible between 500-750.
-Be free, but don’t be overly violent or sexual or just creepy. This is a varied group, but that’s not the best fit.

Follow the prompts to add your link below. For community sake, use your name or blog name rather than the name of your blog post and choose a photo of you or your logo rather than a photo from the post. That way we begin to recognize each other!

This week I’ve struggled with a cold or sinus something-or-other which resulted in me losing my voice. I spent three days alternating between a whisper, a whisper-yell (which is really just a cranky whisper), and a bizarre screeching squeak. While putting my rowdy boys to bed one of these nights, I actually made Sawyer cry.

“Mommy,” he said. “You sound so SCARY!”

While his tears made me really sad and wonder about the way I talk to my kids on a normal basis, it also made me think of this. You just can’t convince me that Mean Girls doesn’t relate to everyday life, every day. Mean Girls always finds a way.

Those few days with my scary voice, I thought of the importance of my words. But more than my words themselves—the sound and delivery as well. The same words, uttered in my shriek-squawk, inspired terror and tears.

In the same way, great writing does not simply come through choosing correct words. There is something magical that happens when a writer can take words and arrange them in order to create a distinct voice. This voice in writing becomes almost palpable: you can picture the writer. You can almost hear the writer, as though you are in fact transported from reading the words to a small table at a coffee bar where the writer tells you the story in person. For me, voice is one of my absolute favorite marks of good writing.

So how does this idea translate to a blog?

Depends on the blog. We can’t all be humor writers, but take a look at this post from Larks in last week’s linky. Here is an excerpt that shows a great glimpse of her voice.

Even though I’ve seen, like, fifty pictures of these five dudes, I *still* have difficulty telling them apart, because they’re all essentially young dudes who sing generic feelings at you while wearing those red trousers that you’re apparently legally required to wear at regular intervals if you’re douchey and British.

Do you HEAR her? I know I do. There is a pacing to the words, a pairing and structure to this one long sentence that makes it conversational. There are details peppered in, but in a way that accentuates the voice. As opposed to writing something like: “I still can’t tell these guys apart even though I’ve seen fifty pictures. They are all young men who sing generic love songs while wearing distinctly British red pants.” That (terrible) sentence conveys the same information, but without any of the bells and whistles that give it a personality. Because voice is all about becoming distinct.

Voice isn’t always about humor. In a post with a more serious scope, Anita Ojeda writes about doing laps in the hospital with her husband while he struggles through cancer.

What keeps you reading a blog post?

Interesting content, a unique or clear voice, a hook (or beginning that generates interest), word choice, tone, rhythm, pacing—these are aspects of great writing that keep people reading. But if you noticed, my question specified BLOG POST. Not short story or newspaper article or memoir or classified ad. Are there any tools for success that are specific to blogs?

I have a master’s in creative writing, but blogging is not something we discussed in grad school. For years, in fact, I looked down on blogs and bloggers. Who are they to think that anyone would want to read about their lives? (Clearly, I changed my stance on that.) Blogs seemed weirdly intrusive and self-centered to me, a person who did not read them. Hence my misunderstanding.

But blogging does have its roots in the sort of online diary that LiveJournal propelled. Blog=web log, usually a log or journal of a person’s personal life. In the last ten years, that has shifted dramatically, though blogs are still, at their root, personal. I’m not sure if blogs are recognized as a genre, but I would like to argue that they are. A still forming and in flux genre that is vast, but a genre nonetheless.

Blogs can be technical or professional, personal or topical. Each looks vastly different in terms of tone, content, and style. Even in the same niche, like food blogging for example, two posts could look remarkably distinct. So what principles might carry through this young and diverse genre? How can we write a blog post that people must read and that sends them back for more?

Think about the blogs where you spend time. Why? Perhaps it’s a friend, so you feel invested or even obligated to keep up. Or maybe the blog publishes content that you are interested in, like recipes or menu plans or great DIY ideas. I’m drawn to some blogs for the design elements—the content and writing are decent, but coupled with the stellar design and all the pretty fonts, banners, photos, and the layout as a whole, I can’t stay away.

Blogs aren’t merely a written genre. They also encompass aspects of art and design. They can also be auditory, including video or music. You can’t smell or taste them…YET. I’m sure there is a techie team hard at work on that right now. Which brings us back to this question, which new seems more difficult: with all this in mind, how do we write blog posts that people MUST read?

 Let me give part of my answer by way of a music video.

I really have a ton of respect for Lorde (the original writer of the above song, “Royals”), whose music transcends her 17 years, for sure. At 17 I was counting the number of boys I had kissed while concerning myself with lip gloss and thrift-store men’s pants. Her music seriously impresses me, and when I really like music, covers tend to pale in comparison. But this group, Walk Off the Earth, over and over again takes familiar music and does something beyond a cover. They don’t meddle with a good melody (the mistake of a lot of cover artists), but find a totally unique and surprising way to package and, in a way, reinvent the song beyond melody. (For other great examples, check out their versions of “Somebody That I Used to Know” and “Red Hands,” which is original that is as creatively put together.)

But wait, Kiki, you are saying, I’m confused. We are talking about blog posts and writing and now music videos and cover songs. WHERE IS THE PART WHEN YOU TELL ME HOW TO WRITE A MUST-READ BLOG POST?

I hear you. Let me take what might seem to be disjointed pieces and tie them together in some kind of fisherman’s knot. Because the genre of blogging is young and very diverse and, by its very nature, a strange hybrid of writing, design, and other media formats, to create a successful blog post, we need to become a jack-of-all-trades. And we need to do it in a way that is creative, unique, well-executed, and stands apart.

Are you feeling more and more dejected as you read? I kind of sense that I might be depressing you (after first confusing you). You may be wondering: How can I master design AND photography AND writing AND also be a totally unique mommy blog in a salty sea of mommy blogs?

You can’t.

DON’T STOP READING! I promise I’m getting to some good news. We can’t all take amazing photos like Chookooloonks or The Pioneer Woman and we won’t all have The Bloggess‘ wit or Ann Voskamp‘s way of packaging the real in poetic language. But you are YOU. No one else is YOU.

Yes, you should have a design that draws, or at the least doesn’t detract. You can pay someone for that! Or if you have no money, you can find a free blog or perhaps trade out with someone who can whip up css or html.

Maybe you can’t afford a DSLR or don’t have the time to learn photography. You can take a really snazzy photo with your iPhone and use a free source like Picmonkey to add filters and fun things that make them look a bit slicker.

Maybe you don’t feel like the best writer. You can join a community like this which I hope will, over time, encourage you to hone your craft. Because writing is a craft with skills that you can build and develop.

But what no one else can teach you or do for you or even take away from you is your YOU-NESS. Dooce doesn’t have your YOU. Neither does Jen Hatmaker. Only you are you, and I want to encourage you this week that the best way to write a must-read blog post is to write one that no one else has. There are ten million cookie recipes out there, but only YOU can craft a blog post with a cookie recipe that captures your YOU-NESS.

Now I feel like I’ve gone from confusing to depressing to flat-out crazy. Are you with me? Am I making sense? What I want you to think about and really think about this week is what makes you YOU. What do you love? What is different about you from other people who might look the same, have a similar background, write in the same blog niche, or love the same things. I believe that if we can all find and embrace what makes us unique and special, like Walk Off the Earth, we could be singing a melody sung a thousand times, but in a package that is wholly different and that keeps people coming back for more of US.

 I really do hope I’ve kept you here for this very long exposition on the idea of blog genre. Because my idea for the root of this community is the idea of story and the craft of writing, we will be looking each week at some aspect of writing. But I did not want to move forward without addressing this idea of the uniqueness of blogs as a genre and how so many things together make for a compelling read.

With all this in mind…

Week Four Prompt: SONG.

Whether you write a song, write about a song, or take a more concept-driven thought related to music or musicality, I hope you can think of your YOU-NESS as you write this week. Again, this prompt is meant to be a general inspiration for writing, not something to confine you. Take it where you will.

The guidelines are below and I’m shortening them, but I want to highlight two things, the first of which is a change.

*Please do NOT link up to an older post. I totally get why this could make sense to do, but as my goal is for us to grow as writers, I want these links and posts to be growing and current because that’s what this is about: developing our craft. Posting from last year isn’t helping you develop craft.

*Please DO visit, comment on, and if you feel so moved, share the other posts. I know some linkies don’t care if you do, or some ask that you visit the person before or after you, but I think if we want community, reading them all is a huge part of that. I am noticing that the last few links often have only one or two comments. Even if it takes you a week to get there, get there and let your fellow writers know you are there, reading.

I am loving this community so far and hope that if you aren’t already part of it, you’ll join the Facebook community. I hope it will develop into a lively place where we can interact a little more. At the least, you’ll get a heads-up to the next prompt.

Guidelines

-Write in ANY genre, but at least loosely find inspiration from the prompt.
-Please include a link to this post or use the handy button over in my main sidebar. If you don’t, I’ll politely ask, and if you still don’t, I’ll un-link you. This just helps keep building the community and bringing new readers to the linky itself.
-Link to your specific post, not to your whole blog.
-Write a new post, or edit an old one, but don’t simply link to a post you wrote last week or last year.
-Please visit ALL the other blogs. A comment is a great way to show you were there and if you love something, share it!
-Don’t be spammy or link to a giveaway or another linky or something weird like that. Just a post.
-Try to find a sweet spot under 1000 words, if possible between 500-750.
-Be free, but don’t be overly violent or sexual or just creepy. This is a varied group, but that’s not the best fit.

I’m super excited to read what you guys have to say this week about song, and hope that the videos from Walk Off the Earth help get you in that mindset! If you have questions, shoot me an email (kirstenoliphant at gmail dot com). The linky is below and will be open until Wednesday at midnight!