How to pack for Camp

Camp NaNoWriMo starts Monday which, incidentally, is also the day I become a parent of a teenager.

I can’t decide if I should be stocking up on coffee or vodka.

This April marks my fourth time doing Camp NaNoWriMo, which is a relaxed version of the National Novel Writing Month that takes place every November. You set your own writing goals, and I learned the hard way that they better be realistic or I’m a barrel of disappointment by the time I reach the end of the month.

Writing camp takes preparation, much like regular camping. The first time I tried it, I was woefully unprepared. It was a disaster, much like the first time hubs and I went camping and realized we were missing about half the things one needs to survive a weekend in the woods.

My life is a bit crazy. But recently I decided that if I am going to be a successful writer, I need to look at it more like a second job rather than a hobby. Something I commit to. Solid, productive writing. Not opening a word document, staring at it for a while, then wandering the Internet. The problem? I’ve been frustrated with my current project and afraid to wander back into the novel I shelved last year after a round of query rejections. I needed to get out of my head and let the words flow. But how?

While writing SECOND IN COMMAND, I had tight deadlines, which was extremely motivating. So the first thing I did was look at my calendar and give myself an end date. The annual PennWriters conference is mid-May, and I signed up for pitch appointments. Which means I need to have a project to pitch. A finished project.

Step One: Set a deadline for writing project. Commit to focusing on that project ONLY.

I printed out a March-April calendar, looked at it alongside our life calendar, and circled days I would be able to write. I think one of the obstacles facing writers who also work, raise children, take care of households, etc, is that we feel guilty carving out time for writing. But writing is important. Even if it pays very little or not at all, it is something I need to have in my life. I’m happier when I’m writing. It’s therapy. So far I have followed through and written on my circled days, and on the non circled days I spend extra time with my family or just relax. Giving myself permission to take time off in between has helped me focus on my writing days.

Step Two: Create mini-deadlines. Make them reasonable. If they aren’t working, revisit the schedule. Celebrate success. Crossing off days is weirdly rewarding. (Stickers work well too.) I calculated how much work I need to do to finish the project in time for PennWriters, and wrote mini-deadlines on the circled days.

The time part figured out, I moved to the other part of my blockage. Where the hell do I even start with this thing? The novel originally had two separate story lines, and the feedback I got was that they weren’t gelling and a few agents didn’t like the one character’s voice. So I cut her. And was left with half a book. Now what? I needed to get back to the drawing board. I read books on outlining and plotting, and thought ugh, I’m normally a panster, but I don’t have time to spend in multiple revisions. I need to fill the plot holes early.

Step Three: Make a plan. Get the hard stuff out of the way.

I brainstormed on my trusty legal pad, then filled out note cards for each chapter. They’re three different colors to indicate where they fit within the three act structure. I figured out which chapters from the original version would work moving forward and where I’d need to add additional content.

I’ve been writing for two weeks now, and the note cards have been an amazing tool. I know where the scene starts and what I need to include and can focus fleshing out characters and creating tension. The fun stuff. I told hubs last night that this is the first time I’ve been able to write freely in a long time. It feels good. Of course there was a large hurdle to overcome — my first scene is brand new, and right now, it’s not great. But I got to the point where I had to tell myself to let it go and move on. To paraphrase Dory: Just Keep Writing.

Step Four: Find ways to keep the flow moving. Meditate. Close your eyes and focus on your breath. Go for a walk. Focus on how your senses perceive the world around you.

Step Five: Love yourself. The last thing I did to get ready is a tip I learned from @qnwrites on Instagram. She posted about writing a letter to her future self that she’d open during Camp. I loved this idea and expanded it a little by writing letters to my future self to be opened at the end of each week of Camp and when I finished each section of the book.

notes

They’re color coded to match my index cards. Of course.

I taped them up on my bulletin board to keep myself on track and motivated.

April is packed. The boys’ activities fill our calendar, my parents return from Florida mid-month, and our biggest recruitment event at work happens on April 30. In addition to Camp NaNoWriMo, I’m also this month’s hashtag leader for the Writing Challenge  on Twitter. And we’re taking a mini vacation to visit family. Whenever I open my online calendar, panic ensues.

Step Six: Commit to sit. It’s the only way. Fill the coffee mug, crank the tunes, and write.

 

What’s the worst that could happen?

A common approach to dealing with one’s fears and anxiety is to imagine a worst-case scenario. What is the worst thing that could happen if you do X? For some reason this approach doesn’t seem to work on me as I have already imagined not only the worst-case scenario but also the slightly less troublesome scenarios on a sort of sliding scale. Want to know what I’m worrying about at any given moment? Pull up a chair, I’ll make you a list.

We’ll start with this one: I have a slight car wash phobia. The car wash in Buffalo is not simply a place you go every once in a while to get your car cleaned. It’s a way of life. If you think I’m kidding, stop by a car wash in Buffalo on a sunny day in January-April. Better yet, try to drive down the main road that leads into said car wash. People around here are very serious about salt removal.

And for good reason. My last van rarely saw the inside of the car wash due in large part to my irrational phobia, and it suffered from extreme rust. When we bought the new van, hubs decided I needed to get regular washings. He signed up for the unlimited car wash club because you get to go through the express lane, and he didn’t want to wait three hours every time we came to the car wash. Whenever it needed to be cleaned, which is pretty much every day for the entire season, I politely asked hubs to take my van please and drive it through so I don’t have to. Why, what’s the problem? he asked.

What’s the problem? I’m afraid of the car wash. Obviously.

We’ve known each other for 26 years. He’s used to my laundry list of ridiculous things that send me into a panic. Bees. Parking garages. Ordering food on the telephone. Making any phone call at all for that matter. So he didn’t seem all that phased by my car wash phobia confession. Didn’t tease me about it. Took my van when he could and would make sure he was driving if we went through together. At one point he asked what it is exactly, that makes me nervous?

Me, slightly embarrassed but nevertheless pleased he seemed to be trying to understand my phobia: Everything.

How do I even attempt to explain — it’s the social construct of getting into line and negotiating exactly what needs to be cleaned on my car and how, lining the tires up perfectly on the track and then relinquishing control of the steering wheel, the claustrophobia of the actual car wash, and of course my environmental brain that can’t help but wonder how many gallons of water pump through that place all day. Oh, and then getting out of the parking lot safely and back onto the busy street while a pile up of anxious drivers in clean cars accumulates behind me.

See? Everything.

He made no fuss and continued to take my car in dutifully, until he left for three weeks. And it snowed. A lot. I had to face the demons in my mind and just go through the stupid thing by myself. So I did. After a lot of deep breaths and a quick pep talk on the way in. I even went back a second time with my son, who happens to LOVE the car wash for some strange reason. One of the things that has helped me face my anxiety is having to parent with it. I refuse to allow the panic to win when I’m with my kids. It’s not always easy, believe me, and I got super lucky to adopt two outgoing boys who aren’t afraid to ask for things or stand up for themselves.

But the experience got me thinking. Living with anxiety is a daily struggle, but there are things I can choose to control that will make it easier. For example: when it comes to socializing and making small talk, I’m — oh what’s a nice way to say this — I suck. But I’ve learned through attending conferences and my job as an admissions counselor that it is a skill one needs in life. I’ve been working on it and (hopefully) getting a bit better. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve still gone to parties recently and stood awkwardly by myself staring into my glass or walked away from a conversation thinking, why the hell did I say that?

Baby steps.

I decided to do a bit of a life experiment. When something comes up that makes me anxious, instead of asking myself what’s the worst-case scenario, I ask myself, would you feel better/improve the situation by doing the thing currently making you anxious? The car wash still makes my heart race, but I love seeing my clean vehicle and feel better knowing I’m protecting it against rust damage. There have been times when I felt the fear creep in during a situation — say I was nervous about asking someone for help or directions, or to clarify something, and I asked myself, will the information I need make the situation better? Yes? Then ask.

There are a lot of layers in my psyche full of worst-case scenarios. I already told my oldest that he better get used to checking in as I will regularly be imagining him in a ditch on the side of the road. I can’t alter the fundamentals of my brain. But I can take small steps toward not letting my fears keep me from the good things in life, like a clean car, new friends, or instead of the worst thing — imagining the best thing that could happen.