I’m trying to analyze which posts of mine are most successful — prompted posts? My own ideas? Short posts? Long post? Personal posts? Posts about writing? I have come to the conclusion that I can’t predict what will get me more viewers.
Dice on grey background
I’ve always thought prompted posts performed better than non-prompted posts, long posts better than shorter posts, and posts about writing better than personal posts.
Yesterday, a short prompted post about what personality traits I disliked — with no title — performed better than any post I’ve had in the past couple weeks. This is expected because the prompted posts appear to get more circulation. Yet I’ve had other prompted posts only get as many likes as one I’ve written without a prompt.
My best performing post of all time had to do with my wedding anniversary. Other posts (even about birthdays) have gotten little attention.
There seems to be a randomness to what plays well and what does not, which means I’m learning nothing about how to improve my traffic.
The above is a very American phrase meaning something like “getting into the rhythm of what’s currently happening.” It’s such an ingrained phrase in American English that it’s hard to define without using the phrase itself.
“Getting into the swing of things” is a descriptor of where I am right now. My fall semester starts tomorrow, and it will take a few days before I fall into the rhythm of life as a professor again. My schedule is much less flexible, I add more necessary tasks for my job, and i have much less free time. Writing time will become scarce and scheduled secondarily to my work tasks.
The challenge is to allow at least a couple hours a day writing, with three hours being optimal for flow. I can look at the schedule right now and see where that will be difficult. Mondays will be the most difficult, as I have meetings after my afternoon class lets out. Meanwhile, Wednesdays and Fridays will be easier — I can schedule 2:30-5 as writing time and maybe even go to Starbucks to write. Tuesdays and Thursdays I work at home, and I can do what I did over summer — get my work done first, and spend that later afternoon block writing. Weekends will be as always. So it’s doable.
The challenge will be to switch gears (another Americanism) from work brain to writing brain. They’re two different modes. Seldom does my work life demand creativity. (My creative life demands a certain amount of critical thinking, though.) Right now I have an afternoon to write before fall semester begins, but I’m not feeling inclined to write because I’m in work brain mode.
I’ve done this transition before — for many years, in fact; I don’t know why it’s a struggle this year. Maybe because I’m in-between projects, and there’s not a writing project currently obsessing me. This, too, will change when I get into the swing of things.
I’m trying to think about writing as I sit in a van barreling down the rural road. I’ll be here for seven hours or more today and tomorrow, so I might as well be productive.
I want to write some stories not relating to my world (the Hidden in Plain Sight stories). They aren’t coming to me. I seem to be on a hiatus writing-wise these past few days.
If life plays as it usually does, I should get an inspired idea just as I’m in a place where I can’t write, like the middle of applying fake blood on people. I’d rather inspiration show up during idle time.
I’m just about to where I will put Carrying Light into a drawer to mellow for a while. I’m repairing immediately obvious problems, including cutting a subplot out that wasn’t adding anything and modifying some wordy expository stuff (telling, not showing) at the beginning. Today will be looking at continuity of the main relationship. I got so immersed in the book I don’t want to let it go. For a few weeks, it was my reality.
It’s time to pick up a new project. But what? I feel singularly uninspired. I have a book waiting for me, but no desire to write it. Richard (my husband) gave me an idea for a book but I definitely see no reason to write a book that feels like a contractual obligation in my series. I don’t write the next Kringle book until November; it’s my annual NaNoWriMo ritual.
Oh, but there’s another book I need to write … it’s in the Hidden in Plain Sight series, and it tells of why there are only about 300 Archetypes and thousands of different ethnicity groups in the world. (There should be Archetypes to represent most, if not all, of the groups.) This was revealed in a previous book with a lingering question. I’m not sure what to do with that book idea, because as momentous as the implications are, I don’t know how to get to the momentous part. The action goes fast and then there’s the revelation, and then there’s a lot of heaviness afterward. There’s a lot of feeling, but not a lot of there there. It could be a short story, but can a short story carry that much of the secret of the Archetypes? I think not.
I suppose I could take a break. But it’s the middle of the summer, and I am ahead on my classes. I work on them in the morning, and then work on writing. The ritual helps me with my moods and with my productivity.
I have given up on my Big Audacious Goal for this year, which was having a booth at an author’s conference. I believe it the goal was too big and audacious for me, which is a hard thing to admit.
I have promoted my books at small appearances — a book fair in Maryville, MO, another in St. Joseph. I handle those fine because they’re small and local. A conference feels threatening to my somewhat introverted self. I see myself as an indie author, and I don’t enjoy comparing myself to people who get publishing contracts. This is my little hobby, as long as I’m still employed full-time in my day job.
Is the amount of sales and exposure worth a table fee and a conference visit? If Gateway Con in St. Louis was still operational, I’d say yes. That was a small and valuable conference that gave me a lot in return. I could sit a table there. A bigger conference, maybe not. I’ll be honest — I’m intimidated by ‘real authors’. I feel like an impostor in those settings.
I’m thinking of another Big Audacious Goal. In the middle of an indolent summer, none are coming to me. Little goals: Have my Loomly calendar (promotion) set up through January 1. (Done). Set up Kringle Through the Snow for October 1 publication. (Done). Prepare Reclaiming the Balance for January 1 publication (in process; still a bit chicken). Blog daily (so far, so good). Finish Carrying Light (almost done).
No Big Audacious Goals yet. Can anyone suggest one for a sleepy indie author?
So far, so good. I wrote a 750-word breakup argument, which was a lot of fun. It’s a reminder that I need to get more of the relationship between Forrest and Sage into the book. Remember, I’m pantsing this book (aka “Flying by the seat of my pants”), which means I figure out what’s wrong in retrospect.
I only have four chapters after this before Carrying Light is done. I could happy cry. When I’m done, I’m going to put the novel into a figurative desk drawer to see if fresh eyes will find all the changes I need to make. And then what? I have a novel to re-edit for January 1 publication if I don’t chicken out. It’s a somewhat unusual novel with very different focus from the previous Hidden in Plain Sight novel Apocalypse. I have a couple ideas for novels, but I’m not happy with either one of them. Maybe it’s time to write more short stories. But about what?
People have suggested elven detectives in the manner of Howard the Duck, a battalion of squirrels, and a library run by sentient marmots. These will not happen.
Today, Chloe is helping me write the blog. Chloe is my second-youngest cat at age 4, and she is peculiar:
We adopted her as a kitten from the Humane Society — she was the one who spent her visit climbing all over me, so we knew what to expect.
The kitty we nicknamed “Itty-bitty-bitty-bitty-BABY-BABY girl” has grown into a chubby adult. She sits with me when I’m in my writing spot (a loveseat in the living room) or sits nearby, looking out the window. Often she asks for attention so it takes longer to get things done.
I’m trying to figure out what to write today (if anything). She is not helping any, choosing instead to sit on the back of the couch and read over my shoulder. Just now she ran toward the stairs for no real reason at all.
Motivation needs direction, or else people waste their energy. There are several things that give me direction in life, honestly. Some are lofty; some mundane. I need to talk about both.
One thing that gives me direction is love. Love of people becomes an evident focus in my relationships, and it’s the answer people expect when I say “love”. But what loving what I do? That’s at least as strong a guide for direction in my life. I think about two activities I term as “flow” activities in my life, moulage (casualty simulation, otherwise known as making victims for emergency training) and writing. The love of the activity and the stimulation they give me gives me direction.
Another thing is striving to be better. This points me toward improvement activities, such as reading about my writing craft and practice, practice, practice. Related to this is the desire for recognition. Although I don’t like to talk about my need for external validation, it’s there. It’s definitely there.
Sometimes, it’s duty that gives me direction. That I get up in the morning on days when I’m depressed, and go to work even when I am hypomanic, is the power of duty. Duty to myself and to my husband and cats. The need to provide food, clothing, and shelter; safety and security, and emotional support. I also do these things because I love all of them, but the daily things fall under the category of duty.
This list is pretty prosaic, more of an essay answer for my positive psychology class than a creative piece. But these are the places and the reasons I focus my energy.
One of my goals for the New Year is to get back into a steady writing discipline. I began three books and finished none in 2022. I have been backing off on writing because I have not felt inspired. Yet writing is a way to open the mind to creativity, and to allow new thoughts to pass through. I have, therefore, dealt with a vicious cycle, where I don’t write because I don’t feel creative and I don’t feel creative because I am not writing.
I need to get the discipline and enjoyment of writing back. To make the goal SMART — specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time-bound — I may have to set my daily word goal for less than I do when I’m writing for NaNoWriMo. During NaNo, I write 2000 words a day; that may be too much when I need to take baby steps toward the goal. So my goal, as SMART as possible, is:
I will write 1000 words a day on some sort of fiction work either early morning or in the afternoon after work starting January 3 2023.
Is the goal specific? Yes. I know what, when, and how much.
Is it measurable? Yes. If I don’t write 1000 words by evening, I haven’t done it.
Is it achievable? I think so. 1000 words is a suitable compromise between zero and 2000. (To give you an idea of what 1000 words look like, the bulleted section you are now reading is 82 words.)
Is it relevant? To a writer, it is.
Is it action oriented? Yes, it focuses on writing.
Notice I set the date for today, so I’m going to have to write soon. I will write on the Christmas Kringle book unless one of the other two books — Avatar of the Maker or Walk Through Green Fire — tempts me away from that book.
Sometimes I write because I see it as a method of getting an idea out there into the universe, as if the universe will supply me with something I need to deal with it creatively. Part of my belief system holds that, if one listens closely enough, the answers or comfort or solution is out there. I like whoever’s providing the aid to know what I’m asking. It comes from Quakerism and it also comes from the Christian belief of praying for what you need. I don’t know if I believe in what would be called “intercessory prayer” in some circles wholeheartedly, because my spirituality has become a muddle from the time a psychiatrist diagnosed me as bipolar. But I put words out into the universe occasionally, with some witnesses to hear. That’s you.
My life with the muse
Right now, I struggle with creativity. The spark is gone. I am writing without that burning desire to see what comes up next in my work. Everything I write feels pedestrian. I lay my problem on the muse I have had throughout my career. Muses exist to give motivation. For example, my writing life goes like this:
Inspiration>Obsession>Writing
I assume the muse enters at the inspiration part of the equation. I used to get inspiration from my dreams. My dreams haven’t come from a muse lately. They’ve come from the Karen of my subconscious. In my dreams, I forget little things like showing up for class (I’m the professor) and wearing clothing. I’m doing everything wrong, and I am about to be discovered as a fraud. My bad dreams don’t even have the courtesy of being a dystopic plot line, preferring instead pedestrian impostor syndrome.
As muses are notorious for whipping up their subjects into a creative fury, I lay the problems of my obsession stage on the muse I’ve had as well. The obsession is the need to get into the story to interrogate the dream. I want not just to know the story but to be in it. To be it. It’s an exhilarating feeling, like flight. The obsession part is alright, unless it’s not. I know writers go a little crazy when they write, but my obsessions come with hypomania. I get into mood swings that swing between elation and Subconscious Karen, telling me I’m out of control, as if she fears I will skip class and run around naked. (Thank God I have done neither.) So I don’t get wild, but I fear giving creativity any quarter will cause the calamity I dream of.
Go away, muse
So I fired my muse. Those obsession parts were too wild, and I feared sliding down a slippery slope to a bacchanalia in the middle of the University Ballroom and all those other explosions Subconscious Karen feared. I never have experienced the wild elation since I fired my muse. I miss it sometimes, but it’s nice not having Subconscious Karen around all the time (she’s only around sometimes now, usually when I’m under a lot of stress).
Now I wonder if I can hire a new muse. I don’t want an erratic, frenetic, startling muse anymore. But I want a muse to inspire me without the feeling that I’m about to choose to swing naked on that chandelier. There has to be a middle between swinging on a chandelier and Subconscious Karen.
It’s not about a muse, is it?
Writing this article has been alchemy. I discovered, in writing this, that it was about writing with bipolar disorder. Although I am convinced that I am not less creative with the bipolar meds, I don’t know how to grasp my creativity as readily as I would like to. In a hypomanic state, ideas jump at me and I grab onto them and run. I feel touched by the muse and my self-doubts melt. I feel gifted, and this makes writing easy. Subconscious Karen keeps me from veering off the deep end but makes my life uncomfortable and my mood swings worse. I have given up those things which encourage artificial highs (irregular sleep, extended stress, obsessive crushes) and thus have robbed myself of the muse.
My thought going out into the universe: Help me live with Subconscious Karen in a way that doesn’t rob me of joy. Help me find inspiration without obsession, intensity without disruption, creativity without condemnation.
Words Like Me 