The Vagaries of Time by Nancy L. Eady

The group of writers who create the posts for Writers Who Kill have assigned days when our posts go up. “Our” days are not dates on the calendar, but specified times during the month. For example, my assignment is to post blogs on the third and fourth Fridays of the month, and the fourth Monday of the month. In addition, whenever a month has a fifth Monday or Friday, I blog then. 

We also stop our regular blogs from Thanksgiving until New Year’s, replacing them with holiday stories that stay up about a week at a time. The stories are the group’s gift to you. 

Thanksgiving is on the fourth Thursday of every month (except for a while during the Great Depression when Franklin Delano Roosevelt announced it would be the third Thursday of every month, hoping to stimulate the economy with holiday shopping. It was not a popular move.)

Whether I have a Monday post for the week of Thanksgiving depends on how late Thanksgiving is. This year, Thanksgiving must be late, since the fourth Monday is arriving before the holiday. 

 Because of the way my blogging schedule runs, I am more aware than I used to be about the vagaries of our calendar. Is it any wonder that I have to keep careful track of my post dates on a calendar? The key numbers on our calendar are 365 ¼, 7, and 28, 29, 30 and 31. The time required for the Earth to complete its trip around the sun is 365 ¼ days. A week is seven days. I didn’t know why until I Googled it. According to Google, the seven-day week started in ancient Babylonia because the Babylonians named the week after the seven “classical” planets, the planets observable with the naked eye. The Romans then adapted that seven-day week to their own needs by naming each day after one of their deities, which is where we get many (but not all) of our own names for the week. I do not know why we space months the way we do. Without getting too heavy into the math, given that 7, 29, and 31 are prime numbers, and the number 365 is made by multiplying the prime numbers 5 and 73, finding smaller units that all of them can go into evenly is nigh impossible. I can imagine the metric people, who tried to put as much as possible into multiples of ten, studying the calendar and finally throwing up their hands in defeat, leaving us with our current system.

I’m glad the current calendar iteration left me with a chance to visit with you one last time before the holidays. And wherever you are, and whatever you celebrate, I hope the time between Thanksgiving and New Year’s is filled with joyous events and happy thoughts. I’ll see you again starting January 16, 2026. 

 

The Fourth Dimension by Nancy L. Eady

In the physics of space-time, time is considered the fourth dimension. Twice in the last few weeks, I have had meetings in places where prior versions of myself dot the landscape. 

I don’t know if I was in a particularly reflective mood each day, but as I drove through my old haunts, I almost could see the teenager who regularly traveled to downtown Montgomery to go to the library and to visit her mother at the hospital (long since torn down) where she worked and the woman about to turn 40 who traveled with her husband back and forth to social services to take classes so she could be approved for adoption. 

The mother who was so excited the day she and her husband and her little girl went to adoption court to have the adoption finalized was roaming around there too, so happy, as was the young attorney who waited anxiously at the steps of the Alabama Supreme Court building to find out if she passed the bar. (In those days, the Bar didn’t send the bar exam results electronically; they mailed them. If you wanted to know as soon as possible if you passed, you had to wait for the list to be posted on the bulletin board at the Alabama Supreme Court building that first day. Talk about nerve wracking!) 

The older attorney who delivered briefs to the same building and on rare occasions visited its library showed up as well and even the woman who only a few months ago went downtown in order to judge a moot court event for the first time was there. 

The other city, Opelika (Oh-pa-lie-kuh, emphasis on the “pa”), is close to Auburn, where I finished my undergraduate work at Auburn University. A lot of different versions of myself wandered there, too, although the college age versions I’ll keep to myself. We’re all entitled to the privacy of our wild oats (or at least we were until social media came along to preserve all of our young idiocies – um, I mean exploits – in perpetuity). Post-college versions of me exist also, since my husband worked there for six years in the early 2000’s while we lived about forty-five minutes away in a small town and Auburn/Opelika was our go-to place for shopping and dinners out. 

I wondered what it would be like if you could see into that dimension, if like sliced sections of a loaf of bread, you could sit outside of the fourth dimension and view all the different vignettes of yourself through time in a single sitting. And I wondered what the younger versions of myself would think about me. What would they think about the triumphs, setbacks, and unexpected detours that changed me from the people I was in the past to the person I am now? I never reached any conclusion. 

Would you like to meet your past selves? What would you like to tell them if you did? 

Craft Closets and Time Frames by Nancy L. Eady

In my house, I have been granted one closet in the spare bedroom that is MY craft closet. I can keep all the craft stash I wish as long as I can cram it into that closet. And yes, while I know I probably have more materials in there than I can use in my lifetime, it’s mine and it makes me happy. As long as I follow the guidelines, the rest of the family can leave it alone, thank you very much. 

However, my 22-year-old daughter has a more evolved position on possessions than I. She views most items in the house as community property, unless it’s in her room. Those items are just hers. She also periodically gets the urge to dabble in various crafts, mostly painting, crochet and jewelry making. Truth be told, I’ve never minded her using my craft stash. I just wish her efforts would “take” - I would dearly love for her to find a permanent hobby outside Tik-Tok and Twitter.  But the rule is supposed to be the same: take it out of the craft closet, put it back in the craft closet, leave it alone. 

 About a month ago, this same daughter, whose room periodically is carpeted with cast-off clothes, food wrappers, and miscellanea, decided that MY craft closet needed to be organized. Her process (and definition) of organized is unique – she pulled everything out of the closet, strowed it all over the floor of the spare room and announced that I needed to get rid of some of it. Then she promptly lost interest in the project, leaving everything scattered on the floor. 

I had to go in there the other day. When I did, I saw the box where I had stashed the Christmas cards I failed to send out last year. Then I started wondering if August was too early for my Christmas card letter, the letter I like to send out with my cards. That thought led to another - how difficult it can be to write about different time frames. In some ways, it’s easier to write about one week versus one year. First, I have to remember the events of the past year. I have trouble remembering what I had for breakfast. Then, I need to decide what is important and interesting enough for inclusion in the letter. A major event in our lives this summer was the demise of our old riding mower and the acquisition of the new riding mower, but I’m not sure that’s the stuff from which holiday letters are made. 

The same issues come up when writing fiction, in slightly different form. A day in the life of my character may be important, but the reader doesn’t need to know what happened every minute of it. I want to track my character’s position in my writing. In my first drafts, the unfortunate reader gets to follow my character from the time she woke up in the morning, through the commute to work, through each time she left her office, through the grocery store stop at the way home and then finally (and probably gratefully) sink into bed with her at night. My character is not only tired by then, but I suspect the reader is too. 

The trick is to distill from that day the event that matters to the story and my character, and focus solely on that. Choosing which of the many events in a day makes up that pivotal moment is a key part of my rewrites. I can’t imagine how people who write historical novels covering sweeping periods of time manage it. 

How do you decide what time frames and events to cover in your writing? And does anyone have advice on how to re-organize a craft closet once it has been dismantled? 

TIME by Nancy L. Eady

             Time is an odd concept. On the one hand, it is hard and set. It is measured by scientists, egg timers, stopwatches and (apparently) my dogs on Saturday and Sunday.  They wake me up Saturday and Sunday to the exact minute we would usually get up Monday through Friday. On the other hand, it shortens and lengthens itself in odd ways. If I’m stuck in a boring meeting, an hour is interminable. If I’m visiting with friends, an hour passes in seconds.

            The older I get, the weirder this flexible aspect of time gets. It is almost the end of August, but I could swear I’ve only blinked once since it was early July. The day before I leave work on vacation lasts a century, but when I realize next year is 2021, I have to shake myself to remind myself I’m not dreaming. Surely any year in the 2000s occurred just last week.

            And can anyone explain why reading an 80-page Supreme Court opinion seems to take more time than reading a mystery book of 200 pages or more? 

            Writers struggle with time as well. Not just with the more mundane aspects of making sure your 32-year-old heroine doesn’t remember an event that occurred 40 years earlier or get confused about the day of the week, but also with the rhythm and tempo of our words and the flow of the story. Rhythm, tempo, meter, and flow are all part of what writers call “pacing.”  Pacing is the speed at which the story is told, not the speed at which the story happens. And it is not bound to hard and fast rules of physical time. For example, the show 24 made an entire season last one 24-hour period. But the show’s events and the way they were presented certainly did not drag on the way a 24-hour video of my life on a quiet Sunday would.  Pacing is one of the many writing techniques I am still struggling with. While I like thrillers, the constant action is wearing. I prefer quiet moments interspersed with faster action, but there is a fine line between a quiet moment and a dragging scene. While common sense tells you that a quiet moment or a pause in conversation might be the perfect moment to end a chapter, the better practice is to end chapters in the middle of a cliffhanger, to keep the reader wanting to keep reading to find out what happens next.

            If you’re a writer, what sources have you used to refine your pacing skills?  And if you’re a reader, how does pacing affect the way you enjoy (or don’t enjoy) a book? 

The Beauty of 1K a Day

It can take forever to write a novel.

Months. Years. Half-a-decade.

But it’ll take a lot longer if you don’t actually sit down and write the thing.

As you may have gleaned from my last post, I really don’t have a ton of time to write. Between being a mom, having a full-time job and a healthy freelance writing/editing career, I am often SWAMPED.

But dang it if I don’t get stuff done.

Because I’ve learned the art of chipping away.

On every project I worked on last year, I attempted to average 1,000 words a day during the first draft stage. That’s not much. Maybe five pages, double-spaced. For me, that’s about half a chapter or one scene. 

Not much at all.

But when staring down a 90,000-work book from page one? Totally doable.

I can fit in 1,000 words on my lunch break at work. Then, by Friday afternoon, I’ve got 5,000 words I didn’t have at the start of the week. Sure, that’s slow progress—especially when compared to those “fast drafters” out there who crank out 10,000 words a day—but it’s just enough that I feel like I’ve accomplished something—and moved closer to my goal of finishing a manuscript.

Some days I can’t write. Too many family obligations or too much work or freelance to do. So, I double-up the next day. Or go on a tear during a few precious hours during a weekend. As long as I average 30,000 words for a month, I’m pleased. That’s not Herculean. But it’ll get me there.

I’ve written nearly four manuscripts with this technique. Two that were completed in 2013, and two (a solo project and a joint project) that will most likely be finished this month.

They say that to be a writer you must write every day. I don’t necessarily believe this to be true, but I do think that to be a writer who finishes projects, you need to write as often as possible while in the drafting stage.

Not because that makes you a writer, per se, but because it will make the act of finishing a book A. less daunting and B. easier, in that you’ll be in the story every day (aka not staring at the computer screen because it’s been a week). And finishing is the goal, right? Right.

How do you approach the act of finishing a manuscript?

Technology Changes Stories

I recently reread Ant Farm, what would now be a prequel to Bad Policy, the current start of the Seamus McCree series. Several readers were interested in the origins of various characters and this early work provides the answers. So, I read it through to determine how much work it would take to fix the problems that made Ant Farm unpublishable.

What I learned about story and writing style problems may be material for another blog, but one of the things I discovered in this reread is how quickly technology can force story changes if they are set in “recent” times. I last worked on this story in early 2006. If I do the rewrite, I’ll need to update it to around 2010-11 to fit in with the rest of the series. In those short five years:

Fax machines for personal use did not become extinct, but they might as well be. I’ll need to change fax usage to sending pdf files that can be digitally signed. I’ll miss the mating call of two fax machines linking.

Using phone booths. They still exist, but they are rarer than hens’ teeth—well, I’m not sure that’s accurate because I’m not sure how rare hens’ teeth are, but nowadays I only see phone booths in rural areas where cell coverage is still spotty.

Speaking of cell coverage, have you seen the commercials for Verizon’s coverage map? Fewer and fewer places are without cell coverage. Fortunately for me, some of the rural areas my stories deal with are still white (empty) on the map—for now.

And how about those phone calling cards we used to use. Anyone, other than characters in the current version of my story, still using one? Didn’t think so.

I used driving a hybrid Prius as an indicator of an environmentally conscious early adopter. I need to find another indicator now.

In 2006, few people used their cell phones for detailed internet searches on the road. Now, it’s second nature.

In 2006, none of my characters texted each other. I need to think through how communication might change.

In 2006 “everyone” had home phones. Now, many people only have cell phones.

Wow! That’s a lot of changes for only five years. Mostly they relate to the way we communicate, and I haven’t even covered social networking, such as Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc., etc., etc.

Writers, have you ever picked up one of your old stories and discovered it was dated? If so, what did you do? Readers, how much slack do you cut writers if their story seems dated?

~ Jim

Guilt: The Bane of a Writer's Existence? Probably

Right now, I am guilt personified.

This happens to me a lot, actually.

And, I imagine, that if you’ve ever tried writing a book, it’s happened to you.

No matter how much I enjoy sitting down in front of my computer and cozying up with my manuscript, there’s a piece of me — sometimes small, sometimes quite massive — tugging at my heart with a whisper of “You shouldn’t be here, you should be playing with the little guy.”

You see, I do most of my writing on the weekends. I have a full-time job, a cadre of freelance, but most importantly, I have a 4-year-old boy.

Thus, I have guilt. Huge, insufferable mommy guilt.

My guilt finds me hunched over my computer, shows me his big, sad eyes, juts out his lower lip and whines in a full-on beg: “Mommmmmmy, will you play with me?”

And it sucks.

Even though I play with him all the time.

Moms of all stripes will discuss the phenomenon as it pertains to any activity they do outside of mommying.

Work full-time? Mommy guilt.

Like to exercise? Mommy guilt.

Just want to pee in peace? Mommy guilt.

And then there’s writing.

If you’re a writer, whether you’re a mom or not, you’ve got guilt.

For sure.

You’ve got guilt that you’re not on the couch with your spouse.

That you’re not out to lunch with your friends.

That your lawn looks like the perfect set for a live-action version of “The Jungle Book.”

Guilt crushes us when we know we should be doing something else with/or for real people we love, but instead, we’re hiding away, playing with imaginary friends.

The real, live people in our worlds can tell us that they don’t mind. That they know we’re doing what we love. But, even if we believe that they really don’t mind, that doesn’t stop the guilt from metastasizing and consuming us with each passing page.

As I’m writing this, as if her ears were burning, a writer I follow on Twitter, Sarah Guillory, posted, “The hubby and the dog are both snoozing, so I’m sneaking into the writing cave.”

When I asked her if I could use her Tweet as an example, she was emphatic: “I ooze guilt."

I ooze it, too. And my guess is you’ve got a crust of guilt you’re hoping to wash off after you get in the day’s word count.

Still, I try to minimize my guilt. I write on my lunch break at work. I edit manuscripts on my Kindle while working out. I write on the weekends only when I plan good quality time with the little guy and the hubby before or after my writing stint. It's not a perfect system, but it works.

How do you deal with your writer’s guilt?

Time Warp

Time Warp

Written on 11/10/ 11

E-mail confirmation and my airplane ticket both assure me we will leave New Zealand early in the morning of November 12^th and touch down on US soil in the evening of November 11^th.

If shortly after we arrive we discover we failed to pack something, can I call myself to remind me? Or would that create a time anomaly, which would bring the universe as we know it to an end? If I get a call from me in the states late Friday night, I will let you know. If the universe ends that night — Sorry.

If you had one chance to go back in time and do something differently in your life, would you? What was the situation and what do you think you should have done differently?

There’s the one that got away or the one that didn’t. Words spoken in haste or the words never uttered. Efforts that went wrong or opportunities missed.

For me, I might take the chance to kiss my best friend’s little sister. I could take the time to cool my anger and not adopt the righteous language of my accuser. I should have talked to the college instructor who did not accept me into his poetry class but left a note inviting me to talk to him along with his refusal.

Woulda’ coulda’ shoulda’

What about you?