A Pen Post

I'm feeling a heck of a lot better than I did last week. I've left the house a few times (more important, I felt the need for a shower. Though I still can't smell myself, I couldn't run the risk of anyone else smelling me), including going to my writer's group yesterday. Physically, I'm feeling pretty good; mentally, I'm still not 100%.

You know it's a  bad day when I write about my pen!

Yesterday was a 'pen day' for me in my writer's group. I can't remember if I've written about this phenomenon here before or not, and I can't quite force myself through nearly 200 posts to find out. What's a 'pen day', you ask? It's a day where I spend 3/4 of our  free writing time struggling for an idea, or maybe there's a hint of an idea that I can't really catch hold of. The page is full of half-sentences and scribbles, and then, with a few minutes left, I start writing about...my pen. No, this is not a badly-disguised euphemism.

I've written at times about the sound my pen makes, I've written about what must be happening to the paper as the fine point rips across it, I've written about the way the pen feels in my hand. I've had a bunch of 'pen days' in my writer's group, though not in a while. Yesterday I wrote about how I lost my pen. I'm very particular about pens, and I really like this particular type. I took it with me in the even I was moved to write while waiting for the Catbird to get done with a school function, but it never got where I was going. It wasn't in my pocket or the car, it wasn't in the house. My conclusion was it slipped off the cover of my notebook and was lost--forever.

Two days later, I saw a silver gleam in the mud when I was  backing my car out of the driveway. Yep, it was the pen, and yes, I had run it over. Possibly more than once. The barrel was in fragments, but the cartridge was intact. Fortunately for me, the Catbird is a notorious collector, and she had one of my expired pens saved up for...I don't even know what. I performed a cartridge transplant, and still have a working pen.

Anyway, I wove this story of my pen around a story of the time, some fifteen(!) years ago, I ran over a pack of my wife's cigarettes in a convenience store parking lot. The smokes, freshly bought, fell out of my pocket. I ran them over. The box was slightly dented, but the cigarettes survived.

The story made people laugh. It didn't really get me anywhere. If I had started writing the pen story right away, however, I might have ended up with the basis of a new novel, a usable short story, a revision for an existing work, or maybe even a blog post. The point, though, is there's always something to write about. We have limited time to write, and it can be maddening when the words don't come out the way you want. If you're stuck, write about your pen. Or your keyboard. Or the coffee stains on your shirt. Or your half-awake stumbling to the shower. Chances are good that the act of writing, even if it's not what you want to be writing, will get you going enough. Yeah, I've definitely written this sort of stuff before, so my apologies if it feels like a rerun. I suppose it's good to be reminded of it every once in a while, right?

Meanwhile, by now you've probably seen Amanda Palmer's TED Talks appearance that's taking the world by storm. I can't connect all the dots today, my brain is too addled by illness and ideas, but I've certainly been thinking about it. Go watch it if you haven't already, let it stew. Some day, maybe we'll talk about it here.

And, finally, congrats to Carrie Butler, whose novel, Strength, debuts this week. Carrie will be here for an interview on 3/15. Looking forward to it! See you all soon.

The Ick Factor

One of the more interesting and simultaneously repulsive animals I have ever encountered is the Mudpuppy, (Necturus maculosis, for you science geeks out there). The Mudpuppy, known in some places as the Waterdog, is a large, wholly aquatic salamander. How large? The can grow to about 16 inches long, which is about the length of the one we had.

It's bigger than it looks!

It's a shy creature, spending its days hiding in crevices, beneath logs, under rocks. It forages by night for small aquatic vertebrates and invertebrates, and pretty much gulps them down in its extremely large mouth. The most distinguishing characteristic of the creature is the ruff of feathery gills around its neck. Amphibians in general lose their gills when they reach maturity; the mudpuppy is one of the exceptions.

We had a mudpuppy, purchased from a biological supply company, that we used to take our to schools to educate children about wildlife and the environment. On the morning of the program I'd track it down in its tank and corner it. On a good day I could get it in a net. On a bad day, I had to use my hands.

Like most amphibians, the mudpuppy's skin is coated with a layer of slime that lubricates and protects the mupuppy from injury. It also makes the creature extremely difficult to hold. The body of the mudpuppy, quite frankly, is icky. Picking it up, it's got a soft, squishy quality, like picking up a rotting cucumber. Blech.

Actually holding onto the animal was even tougher than picking it up in the first place. First, there's the body shape, which is long and slim. Its legs are stubby. When the animal pulls its legs tight to its body it becomes eel-like. And then there's that slippery skin and slimy coating. But the real tough part is the body, as soft and squishy as it feels, is really all muscle. That's the thing about animals, by the way: there's no wasted muscle on them. They are strong (ever have a little canary or parakeet sit on your finger? What a grip they have). When the mudpuppy pulses its muscles in a wriggling attempt to get out, it's hard to hold. The only time I ever picked this creature up was to move it from its tank to its travel bucket. And I never handled it in a classroom – it would surely have slipped my grasp and slithered around the classroom floor, and probably ended up injured or dead as a result.

Writing can belike trying to handle the mudpuppy. There are times when the writing state is slippery and easily slips through your fingers, when you just feel like you can't hold onto it. In those times, for me, I usually have to just power through, have to find some way to maintain my grip on that squirming, slick creature that does not want to be held. Lately on my WiP, the problem has not been with holding onto the slippery writing state, or catching it in the first place. I've been having trouble with the Ick Factor. My WiP has taken a turn for the icky, leaving me wanting to scrub my hands on my pants to wipe off the slime, and I can't help wonder how it will be received when it's ready to share.  

Discomfort is not a bad thing. I've watched movies and read books that have left me uncomfortable, shifting in my seat and grimacing like I've got a bad case of indigestion. And I've also walked out of those movies or closed the book at the end, and thought, "That was great." Not in a feel-good sort of way, but in a way that made me think, even as part of me wanted to get rid of that slimy, mudpuppy feeling. It's never a bad idea to make people think. The question is, what will they think? I guess that will be answered someday when this is ready to be seen by others.

Have you ever written anything that's made you uncomfortable, or made your readers squirm? I'd love to hear about it. Have a nice weekend, all.