If you haven’t got an idea, start a story anyway. You can always throw it away, and maybe by the time you get to the fourth page you will have an idea, and you’ll only have to throw away the first three pages. - William Campbell Gault

I start new writing projects with the ease of a toothless man eating a candied apple.

For the past 2 weeks, I’ve been avoiding starting a new story because this time, thanks to The Jens, I can’t quit working on it once I start writing. No matter how lousy it is, no matter how ridiculous the plot,  how shallow the characters, or how cheesy the dialogue, I have to finish it. And when I get stuck or frustrated or unsure about myself and/or the story, and start coming up with fresh, new, exciting story ideas to work on instead, I have to back-burner that upstart bastard, no matter how cool I think it is.

Typically, the “fresh, new, exciting story idea” is just a way of distracting me from having to figure out what happens next when I get stuck. It’s really just a form of procrastination, manifested insecurity, I know. Aside from being unsure about which story to work on, whether or not I’ll chose the “right” one, my mind keeps coming back to one of the most unformed ideas I’ve ever had, which just makes my job harder.

It’s not even an idea really, but more like a vague notion of something you think you remember dreaming. But that’s the one that keeps demanding my attention. Either I go with it, or just keep waiting for something better to come to mind. Who knows when that could be?

Considering I’ve already put this off 2 weeks, I’d rather not wait another 2 weeks (or longer) for inspiration to hit, so I’ll just start. Today. I’ve had so much anxiety about taking this on, about committing to it (which seems silly and idiotic) but I think I’ve reached my anxiety threshold. If my choices are between having anxiety about not writing, or having anxiety while writing, I might as well get a book out of it.

You can track my progress on The Shitty First Draft Meter in the sidebar. It’ll be there until this project ends.

“Not a day without a line. By writing, reading, working and practicing daily, perseverance will lead me to a good end.” – Vincent Van Gogh

Not a day without a line.

I love that idea, that commitment. Whatever your endeavor — writing, painting, learning a new language, earning a degree, etc. — this is the commitment we should all make, isn’t it? Whatever the equivalent of “a line” is (if you’re not a writer or a painter or actor or something that actually involves lines), that’s the thing you should do daily.

Oh, how many times I promised myself I would do this, each time breaking that promise. And, after each failure, nursing my crushed spirit, breathing deeply, gathering myself up, and trying again. Maybe this time, I say to myself. And the cycle repeats itself.

“Maybe this time” is the problem. It’s indicative of a mindset — my mindset — that accepts the possibility of success or failure as reality. “Maybe” is not a commitment to an idea of being or doing. “Maybe” is the reasonable acceptance of two possibilities. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.

It’s so much better to just remove “maybe” from the phrase. “This time” is simply the reasonable acceptance of one possibility, the one I want. “This time” is a commitment to an idea of being or doing: writers write, painters paint, students study, teachers teach.

If I want to be it, I have to do it.

Not a day without a line.

This month’s theme on National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) is “Maybe”. I tried doing this daily-blogging-for-a-whole-month business once before in October 2009, but I gave up after a week. And like most NaBloPoMo themes since then, I wasn’t planning on participating in this one either.

But I’ve reconsidered because I’m attempting to do some of the same things that I have yet to see to the end, and this month’s NaBloPoMo theme fits in with my goals for the next 31 days.

So, today, I start (re-start) some big projects. With some motivation from some of my closest friends, and my lovely Cindy, I’ll be working this month towards writing 50,000 words of one of the stories I’ve been kicking around in my head.

I’ll also be making conscious efforts to write a daily blog post, eat healthier and exercise more.

And maybe, just maybe, this month, I’ll actually do it.

I was sitting on the couch with a spiral notebook last night, watching some Doctor Who, and occasionally sketching out a scene for my Script Frenzy project, when something very obvious occurred to me: This is not the best way to work.

Of course, this didn’t stop me from sitting there, did it?

Then something else occurred to me — and I’m warning you now, it might not be a fully formed thought, but I’ll try to explain it anyway.

What I thought was this: The TARDIS is a great metaphor for having ideal writing conditions. In fact, every creative person needs a TARDIS. If you don’t already know, TARDIS stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space.

When you’re writing or painting, or whatever creative endeavor you’re engaging in, you need time and space, right?

So, the outside of the TARDIS, which looks like a blue police box, represents a safe, quiet physical space to work, to write, to create. Although the outward appearance of the TARDIS has always been a blue police box, that doesn’t mean you have to always write in the same physical space, such as the same booth at a certain coffee shop. It just means you need a safe, quiet place where you won’t be disturbed or interrupted. By the way, I think this is a solid idea because the TARDIS does have the ability to change its appearance to blend in with its surroundings.

The inside of the TARDIS, being much bigger, represents the time and space in which your imagination takes over and you create. You can write anything you want, even when you’re not sure what it is you’re doing or where you’re going. It’s like watching The Doctor twist some random knobs, pull some nonsensical levers, and honk a horn. He has an idea of where he’s going, and sometimes he’s even sure about it, but oftentimes it’s not so precise. But he knows he has the power to go anywhere he wants. The important thing is being really into what you’re doing during that writing time.

Also, the inside of the TARDIS has changed its appearance over the years, while the function has stayed the same. The TARDIS console is just a means to an end, a way of getting from Point A to Point B — it can look like anything — in the same way that it doesn’t matter if you’re writing on a Mac or PC, or using Google Docs, Word, or pencil and paper. It’s just a way to get ideas down.

Much like how the TARDIS is bound to The Doctor, we each need our own time and space in which to work. And keep in mind that no good ever comes out of The Doctor being unwillingly separated from his TARDIS.

This year, I’m focusing on writing. One of my biggest problems with getting it down on paper is that I think about random scenes that go somewhere in the story, but I don’t like to write them down as they come to me. I like to write them down linearly, as they fall into place in the story. So, what happens is that I walk around with a head full of jumbled parts of a story. This is stupid, right? I mean, I just need to write the damn chapter or scene and be done with it. But, I’m also not well-organized, and I’ve done things like write one chapter in Word, one in Google Docs, one in Pages, one in a notebook somewhere, one in a different notebook, etc. You get the idea. I’m a wreck.

So, in additional to MacJournal, I also bought StoryMill. Todd asked me how it was working out, and I told him about the stupid hang-ups I have about writing, and that my plan for this year is to make things easier, short-circuit self-imposed obstacles, not just with how and when I write, but with everything else, too. But as far as the writing goes, StoryMill helps me do that. Like MacJournal, it gives me a centralized place to keep all my scenes and chapters, and allows me to move them around wherever I want, so I know where they go in the story’s timeline, and I can change it easily anytime I like. Linear, non-linear, who the hell cares anymore? It’s not a magical program or anything. It just lets me work in a way that works for me. If I was better organized, I could do the same thing with shuffling 3×5 cards around on the living room floor. It’s just a way to get the scene out of my head.

When I told him that, Todd suggested I listen to the Creative Screenwriting Magazine podcast with Michael Arndt taking about writing Toy Story 3. (If you want to be taken to the podcast, click this link.)

There’s so much to take away from the conversation, but because I’ve just finished reading A Million Miles in a Thousand Years: What I Learned While Editing My Life by Donald Miller, in which he looks at his life as a story (and tries to create a better, more meaningful story of his own life), I think a lot of what Arndt says can be applied to our own creative projects and our lives. So, here’s what I got from Michael Arndt:

Get the Clay on the Table
Whatever you’re working on, it doesn’t have to be perfect before you start bringing it into the world. If it’s vapor, you can talk about it until the cows come home. But if it’s on the table, it’s something tangible. You can point to it, and say you like this about it or don’t like that. You can sculpt it. In other words, get it out of your head, and onto the page. Have something to work with. Even if it’s something like building a birdhouse, gathering up some wood and nails, and setting them on the workbench in the garage might not seem like much, but it’s a start. It’s like unrolling a yoga mat. It sets your intention.

Fail As Quickly As Possible
(this one is actually attributed to Andrew Stanton)
Don’t be afraid of trial and error. The faster you find out what doesn’t work, the faster you find out what does work. Don’t pre-judge your ideas. You’re going to come up with a bazillion reasons why doing something is impossible. Get it out of your system fast and move on to figuring out why something will work…because you only need one of those. Failing = learning.

Articulate Yourself
It’s not enough to say something doesn’t work. You have to think about it. You have to say what the problem is, why something doesn’t work, and how to make it work or improve it. Vague problems can only have, at best, vague solutions.

Work with Smart People
Share with your tribe. When you’re stuck on something, let people know what it is. Maybe they can help you find a solution. Let them play with the clay on the table.

I’m taking it all to heart, especially the idea of just getting the clay on the table.

I’ve been meaning to take Mariner’s MacJournal for a spin for a long while now, and since it’s the end of the year, and I’m gearing up, planning, plotting, scheming, and laying the groundwork for 2011, I thought this would be a good time to download a trial version (free to use for 15 days) and give it a go. It doesn’t do everything I want it to, and I’m sure I’ll have to go into the WordPress Post Editing Area to tweak some entries (like this one because it doesn’t support HTML editing), but I’m sold on using it.

Having a tool like MacJournal won’t magically make me a better writer, but it will give me a centralized location for writing down thoughts or ideas for blog posts that I want to work on now or develop for posting later. If I have a vague notion for a post, I can create a new journal, give it a title or topic blurb, then give it a status (Unknown, Not Started, Underway, Needs Review, or Completed). If I have more than one idea that I want to work on, I can give them a priority label from 1 to 5 so I know which ones I wanted to work on more than others. Or, if I have more than one blog, I can work on each post in MacJournal, then publish it to the appropriate blog when it’s ready.

Another neat feature is the ability to highlight text, which I use to mark sections that need more information or rewording before posting. I can also easily change font colors, and add bullet lists. When the time comes to update my Goals List for 2011, I can highlight my completed goals in green and ones I never started in red. I might even have a third color, such as yellow or orange, for goals I attempted but didn’t complete. You get the idea. And I don’t have to spend as long getting that formatted just right.

Like I said, MacJournal doesn’t do everything I wish it would do, and there are plenty of free editors for blogging (Scribefire, comes to mind, as well as the one built in to WordPress), but this lets me take notes and develop ideas with the option to either keep them private or publish them to the web, all from one place and with easy formatting. I think between this and Google Docs, I’ll be set.

Now, all I need is a shiny new MacBook Pro (which is one of my goals for 2011).

My first short story based on a fortune cookie fortune is ready, if you’d like to read it.

DOWNLOAD – Just Another 135 Years at the Office – PDF

Or you can read it here (and after the break)

The Fortune Cookie Story Project – I write a 2- or 3-page short story based on fortune cookies. This is the first story of the project. The fortune for this story was “The best profit of future is the past”.

Just Another 135 Years at the Office
by Chris Maddera

John Bradley sat at the table in Briefing Room #7. He checked his watch. The project leader should have been there by now.

There was a buzz, and a green light on the door’s palm reader glowed. When a man in a gray Armani suit entered, John did not get up to shake his hand.

“You’re late,” John said.

“Yes, sorry about that,” said the man in the suit. “But, really, no such thing as “being late” in this business, is there? Better late than never, I suppose.” He sat in the chair across from John, then removed two bright blue folders from his briefcase before setting it on the floor.

The folders were identical. On the front of each folder were the words AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY – DESTROY AFTER USE. He slid one folder across the table to John, and placed the other one in front of himself.

“So, what do you have for me today?” John asked, more to himself than to the man in the suit.

“Something really easy,” the man said. “And really exciting.” He watched as John opened the folder, scanned the contents of the 3-page summary, and chuckled.

“Nice,” he said, scanning over the pages again. “Are you guys serious with this?”

“Absolutely. It might not seem as important as some of your other outings, but I assure you, it is. This is worth hundreds of millions — if not billions — of dollars to us.”

“So, this,” John said, holding the folder up. “is just as important as stopping John Wilkes Booth from assassinating Abraham Lincoln?”

“Yes.” The man in the suit thought for a moment, then began flipping through the pages of the folder. “Here, let’s go through some of this material.”

Seconds later, he held up a copy of what seemed to be a very old and tattered document. “This is the patent for powdered processed cheese. J. L. Kraft was awarded this in 1916. He couldn’t do much with it though. Still, he managed to sell a few million pounds of it to the government. At a huge discount, I might add. It was not a big hit.

“But then, just a couple of years before World War II, he packaged the powdered cheese with…macaroni.”

“Pure genius,” John said, dryly.

The man in the suit continued, unfazed by John’s apparent lack of interest.

“Yes. It was genius. When the war hit, and there was milk and dairy rationing, guess what suddenly started selling like crazy? Instant macaroni and cheese.” He paused, waiting for John to finally grasp how exciting this prospect was, now that he had given it the proper historical perspective.

“Okay,” John said. “There’s money to be made in mac-and-cheese.”

The man in the suit nodded slowly. Finally, he thought, he was getting through to John. He found another paper. This one showed projected earning for mac-and-cheese sales. “But look at the gap, 1916 to 1936. Twenty years this powdered shit just sat around, useless. So, you are going to go back a couple of years before Kraft gets that patent, and you’re going to get it for us instead.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Anything else while I’m there?” John asked.

“Like what?”

“1914. I might have an opportunity to stop the assassination of Franz Ferdinand, maybe prevent War World I. Just a thought.”

“No. Absolutely not. Kraft missed out on selling his product to the government during that war. He wasted his opportunity, but we’re not going to waste ours. We like War World I — and II. They’re good for business.”

John Bradley didn’t say anything.

“Listen, John, this isn’t the Air Force. We don’t focus on a bunch of big picture stuff here. It’s not all about stopping assassinations, as much as I know you like that sort of thing. I’ll be the first to admit that the world is a better place because you saved Lincoln, and Martin Luther King, and John F. Kennedy. You’re the guy who let the world have John Lennon for another 30 years. All good things. All great things. But we need to focus on the bottom line and making our stockholders happy. It really is that simple.”

“How long am I suppose to be there?” John asked.

“That’s really up to you. Your timepiece battery will last three years. If you want to come back, three years is your deadline. If you want to stay, we’ll understand. As long as it all works out for us at this end, you know.” The man in the suit smiled, then began gathering up the sheets of papers on the table.

“Trust me, John, this is big stuff, important stuff.”

“How is this important?” John asked.

The man in the suit closed his blue folder, gathered up his briefcase, and stood up to leave. “I told you,” he said. “It’s worth hundreds of millions –“ He held up a finger for emphasis. “– if not billions — of dollars. Get some rest. You leave at noon tomorrow.”

The man in the suit placed his hand on the door’s palm reader. The door buzzed and clicked as it unlocked, and without saying another word, he left.

* * *

The man in the suit waited alone in the gate room. He checked his watch. 11:55 AM. John Bradley should have been here by now.

A moment later, the steel door opened. John was in a newly redesigned Eckels suit. To the typical person it looked like an astronaut’s space suit made of gold and silver. He was followed by two armed security guards, and three lab technicians. One was busy studying  John’s vital signs on a data pad, a second carried his helmet, and the third carried a briefcase wrapped in gold foil.

“Okay, this is it, John. Are you ready?” asked the man in the suit.

John looked over to the lab tech with the data pad, who glanced up long enough to give an affirmative nod.

“I guess so.” John said.

The main in the suit waved a tech over, and took a few steps back to allow him to help secure the Eckels suit’s helmet.

The third technician handed the gold-wrapped briefcase to the man in the suit, then left the gate room, followed by the guards and the other technicians.

“John, we are not here to change the world for the good of all mankind, okay? We just want to change it enough for ourselves. Remember, we have a responsibility to the shareholders. So, no thwarting assassination attempts on archdukes, got it?” The man in the suit smiled, and handed John the case. “Good luck,” he said.

And then he left, leaving John alone in the room.

A voice crackled over the helmet speakers. “Okay, John, we’re going to open the gate.” It was the man in the suit. He was in the observation room now, watching what was happening on monitors.

John could feel the low hum of the time machine powering up. Within seconds it sounded like jet engines. At the center of the machine, small sparks of blue light began to appear, increasing in number and intensity second by second. Then, they were gone.

Thunder shook the room, as long tentacles of blue lightning reached out into the room, heating the air.

John held the briefcase closer to his chest and tightened his grip on it.

He started up the ramp, his steps slow and deliberate against the wind created by the time displacement. The lightning seemed to be reaching out for him, attracted by the gold Eckels suit. It looked as if the gate was pulling him into itself.

Then he was gone.

The room was quiet.

* * *

In the observation room, the man in the Schutzstaffel uniform smiled.

One of the first ideas I put in the daybook was that I would spend a month or two writing 2- or 3-page stories based on…wait for it…fortune cookies. For some reason, I thought doing this would be good writing practice.

So, last weekend, when Cindy said she needed rice wraps from the Asian food market, I took it as a sign that now was the time to initiate my cunning plan, and picked up a bag of fortune cookies. $1.00, one bag of cookies. One fortune cookie, one story.

Today, I decided to break into the bag. So, here is the first assignment:

Remember, I’m shooting for a 2-3 page story based on that fortune. And, with everything else going on, I figure I’ll do one a week.

Okay, so this should be fun. Look for the story here sometime next week. (Consider yourself warned!)

I’m trying a new experiment (partly inspired by Merlin Mann). I’ve decided to keep a daybook, which is simply a notebook that I write in…uh, daily. Some people use them strictly for a single purpose or project, but I’m using mine for everything: grocery lists, short story ideas, project ideas, screenplay ideas, short scenes that are apropos of nothing, but that I think sound good and could find a home later in a bigger project.

The daybook itself is no different that any other notebook I use, except that I think about it differently. It’s like this: I have a notebook that I carry around, and I use it to write down any story ideas that I might have. But I hardly ever write anything in it for any number of reasons: didn’t think the idea was good enough, or whatever. Doesn’t matter. The problem is that the notebook is there to support my main activity of “idea creation”. But what if I just flipped it around and said my ideas were there to support the notebook instead? In other words, the goal is not to first have ideas, and then write them in a notebook. The goal is simply to fill that fucking notebook with ideas.

Rather than use the much-loved (and more expensive) Moleskine-type notebook, I opted for something less “serious”. Last year, I read Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones [affiliate link], and I remember her saying she sometimes chooses a notebook with kittens, or a cartoon character, or something silly on it as a way to keep from taking herself too seriously. I loved that idea. It’s a great reminder that I should be having fun. Not everything that goes into the notebook needs to be “deep” or “meaningful” or “worthy”. If something comes to mind that I like, I just write it down. It’s the catch-all notebook.

I’ve also started using the daybook to develop a habit of acting on my ideas sooner rather than later. It’s easy to keep putting things off (especially after you have those things written on a to-do list somewhere), so if I have an idea, and the opportunity presents itself to work on that idea, I make more of an effort to take advantage of that. I haven’t decided if this is a good idea or not (because I come up with some pretty stupid shit, let me tell ya), but the important thing is that I allow myself to look past the fears, doubts, and self-judgments, and just do something without talking myself out of it.

I’m sure you’ll be seeing the results of some of the notebooks’ content soon enough. Good and bad. Bwahahahaha!

As many of you know, I have a bazillion projects that I never quite get around to…but this is changing.

My new site, Deeper Motive will be the place where you can track my progress on whatever project — creative or otherwise — I’m working on. I see it as a place to explore my own creative process, share my thoughts about engaging in creative work, and talk about whatever goal-setting, self-improvement thing I’m struggling with. I know I could post this stuff here on my personal blog, but I also know I’m not the only one that struggles with trying to make time, and find the courage, to work on creative projects. Not everyone wants to know what I did over the weekend in Tulsa, or where Cindy and I ate last night. So, I thought it would be better to have a separate place that focused on being creative and productive.

In keeping with the Kaizen philosophy, I’ll be adding pages, pictures, posts, podcasts, and design elements to the site over the next couple of weeks.

I’ll post the first entry on July 1, 2009.

I hope you come over and check it out.