My garages are train wrecks. I'm not sure why my sense of organization and order doesn't translate there, but it's been a lifelong bad habit. So today I (and when I say I, I mean my husband and me) tackled the dreaded space. Actually I spent the morning working solo as most of the stuff is mine. Don't sign me up for Hoarders just yet. There were no dead possums or hidden treasures from the early 1700's. But there were many, many things. Items. Doodads. Whatchamacallits. And the further I burrowed into the crates and cardboard boxes, my hands covered with lovely yellow vinyl gloves that robbed the spiders of some of their creep power, I found myself overwhelmed by feelings that hitchhiked with the unearthed items. (Hang in there. Writing advice is on its way.)
Feelings welled up with every item I found, not just the sentimental photographs or schmaltzy notes from fourth grade friends. Everything I touched harbored a distinct feeling, beyond tactile innervation, a biting spark. Some positive, some negative, some just strange. And I didn't reserve emotions solely for the unlucky objects headed into green borough bags. The things I kept winked at me from shelves, wondering if I'd touch them again or reminding me that they used to live somewhere else, possibly a somewhere else I didn't want to return to, not even for a moment. Others screamed on their way to the trash bag, momentarily stinging me before I could be rid of them.
One of the worst? A piece of my son's old, blue cast. I instantly remembered how heavy a sobbing four-year-old can be with a leg broken clean through, being carried through the ER.
Instead of dining on ashes though, I thought about writing. I considered my most recent project and the role of tangible things in my stories. Objects are powerful. They remind, they cost, they occupy space. How much does your character monetarily or emotionally pay for an object? Where does that character put it in his or her life? What is the effect on the surrounding characters? And what memories forever affix themselves to the object?
What your character carries in his or her pocket, the thing that is buried in the backyard, the item that never leaves the nightstand...don't overlook it. I strongly believe that a writer's subconscious is a fabulous and fanciful place, so if your brain plants a few choice items in a scene, never take them for granted. Explore the power they hold over your characters and your readers.
In addition to a pristine garage and a roller coaster of emotions - yes, I'll willingly admit that I cried among TMNT figurines and Halloween knickknacks - I'm thrilled that I found a gentle characterization reminder. I sit now scanning the family room, cataloging the objects and studying all of the invisible strings attached to each one.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
Sorry Story, It's Not Me, It's You
I never work on just one project. Just one story. Just one book. On any given day I have seven or eight things 'in the works,' which is both a blessing and a curse. I'm never bored, that's for sure. But I also find myself writing the wrong folks into the wrong pieces, or sometimes I mix up names. Places. Time periods. That being said I am always engaged in my writing because there are choices in front of me, and when a scenario becomes too frustrating or I can't figure out a plot twist, I have the luxury of setting it aside and moving forward with something else. Literally, I'm always writing.
Unfortunately I woke up this morning and realized that one of my projects has been frustrating and fizzling for way too long. So it's time to say goodbye to it, and I can't express in words how much I hate doing that. It's got the distinct taste of losing a friend or a favorite pair of shoes. I have developed over the years a mental checklist, criteria a project must meet before I give up on it, to make the process vaguely more sterile. Even that phrase, the 'giving up,' reeks of defeat and desolation. But in certain cases it's necessary, and as writers sometimes we need to be told we're allowed to throw up our hands.
Not every story gets off the ground. The characters may be flat, the plot unbelievable. But if we love it, if it's one of our favorites, it's so hard to admit to ourselves that it's just not working. (Think toxic relationship as an analogy. But I can change him... and so on.) And particularly for projects we've invested time in, the letting go part is physically painful. It's an acknowledgement of time wasted (which really wasn't time wasted at all because we learn as much from our failures as we do from our successes and blah blah blah) but it still sucks. No way around it.
So how do we make the call to pull the plug on something? What I'm proposing is only my criteria. Develop a list of your own, or steal some of mine if you'd like.
1) Why is it taking so long? - Obviously good projects require time and revision upon revision, but if you find yourself spending too much time without forward progress, it's a big hint that the story doesn't have the lift to evolve into a published, polished piece.
2) How likable are the characters? - The best characters are the ones that nag you at the grocery store when you're trying to check dates on yogurt. They keep you from yoga class because they are in crisis or in love or busy causing trouble and you have to write it all down. Are your characters just lounging by the pool doing a whole lot of nothing? Bad sign.
3) Where's the market for your piece? - In an ideal world we'd all just write what we want and not care a hoot about who will buy it. Love it. Promote it. But if you have any aspirations of being a seriously published writer this consideration does loom out there. Of course people have broken these rules, but generally if you can't think of a market that the project appeals to, there's a problem.
4) Are you in love? - Sure, we all crush on our writing at the beginning. It's shiny and new but once the bloom is off the rose do you still care enough about it to give it the most precious thing you have? Your time. I have two children I adore, a husband I could talk to for days, a house I love cleaning and keeping nice, and a teaching career that is as much my passion as my writing. So for a story to whisk me away from those things, it needs to be incredible. Not just good. Not just passable. It has to be something that haunts me and keeps me involved every minute I'm writing it.
A novel I started last year has met its maker. It fails in three of the four areas above, and I've literally written hundreds of pages on the first draft. But I'm not invested enough to continue. I've saved the file in my writing graveyard. I'm saying goodbye to it. (I would never completely delete it, though. There are many bits of goodness hidden in the mire. In fact I just pulled out several lines I'm transferring over to my current project.)
Maybe the whole every failure is actually a success thing isn't quite the blah blah blah I think. :-)
Unfortunately I woke up this morning and realized that one of my projects has been frustrating and fizzling for way too long. So it's time to say goodbye to it, and I can't express in words how much I hate doing that. It's got the distinct taste of losing a friend or a favorite pair of shoes. I have developed over the years a mental checklist, criteria a project must meet before I give up on it, to make the process vaguely more sterile. Even that phrase, the 'giving up,' reeks of defeat and desolation. But in certain cases it's necessary, and as writers sometimes we need to be told we're allowed to throw up our hands.
Not every story gets off the ground. The characters may be flat, the plot unbelievable. But if we love it, if it's one of our favorites, it's so hard to admit to ourselves that it's just not working. (Think toxic relationship as an analogy. But I can change him... and so on.) And particularly for projects we've invested time in, the letting go part is physically painful. It's an acknowledgement of time wasted (which really wasn't time wasted at all because we learn as much from our failures as we do from our successes and blah blah blah) but it still sucks. No way around it.
So how do we make the call to pull the plug on something? What I'm proposing is only my criteria. Develop a list of your own, or steal some of mine if you'd like.
1) Why is it taking so long? - Obviously good projects require time and revision upon revision, but if you find yourself spending too much time without forward progress, it's a big hint that the story doesn't have the lift to evolve into a published, polished piece.
2) How likable are the characters? - The best characters are the ones that nag you at the grocery store when you're trying to check dates on yogurt. They keep you from yoga class because they are in crisis or in love or busy causing trouble and you have to write it all down. Are your characters just lounging by the pool doing a whole lot of nothing? Bad sign.
3) Where's the market for your piece? - In an ideal world we'd all just write what we want and not care a hoot about who will buy it. Love it. Promote it. But if you have any aspirations of being a seriously published writer this consideration does loom out there. Of course people have broken these rules, but generally if you can't think of a market that the project appeals to, there's a problem.
4) Are you in love? - Sure, we all crush on our writing at the beginning. It's shiny and new but once the bloom is off the rose do you still care enough about it to give it the most precious thing you have? Your time. I have two children I adore, a husband I could talk to for days, a house I love cleaning and keeping nice, and a teaching career that is as much my passion as my writing. So for a story to whisk me away from those things, it needs to be incredible. Not just good. Not just passable. It has to be something that haunts me and keeps me involved every minute I'm writing it.
A novel I started last year has met its maker. It fails in three of the four areas above, and I've literally written hundreds of pages on the first draft. But I'm not invested enough to continue. I've saved the file in my writing graveyard. I'm saying goodbye to it. (I would never completely delete it, though. There are many bits of goodness hidden in the mire. In fact I just pulled out several lines I'm transferring over to my current project.)
Maybe the whole every failure is actually a success thing isn't quite the blah blah blah I think. :-)
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
An Old Dog Can Learn New Tricks
No, I don't really consider myself an old dog. But when it comes to my patterns of writing I do have fixed methods I cling to. It's certainly not a miraculous process. I start with an image and build the story around it. Then I write till my fingers are sore, revise and share, revise one last time, and send off the story into the big bad world of publishing.
Simple, right?
And sometimes this works beautifully and the story gets published. Other times it's rejected and I send it back to the drawing board for more revisions or potential mummification until I'm ready to deal with it again, but generally it's a smooth and brief process. The most fun part of it for me is playing with the words until they're just right and certain phrases or sentences give me chills. I think that part is actually more rewarding than the publishing. Well, maybe equally rewarding. :-)
Here's the rub. I've also tried to write novels this way, and it just doesn't work. Not at all. Not a bit. Novels are too big to stand on foundations of startling images and pretty words alone. And after an incredible time at the Eastern PA SCBWI conference this past weekend, I've gleaned a fresh approach to crafting a novel, and it is working wonders for me. I'm actually not going to spend the blog describing it, because that will be excellent fodder for another post. But I did learn a valuable lesson about being a writer, and that I'd like to share.
I think as writers we find ways that work and stick with them like trains running on the same tracks that always lead to the same destination. But therein lies the problem. None of us are perfect writers. And while our tried and true methods can lead us to success, they can also lead us to making the same mistakes over and over again.
Without shaking up the process, we can't shake up (and improve) our own writing. This is why it is utterly vital to go to conferences and classes, read books that tell us how to write in different ways, and study other authors' processes. Of course we won't adopt them completely, just as another person's shoes rarely slip onto our feet and fit in both size and style, but these other techniques and methods do have the power to enrich and revolutionize our ways of thinking.
Laurie Halse Anderson (gasp...amazing, incredible, superb...ok I'm done now) spoke at the conference this past weekend, and I can say without reservation or reserve that I have never heard an author so passionate, so knowledgeable about her own process, and so realistic about the good and bad of writing. She discussed the distinct stages of writing, analyzing structure, adding pertinent details, and fine tuning her novels.
Silly me, I've always tried to accomplish all four stages at once, and it inevitably made me want to go insane. That or I spent too much of my time working on the language first, terrified to write a bad sentence because I was afraid it would hang around and pollute everything it touched. My approach, which could yield beautiful sentences for short narratives, crippled my novel writing endeavours because it denied attention to larger plot points and studying the structure.
And a novel without an airtight plot and authentic characters can go nowhere, regardless of the quality of writing.
Maybe I just needed someone, an expert, to give me permission (a word LHA used a lot in her talks) to incorporate new habits into my writing rituals without fear that like a house of cards my writing would collapse. Again, if I blogged about all the good advice she offered I'd probably fill up half my blogging space, but the experience is unforgettable.
As writers we need to grow, we need to change, sometimes we need to embrace the advice of others no matter how comfortable we are in our own writing shoes, and sometimes we need to just stop writing and listen. Whether it's at a conference, via a YouTube video, in a critique group, or just through a good old fashioned book, we need to take the millions of ideas out there and sift through them to catch the sprinklings of words that enrich our own writing.
I've also included a link to LHA's video about the creation of her writing cabin. I think the space she creates is a beautiful metaphor for the space we all need to create in our brains for writing, the process, the passion, and the reality.
Laurie Halse Anderson's Writing Cabin
Simple, right?
And sometimes this works beautifully and the story gets published. Other times it's rejected and I send it back to the drawing board for more revisions or potential mummification until I'm ready to deal with it again, but generally it's a smooth and brief process. The most fun part of it for me is playing with the words until they're just right and certain phrases or sentences give me chills. I think that part is actually more rewarding than the publishing. Well, maybe equally rewarding. :-)
Here's the rub. I've also tried to write novels this way, and it just doesn't work. Not at all. Not a bit. Novels are too big to stand on foundations of startling images and pretty words alone. And after an incredible time at the Eastern PA SCBWI conference this past weekend, I've gleaned a fresh approach to crafting a novel, and it is working wonders for me. I'm actually not going to spend the blog describing it, because that will be excellent fodder for another post. But I did learn a valuable lesson about being a writer, and that I'd like to share.
I think as writers we find ways that work and stick with them like trains running on the same tracks that always lead to the same destination. But therein lies the problem. None of us are perfect writers. And while our tried and true methods can lead us to success, they can also lead us to making the same mistakes over and over again.
Without shaking up the process, we can't shake up (and improve) our own writing. This is why it is utterly vital to go to conferences and classes, read books that tell us how to write in different ways, and study other authors' processes. Of course we won't adopt them completely, just as another person's shoes rarely slip onto our feet and fit in both size and style, but these other techniques and methods do have the power to enrich and revolutionize our ways of thinking.
Laurie Halse Anderson (gasp...amazing, incredible, superb...ok I'm done now) spoke at the conference this past weekend, and I can say without reservation or reserve that I have never heard an author so passionate, so knowledgeable about her own process, and so realistic about the good and bad of writing. She discussed the distinct stages of writing, analyzing structure, adding pertinent details, and fine tuning her novels.
Silly me, I've always tried to accomplish all four stages at once, and it inevitably made me want to go insane. That or I spent too much of my time working on the language first, terrified to write a bad sentence because I was afraid it would hang around and pollute everything it touched. My approach, which could yield beautiful sentences for short narratives, crippled my novel writing endeavours because it denied attention to larger plot points and studying the structure.
And a novel without an airtight plot and authentic characters can go nowhere, regardless of the quality of writing.
Maybe I just needed someone, an expert, to give me permission (a word LHA used a lot in her talks) to incorporate new habits into my writing rituals without fear that like a house of cards my writing would collapse. Again, if I blogged about all the good advice she offered I'd probably fill up half my blogging space, but the experience is unforgettable.
As writers we need to grow, we need to change, sometimes we need to embrace the advice of others no matter how comfortable we are in our own writing shoes, and sometimes we need to just stop writing and listen. Whether it's at a conference, via a YouTube video, in a critique group, or just through a good old fashioned book, we need to take the millions of ideas out there and sift through them to catch the sprinklings of words that enrich our own writing.
I've also included a link to LHA's video about the creation of her writing cabin. I think the space she creates is a beautiful metaphor for the space we all need to create in our brains for writing, the process, the passion, and the reality.
Laurie Halse Anderson's Writing Cabin
Sunday, March 4, 2012
George Michael, Tell Me More About This 'Faith'
It's been a productive few writing months. I've entered a contest, fine-tuned my work for a double-critique session in April, and finished a packet to mail off tomorrow for a SCBWI writing grant. My goal has always been to submit one piece of writing SOMEWHERE every month (give or take, deadlines are finicky), and I certainly hit that goal for February and now I'm ahead of the game for March. Today, though, I hit a wall. A very smart, friendly, exactly-what-I-needed sort of wall.
The wall ordered me to stop editing.
I've re-conceived, reread, and rewritten the opening chapter to my newest project at least a dozen times. Probably more but after two or three I stop counting because I've become hopelessly obsessed with getting things right. I change words back and forth. I hunt for misplaced modifiers. I add detail, only to realize it contradicts other details later on causing a terrifying chain of events that makes everything different in the book. Not necessarily better or worse. Just different.
Then I play with tone and dialogue and every other thing I can possibly fuss with. Some of the editing is necessary. Nothing emerges perfect the first time. Ever. Not for me. Not for Hemingway. Not for JK Rowling. (I have to mention Harry Potter at least once in every blog. It's just necessary.) And it drives me insane when students refuse to believe this fact. I teach a high school Creative Writing course, the writers in it are talented and inspiring, but some live in the stubborn land of refusal. They treat editing suggestions like lepers and shun them away as quickly as they can.
Unfortunately editing can take an ugly turn for a writer. Over-editing can feed the pool of self-doubt that so many writers swim in. Will it ever be good enough? Have I made it perfect? Can it ever live up to the great writing out there that at times dwarfs my own and makes me feel like a novice? (Moments like this, I apply the Stephenie Meyer principal. Read a page of Twilight. You will feel so much better about your own writing. :-) At any rate, while it may be hard to motivate yourself to start editing, sometimes it's near impossible to force yourself to stop.
This is why identifying the line, that spot where you've done all you can, is so important. This is where the faith comes in. You have to have faith as a writer that you are good and the words you've graced the page with are important. It's a hard type of faith, particularly in the face of rejection. And let's face it, almost all writers drown in rejection. One of my favorite books, MetaMaus, shows a handful of the rejection letters Spiegelman received before a publisher accepted his beautiful project. I guarantee he came to a point where he let faith override the 'no's' to accept that the graphic novel he'd created was worthy.
Let's face it, we're not all going to be famous writers who end up on the New York Times Bestseller list or in English anthologies that high school students are bludgeoned into reading. And if fame and fortune are your only end goals, it realistically won't play out that way. Instead come to the realization that you are a good writer already, of course with lots of work to do, but a good writer nonetheless. And your writing will be important. To someone. It will be very important. Maybe life changing. Or maybe it will end up being a book that person holds on to for the rest of their lives. That reader will give you all the faith you need.
One of my favorite childhood books was The Teeny Tiny Witches. No, the author Jan Wahl is not super famous, and while he still may be living, I don't believe he writes books anymore. This particular book is no longer in print, although Ebay has a copy or two bouncing around. But I still have my copy. And my daughter Sophia will read it. (My son Matthew is more of a giant, scary cyclops sort of kid.) I've conservatively read this book one hundred times in my thirty-five years, and I haven't even scratched the surface. I'll read it again many more, and with some good preservation my grandchildren will end up owning it. Wahl may have had doubts when he wrote it and gone through a few dozen revisions, but I'm hoping that faith in his story got it published and into my hands.
I'm putting down the editing pen for a few days and sending off my works with a smile on my face. It's not the easiest thing in the world to find, but I've definitely found faith that what I'm writing is good enough.
The wall ordered me to stop editing.
I've re-conceived, reread, and rewritten the opening chapter to my newest project at least a dozen times. Probably more but after two or three I stop counting because I've become hopelessly obsessed with getting things right. I change words back and forth. I hunt for misplaced modifiers. I add detail, only to realize it contradicts other details later on causing a terrifying chain of events that makes everything different in the book. Not necessarily better or worse. Just different.
Then I play with tone and dialogue and every other thing I can possibly fuss with. Some of the editing is necessary. Nothing emerges perfect the first time. Ever. Not for me. Not for Hemingway. Not for JK Rowling. (I have to mention Harry Potter at least once in every blog. It's just necessary.) And it drives me insane when students refuse to believe this fact. I teach a high school Creative Writing course, the writers in it are talented and inspiring, but some live in the stubborn land of refusal. They treat editing suggestions like lepers and shun them away as quickly as they can.
Unfortunately editing can take an ugly turn for a writer. Over-editing can feed the pool of self-doubt that so many writers swim in. Will it ever be good enough? Have I made it perfect? Can it ever live up to the great writing out there that at times dwarfs my own and makes me feel like a novice? (Moments like this, I apply the Stephenie Meyer principal. Read a page of Twilight. You will feel so much better about your own writing. :-) At any rate, while it may be hard to motivate yourself to start editing, sometimes it's near impossible to force yourself to stop.
This is why identifying the line, that spot where you've done all you can, is so important. This is where the faith comes in. You have to have faith as a writer that you are good and the words you've graced the page with are important. It's a hard type of faith, particularly in the face of rejection. And let's face it, almost all writers drown in rejection. One of my favorite books, MetaMaus, shows a handful of the rejection letters Spiegelman received before a publisher accepted his beautiful project. I guarantee he came to a point where he let faith override the 'no's' to accept that the graphic novel he'd created was worthy.
Let's face it, we're not all going to be famous writers who end up on the New York Times Bestseller list or in English anthologies that high school students are bludgeoned into reading. And if fame and fortune are your only end goals, it realistically won't play out that way. Instead come to the realization that you are a good writer already, of course with lots of work to do, but a good writer nonetheless. And your writing will be important. To someone. It will be very important. Maybe life changing. Or maybe it will end up being a book that person holds on to for the rest of their lives. That reader will give you all the faith you need.
One of my favorite childhood books was The Teeny Tiny Witches. No, the author Jan Wahl is not super famous, and while he still may be living, I don't believe he writes books anymore. This particular book is no longer in print, although Ebay has a copy or two bouncing around. But I still have my copy. And my daughter Sophia will read it. (My son Matthew is more of a giant, scary cyclops sort of kid.) I've conservatively read this book one hundred times in my thirty-five years, and I haven't even scratched the surface. I'll read it again many more, and with some good preservation my grandchildren will end up owning it. Wahl may have had doubts when he wrote it and gone through a few dozen revisions, but I'm hoping that faith in his story got it published and into my hands.
I'm putting down the editing pen for a few days and sending off my works with a smile on my face. It's not the easiest thing in the world to find, but I've definitely found faith that what I'm writing is good enough.
Monday, January 16, 2012
A Big Person's World?
With a healthy dose of editing this week I will finally, finally, finally have my young adult novel prepared and ready(?) to submit into the big bad world of publishing. I've had a few people take a quick look at drafts with favorable feedback, so keep fingers and toes and eyes (not too long of course) crossed for me. It will be a slow and torturous process, I'm sure, but I have a few other projects to flesh out which will keep my mind off of the inevitable waiting game.
I am, however, struggling with a final component that will likely occupy the majority of my editing time this week. How big a role are adults allowed to play in a young adult/middle grade novel? Popular wisdom varies, and modern examples range all over the place. The Dumbledores and Snapes of the world lead me down one path, authors like Lauren Oliver, one entirely different. This leaves me in a quandary about the opening two chapters of my novel.
The aunt and uncle in the book occupy a huge space. Mostly the aunt. It's a long, complicated story, but the first two chapters are filled with the heroine's blossoming relationship with a pair she's never met and really knows nothing about. I worry, is that too much time to spend with them? Will a young adult reader scoff and say no, I'd far prefer to hear about the folks in the heroine's generational nook? Or is good writing good writing and solid characters hold their own regardless of the age?
One of my biggest problems with bad YA books, and I've felt this way since I started reading them as a teen myself decades ago are the non-parent parents. I don't want adults in my book to sit and smile at good grades or frown and remind the kiddos of their curfew while adding no value to the narrative. I generally dub them the 90210 parents where in the first run of the series Jim and Cindy honestly did nothing. Towards the end of the series there were one or two pithy episodes where they got their hands dirty, but it was far too little too late. And if I minimize the presence of the adults my book may as well head into a Lord of the Flies zone where the adults can be dispensed with altogether.
On the other hand, this is a teenage girl's story. Her experiences are the most important, her life changes the most drastically, but I keep finding myself on the precipice of falling into the aunt's story. She is an older, bitter woman who would gladly snatch the narrative under her skirt and run away with it. I think I've written her well, patting myself on the back a bit, and then I worry that I've written her too well. Is she necessary in so many chapters. Does she outweigh the other young girl who is supposed to be a villain?
I don't really have too many answers this morning. Mostly questions. I will do my best and see how the scales fall. As always, I'm left with the thought that if struggling with my writing is the worst thing I have to do today, I'm pretty darn lucky.
Happy Martin Luther King Day.
I am, however, struggling with a final component that will likely occupy the majority of my editing time this week. How big a role are adults allowed to play in a young adult/middle grade novel? Popular wisdom varies, and modern examples range all over the place. The Dumbledores and Snapes of the world lead me down one path, authors like Lauren Oliver, one entirely different. This leaves me in a quandary about the opening two chapters of my novel.
The aunt and uncle in the book occupy a huge space. Mostly the aunt. It's a long, complicated story, but the first two chapters are filled with the heroine's blossoming relationship with a pair she's never met and really knows nothing about. I worry, is that too much time to spend with them? Will a young adult reader scoff and say no, I'd far prefer to hear about the folks in the heroine's generational nook? Or is good writing good writing and solid characters hold their own regardless of the age?
One of my biggest problems with bad YA books, and I've felt this way since I started reading them as a teen myself decades ago are the non-parent parents. I don't want adults in my book to sit and smile at good grades or frown and remind the kiddos of their curfew while adding no value to the narrative. I generally dub them the 90210 parents where in the first run of the series Jim and Cindy honestly did nothing. Towards the end of the series there were one or two pithy episodes where they got their hands dirty, but it was far too little too late. And if I minimize the presence of the adults my book may as well head into a Lord of the Flies zone where the adults can be dispensed with altogether.
On the other hand, this is a teenage girl's story. Her experiences are the most important, her life changes the most drastically, but I keep finding myself on the precipice of falling into the aunt's story. She is an older, bitter woman who would gladly snatch the narrative under her skirt and run away with it. I think I've written her well, patting myself on the back a bit, and then I worry that I've written her too well. Is she necessary in so many chapters. Does she outweigh the other young girl who is supposed to be a villain?
I don't really have too many answers this morning. Mostly questions. I will do my best and see how the scales fall. As always, I'm left with the thought that if struggling with my writing is the worst thing I have to do today, I'm pretty darn lucky.
Happy Martin Luther King Day.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Time freeze, pleeeeeeease
I never want to write when I'm supposed to. My husband has taken on the grocery shopping for the morning, Sophia is worshiping he who is Elmo. Matthew is at a friend's house. The dog and cat are curled up under my elbows like adoring furry armrests. There is absolutely no reason on this earth why I'm not chugging away on one of the twenty writing projects having their own personal fight club in my brain to get down on paper.
And I got nothin'.
I can list the exact moments this past week when I've wanted to write. First, right in the middle of reading aloud a chapter of Of Mice and Men to my vaguely interested students, I wanted to write. In fact I could barely focus on Steinbeck's salty words in front of me because I had a great first line in mind. A wonderful first line in fact. And the students would not have minded one bit if I'd stopped, told them to go do something else and started writing. But of course that would be bad teaching, so I read on and now for the absolute life of me I have no idea what that stunning first line was. No clue whatsoever.
It also happened at the dentist's office, mouth wrenched open, a Novocaine shot hovering above my lip. (If you know me at all, you know that sharks and dentists terrify me more than just about anything else in the world. And if a shark ever became a dentist, I think I'd just drop dead :-) I'm guessing my dentist would not have been thrilled if I'd told him he could wait while I wrote down a resolution I'd been struggling with for weeks. Is it still in my brain somewhere? Probably. But when I write it down now, nothing sounds as good.
I don't know if my writing muse is screwing with me, if I'm not as dedicated a writer as I'd like to think I am, or if the creative process is far too mysterious and arbitrary to ever understand. I'm hoping it's the latter. But these random bouts of creativity and lack thereof still challenge my weekly time management.
I'm never one to wish to travel back in time. I have my memories and experiences tucked neatly away along with boxes of keepsakes. I don't wish Matthew was still a baby because then I wouldn't be able to argue with him about the best way to make a Sherlock Holmes-style trap or watch him dominate on the tennis court. And I never wish time away. At some point my parents will no longer be here, I will not have a house full of children and animals and crazy. But I would give anything to freeze time. Could I find a whistle that I can blow the second I've got an idea and the world stops around me, providing those glorious few moments to jot down what I'm thinking of?
Since the magic whistle is not likely, my Plan B involves purchasing a Powerball ticket this evening, winning the lottery, and enjoying the luxury of hiring a stenographer to follow me around and take down all pearls of wisdom I come up with at odd moments of the day. I do realize that Plan B is a stretch as well, but a gal can dream, can't she?
And I got nothin'.
I can list the exact moments this past week when I've wanted to write. First, right in the middle of reading aloud a chapter of Of Mice and Men to my vaguely interested students, I wanted to write. In fact I could barely focus on Steinbeck's salty words in front of me because I had a great first line in mind. A wonderful first line in fact. And the students would not have minded one bit if I'd stopped, told them to go do something else and started writing. But of course that would be bad teaching, so I read on and now for the absolute life of me I have no idea what that stunning first line was. No clue whatsoever.
It also happened at the dentist's office, mouth wrenched open, a Novocaine shot hovering above my lip. (If you know me at all, you know that sharks and dentists terrify me more than just about anything else in the world. And if a shark ever became a dentist, I think I'd just drop dead :-) I'm guessing my dentist would not have been thrilled if I'd told him he could wait while I wrote down a resolution I'd been struggling with for weeks. Is it still in my brain somewhere? Probably. But when I write it down now, nothing sounds as good.
I don't know if my writing muse is screwing with me, if I'm not as dedicated a writer as I'd like to think I am, or if the creative process is far too mysterious and arbitrary to ever understand. I'm hoping it's the latter. But these random bouts of creativity and lack thereof still challenge my weekly time management.
I'm never one to wish to travel back in time. I have my memories and experiences tucked neatly away along with boxes of keepsakes. I don't wish Matthew was still a baby because then I wouldn't be able to argue with him about the best way to make a Sherlock Holmes-style trap or watch him dominate on the tennis court. And I never wish time away. At some point my parents will no longer be here, I will not have a house full of children and animals and crazy. But I would give anything to freeze time. Could I find a whistle that I can blow the second I've got an idea and the world stops around me, providing those glorious few moments to jot down what I'm thinking of?
Since the magic whistle is not likely, my Plan B involves purchasing a Powerball ticket this evening, winning the lottery, and enjoying the luxury of hiring a stenographer to follow me around and take down all pearls of wisdom I come up with at odd moments of the day. I do realize that Plan B is a stretch as well, but a gal can dream, can't she?
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Words Should (Even)Flow
I write this blog while watching a live Pearl Jam concert on tv, listening to Vedder play his guitar while the enamored crowd sings "Better Man." He is grinning from ear to ear. I am grinning from ear to ear because I love him (in the platonic musical god sort of way of course). And I am distinctly jealous because no matter how well I write, there will never be a crowd of a thousand bookies chanting catchy phrases from my work.
Actually not completely sure I'd want that. But it did cause me to pause and think about the strong tie between good music and good writing. Both should be listened to and appreciated for their lyrical qualities. How often, though, do we actually listen to good literature. Just listen?
I was recently lucky enough to hear Margaret Atwood read from both her fiction and nonfiction works. Sure, I love it when writers talk about writing and their process, but the reading of the literature itself was just beautiful. She is a force. That's for sure, but her change of pacing, the nuances of tone, even her subtle gestures made the words all the more powerful. It's been ages since I've listened to an audio book or simply let someone read to me. It doesn't have to be the actual author but at least someone invested in the reading. And listening to a reading will quickly dispense with bad literature. A mismatched, ugly sentence flows about as well as a river full of molasses.
When I am hard up for inspiration, I often think about a song. Not the words per se or even the melody but the feeling I get when I listen and the overall message conveyed. One of my first short stories, seventh grade I think, sprouted from the vaguely hippy Judy Collins music my mother bought for me on a vintage grey cassette. I think I was still sporting my Fisher Price tape player at that point with the rainbow buttons. I hit play and rewind and play and rewind to "Michael of the Mountain." And no the story I wrote wasn't about Michael or a magical mountain or anything else starting with an m. But it was about a feeling of isolation and contentment all neatly wrapped in one. It was what I thought the song would be had it been distilled into a few pages and a few hundred words.
Actually not completely sure I'd want that. But it did cause me to pause and think about the strong tie between good music and good writing. Both should be listened to and appreciated for their lyrical qualities. How often, though, do we actually listen to good literature. Just listen?
I was recently lucky enough to hear Margaret Atwood read from both her fiction and nonfiction works. Sure, I love it when writers talk about writing and their process, but the reading of the literature itself was just beautiful. She is a force. That's for sure, but her change of pacing, the nuances of tone, even her subtle gestures made the words all the more powerful. It's been ages since I've listened to an audio book or simply let someone read to me. It doesn't have to be the actual author but at least someone invested in the reading. And listening to a reading will quickly dispense with bad literature. A mismatched, ugly sentence flows about as well as a river full of molasses.
When I am hard up for inspiration, I often think about a song. Not the words per se or even the melody but the feeling I get when I listen and the overall message conveyed. One of my first short stories, seventh grade I think, sprouted from the vaguely hippy Judy Collins music my mother bought for me on a vintage grey cassette. I think I was still sporting my Fisher Price tape player at that point with the rainbow buttons. I hit play and rewind and play and rewind to "Michael of the Mountain." And no the story I wrote wasn't about Michael or a magical mountain or anything else starting with an m. But it was about a feeling of isolation and contentment all neatly wrapped in one. It was what I thought the song would be had it been distilled into a few pages and a few hundred words.
For me, framing the writing process this way (in lyrical terms) can also force me to slow down. The pace, the rhythm, the wording morph into notes on a page, and how they each fit and follow one another is a special process. It's my personal heaven because I'm miserable if I've stuck things together and it doesn't sound pretty. And I don't mean pretty like a princess or glitter, but pretty in the sense that words fit perfectly. A musician hits a wrong note, we wince. An author hits the wrong word, we should shudder all the same.
Will I write a raucous, bawdy romance story if I listen to Lady Gaga? Not necessarily, but I always want my writing to sound as pretty as a song even if no one ever says the words out loud. The effect should be the same. The rhythm, the movement, the things that are not about plot or character but just the language need to be present. Maybe it's an archaic view, but so much modern writing is rushed. Slapped together with glue and rubber bands and concept, that not so often do readers look for those lovely phrases that, like our favorite line from a song, mean exceedingly much to us.
*Since I started this post, my husband introduced me to The Talking Head's Stop Making Sense concert/film which only reinforces everything I've mentioned above. David Byrne is such a force. Thanks, sweetie :-)
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