JUST. DO. IT.

 Yup. That^

I have friends who talked about writing. Not about “being a writer” but about the specific stories they were going to write.

 

They talked and elaborated. They considered some of the details they’d include. They deliberated about what point of view to use, where to set it, and how to end.

 

Once, I got a breathless call because my friend with a story to tell just had an epiphany regarding the story. It wouldn’t be a straight-out story, but a fable, using animals. This wasn’t for children, but an allegory à la Orwell’s Animal House.

“Great,” I said. “Now start writing.”

 

Another friend said her book required the permission of someone mentioned in it, though that someone was but a minor character that could be omitted if permission wasn’t granted.

“Great,” I said. “Now start writing.”

 

A third friend let me know he was bogged down with research on some of his story’s elements. It could take weeks or months to complete his self-assigned reading.

“Great,” I said. “When will you start writing?”

 

To the best of my knowledge, none have so much as written the first sentence.

 

I never talk about my stories until after I completed the second draft. Talking (and talking, and more talking) releases the creative gasses that float the writing balloon. Then, the impetus to sit and write evaporates and becomes the sad spectacle of a deflated balloon lying on its side, abandoned where no one, not even the would-be writer, would ever see it.

CREATIVITY and BAD NEWS

 

So I had some not good news the other day.

How does one write on bad-news days?

For that matter, how does one focus on any sort of important news day?

These bring me straight to the root: how does one write, period?

The only answer I know is this mysterious thing called the gift of concentration.

Few people I know are born with easy access to this gift. In this world of action, busy, noisy and hectic this-’n-thats, distraction is the default, and focus is a hard won goal.

Some people pray, others use physical exercise. Some meditate, or medicate. It’s different for everyone. But the determination to know how to achieve a state of concentration is paramount no matter how you do it.

I was in my late twenties before I had a grasp of how to work despite every sort of news.

But some days it’s still elusive.

There’s always tomorrow.

©Mirka Breen 1991

Revision Cave: Deep or Dainty?

 

I’m holed up in revision cave, per feedback aimed to make my WIP better.

Revision cave is a dark place, with a light shining from a distant opening. Every day, I crawl a few steps further and the light gets a wee bit larger.

 

This revision is a tricky one. On the surface, the suggestions are minor. The plot doesn’t change, the characters stay, and the theme is as in the original.

 

But here’s the kicker: as I change one pivotal aspect, in this case— the physical setting, all of a sudden every little detail needs tending and amending.

 

So as the light streaming from the cave’s opening illuminates more, the need for changes isn’t lessened, but grows.

 

What began as a less than deep overhaul, has now earned three “D”s : Deep, Detailed, and razor- cut Dainty.

 

Doing my best not to drown over here.

A Place to Write

 

There is a romantic notion that a writer must have a special place to write. I recall a question a friend asked when we talked about process. This friend is not a writer.

She: “Do you have a retreat?”

Me: “Retreat to what?”

She: “A place where you leave everything behind in order to write.”

Me: “You mean— other than a desk at home?”

She: “I mean away from it all. A writer’s retreat.”

          Me: “And who’s going to take care of my kids, fold the laundry, and clean the cats’ litterbox?”

Yes, my friend who knows my family and me actually imagined real writing requires a cabin in the woods, or at the very least, a shed in the backyard with a padlock & key only the writer possess.

All you need to write is an ability to delve inward, focus, and a pencil or computer. A regular corner where focusing usually takes place is helpful, but not a must.

Mine is a wee corner of my bedroom~

HARDEST PART of the ARTISTIC PROCESS

 

Creatives have answered the title question differently but, not surprisingly, some patterns that seem near universal emerge.

I have friends who say the hardest part is—

 *Just getting started (as in staring at an empty canvas)

*Muddling through the sagging middle (this one is close to universal)

*Finding how and where to end (A talented friend struggles with this)

*Revising beyond a superficial dusting (This requires input from others, IMO)

*Putting your work “out there” (Many creatives never do because it is. too. blasting. hard.)

 

But worthwhile things are often hard. So this is not a complaint, but a list of blessings.

©Grant Snider

JEWEL or JUNK?

 

Reflections on First Drafts

 

There is a notion floating in writerdom that first drafts are garbage, bad, something to be overhauled, repaired and refurbished  beyond recognition.

In other words, “a sh---y first draft,” as Anne Lamott put it in her book about writing, Bird by Bird.  (She has a whole chapter called Shi—ty First Drafts.😳) It’s a brilliant chapter, as is the whole book. It’s part of her battle cry against paralyzing perfectionism, and in that sense, I concur.

 

But here is where we part. I have a much-published writing friend who said it differently, and I’m in his camp. “The first draft is where all the important stuff happens: Characters created, their actions emerge from an unformed blob of earth, and a rough shape of a story materializes. The rest is akin to a fine sculpturist working on refining the shape to make a beautiful polished marble figure.” 

All my stories changed some in revisions. But THE STORY was there in the first draft. So were the happiest creative moments, most of which I experienced while first drafting. No matter how many missed plot turns, absent descriptive ambience or typos, (to be worked on in revisions) these first drafts were not garbage. They’re the real deal.

 

Junk? Na-ah. First drafts are jewels in need of TLC and a fine polishing cloth to shine.

Must Writers Feel Emotions Strongly?

 

One may ask the same question in the title^ about actors or fine artists. Where in the artistic process and being does emotionality fit?

 

Seems to me that the subject is not how much the creative person feels, but how much empathy they have for others' feelings. Unless the writing is entirely about self, the power to put oneself in another’s overalls is key.

 

In addition to enhanced empathy, there’s something called mirror-touch synesthesia, where others’ physical sensations are literally felt in one’s own body. Some quantified version of this is operative in good writing.

 

There is a price to pay for being an empath. Just take a look at artists. The talented ones cultivate ways to express what they sense, thus producing books, painting, and theater performances. But this comes after the first principal: feel another's joy but also devastation.

 

Ah, the joys of being human.

Does Writing Energize or Exhaust You?

 

A good friend who is a prolific reader but doesn’t write asked me a variation of the this post's title question.

Hers was more along the lines of “do you love to write?” or maybe “do you need to write to be happy?”

I thought of an answer one of my favorite authors gave to the question. Polly Horvath is a master whose prolific output would suggest she lives to write. When asked if she loves to write she said, “I love to have written.”

That about sums it for me as well. Before any first-drafting day, no matter if it’s a novel or a picture book, I feel anxious in a vague way. I recognize this feeling as a sort of fear. Fear that I can’t, fear that I don’t have it in me, fear that if I don’t I never will again.

Then I sit down and write. After the day’s self-assigned output, I have a feeling of calm that I now recognize as a sort of peace. I might even liken it to a calm version of bliss.

So there it is: I love to have written.

It also answers the question in this post’s title. I am drained but also filled. I am exhausted and energized at once.

Anyone who confronts fear and comes out the other end knows this feeling.

The Most Difficult Part

 Different folks struggle with different stretches. We’d be gingerperson-cookies if this weren’t so. But then, there are the life patches that we have in common and find challenging.

For many who write stories, the middle is the hardest part.

I used to feel alone in this until I began communicating with others. Some call it the muddling middle, which is just what writers would do for such— conjuring a nice alliteration.

But why should the middle of a story be so hard?

Part of it is the way we train ourselves to come up with roaring bang-up first line/paragraphs. This is essential to hook the reader/listener. Okay, Check. ✔

Then, there’s the matter of the ending. Pure pantsters (writing without any plan by the seat of their pants) may find endings daunting. Most storytellers know the beginning, the protagonist’s challenge, and (get ready for this---) the end. Check.✔

 The end is a bookend to the beginning of the protagonist’s quest.

I heard John Grisham respond to a question about writer’s block by saying he always knows the ending before he even starts on a new novel, and so he must envision how to get there and avoid the blocking bumps. Along that bumpy part, you must do everything not to lose the passengers/ readers.

This brings up the most challenging part: all that middle. The meat of the tale. The how to get from the beginning to the end.

Beginnings and endings take care of themselves. Middles don’t. Middles are the hardest part.