I am waiting for the inner spring of inspiration to rise up to the surface. That is an age old problem about the myth of inspiration. Most of us like to believe that a work will come to us complete, like a gift bestowed upon us by some mysterious force, and that no good work can be accomplished without such an intervention.
Although you might sometimes experience this phenomenon, and it is wonderful when it happens, most inspiration occurs from persistent hard work and refinement.
That is what is so wonderful about facing the fallow within--that state of mind where you feel that everything you create is hollow and meaningless--and creating in spite of it.
No matter what you feel in the moment about what you are creating, all that really matters is starting from somewhere and continuing forward with openness and curiosity.
There will always be the critical voice putting down every idea and word anyway, but the difference is you are getting those ideas down on the page, where they can be sifted through, revisioned and transformed into something you couldn't have imagined without first allowing for those first tentative scribblings.
Celebrate fallow. It is a time of regeneration and a deepening of the creative process. All things grow within there own cycles and seasons, even your own creative process. Just be sure to show up and create.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
Big Messy Creativity
November 1 is a date notable because it is the start date of the 30 day novelling madness of National Novel Writing Month (www.nanowrimo.org). This year will mark my third year of participation in the contest. I was proud to fulfill the 50,000 word count for the last two years in a row. The results were two rambling jaunts of character and plot development that remain in the limbo of sprawling first drafts requiring radical editing and revision interventions.
Although writing 50,000 words in 30 days is really challenging and can be an emotional rollercoaster, the sense of accomplishment is akin to flying. My biggest question to myself is always: where on Earth did these characters come from? One day there was nothing, and the next I am having a conversation with a fully formed, albeit imaginary being, in my head.
That is another great thing about writing fiction. You can make stuff up and have all kinds of fascinating conversations with make believe people, and no one will ever think twice about it. After all, you are a Creative Writer.
Which leads me to my next point. Before a wonderfully polished work of art can be written, a big messy first draft must be born. Big messy first drafts evoke feelings of deep ambivalence. They might have some fantastic features and aspects, but so much requires reshaping, and the internal logic of the piece must be found. It is both an exhilarating and, at times, a deeply frustrating process. Sometimes I must remind myself of some of the images I have seen of first draft manuscripts from famous literary figures, such as Lord Byron. There are cross outs, scribblings in the margins, ink stains and rewritten verses. By peering closely at a draft manuscript, you can almost map the many starts and stops, points of departure and rethinking and moments of excruciating frustration.
Somehow I find the evidence of a great writer's struggle encouraging. It means that nothing worthwhile comes without great effort.
Although writing 50,000 words in 30 days is really challenging and can be an emotional rollercoaster, the sense of accomplishment is akin to flying. My biggest question to myself is always: where on Earth did these characters come from? One day there was nothing, and the next I am having a conversation with a fully formed, albeit imaginary being, in my head.
That is another great thing about writing fiction. You can make stuff up and have all kinds of fascinating conversations with make believe people, and no one will ever think twice about it. After all, you are a Creative Writer.
Which leads me to my next point. Before a wonderfully polished work of art can be written, a big messy first draft must be born. Big messy first drafts evoke feelings of deep ambivalence. They might have some fantastic features and aspects, but so much requires reshaping, and the internal logic of the piece must be found. It is both an exhilarating and, at times, a deeply frustrating process. Sometimes I must remind myself of some of the images I have seen of first draft manuscripts from famous literary figures, such as Lord Byron. There are cross outs, scribblings in the margins, ink stains and rewritten verses. By peering closely at a draft manuscript, you can almost map the many starts and stops, points of departure and rethinking and moments of excruciating frustration.
Somehow I find the evidence of a great writer's struggle encouraging. It means that nothing worthwhile comes without great effort.
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