Today marks the official deadline for this year's National Novel Writing Month, which commenced November 1st. I crossed the finish line with just over 50,300 words. The goal is to write at least 50,000 words with the thirty day crunch. This year marks my fourth "win". Yes, I have managed to write that much in a relatively compressed period of time. My body has taken the toll with aching wrists and tense shoulders.
As always, I am not very impressed with the results, but I keep reading in different sources that it is important to just put it away for a while (some suggest two weeks) and then go back with the red pen and your inner editor sitting on one shoulder.
The problem is that I am not finished after 50,000 plus words. I cannot seem to find the beginning, middle or end. What I have is a fairly thick gruel of characters and some possible conflict, but no real plot in sight. I thought the magic would happen,(the magic that I've heard about so many times), but it doesn't seem to work for my brain. I seem to learn things very slowly and ponderously.
I think I will take a couple days off and then have at it again. Not as a rewrite, but as a generating more material exercise so that I have a hope of finishing it at some point.
It can't be that hard. After all, there are many writers out there who aren't particularly very good (I'm thinking of the Danielle Steele quality) who make fortunes off of their meagre talents. There must be hope for me just to finish a book. Perhaps I am more in need of a plot 101 survey course intensive.
The important thing is that I DID it. Again. And for that I am happy with myself.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Still waters and stagnation
I would like to be able to say that I have championed my creativity and now revel in it every day and that all is well in my kingdom. But the opposite is true. I find myself in a state of blandness that is so all encompassing it's as though my entire life is first wrapped in styrofoam and finished off with a thick sheet of bubble wrap. Perhaps it is ennui. Perhaps calling it ennui is just a way of shrugging off responsibility for a chronic state of apathy. Perhaps I just don't have any passion.
There. I said it. I have no passion. I seek passion. I elevate passion to godly heights. But I don't actually BELIEVE that that kind of ecstatic state is relevant to little old plain me.
Ah. That feels better. The clear waters of truth sluice away the grime of confusion.
Yes, that was a terrible erstatz metaphor. And saying erstatz in front of metaphor is even worse.
Ah. It's good to just face things for what they are.
So, I have identified the kernel of the problem. I reject my own thoughts because they are too ordinary, which by extension means my creations are too ordinary. I mean who on earth would care to read what is produced by my humble little mind?
I hate to say it, but this is an archetypal question for artists. It is one of the biggest indicators (and stumbling blocks) of the road less travelled. (Less travelled being defined as the place where some others fear to tread because there are no certainties here, only contemplations and potentialities).
Well. What to do?
What I'm doing already. Express it. No matter how lame and derivative. No matter how lacking lustre. Just get the energy moving. Nothing for it but movement. It's like what will happen to a still body of water over time. It stagnates and perhaps becomes poisonous. The only remedy is a good hard rain.
There. I said it. I have no passion. I seek passion. I elevate passion to godly heights. But I don't actually BELIEVE that that kind of ecstatic state is relevant to little old plain me.
Ah. That feels better. The clear waters of truth sluice away the grime of confusion.
Yes, that was a terrible erstatz metaphor. And saying erstatz in front of metaphor is even worse.
Ah. It's good to just face things for what they are.
So, I have identified the kernel of the problem. I reject my own thoughts because they are too ordinary, which by extension means my creations are too ordinary. I mean who on earth would care to read what is produced by my humble little mind?
I hate to say it, but this is an archetypal question for artists. It is one of the biggest indicators (and stumbling blocks) of the road less travelled. (Less travelled being defined as the place where some others fear to tread because there are no certainties here, only contemplations and potentialities).
Well. What to do?
What I'm doing already. Express it. No matter how lame and derivative. No matter how lacking lustre. Just get the energy moving. Nothing for it but movement. It's like what will happen to a still body of water over time. It stagnates and perhaps becomes poisonous. The only remedy is a good hard rain.
Friday, January 9, 2009
The first read-through
I spent the past two days reading through my monstrous November Novel, which was an exercise in mostly automatic writing and little plotting. I did that deliberately to discover what, if anything, the characters had to say for themselves.
Naturally, there are passages that make me cringe. There are also lapses of continuity and so on, BUT there are also passages that are very interesting. I was so pleased to discover that some of the exchanges between the characters read very well. They showed distinct personalities and there were many conflicts that arose naturally out of their different world views.
So I have achieved the first step. I have found something to nurture in my little misshapen first draft. The next round is coming up with a macro view of the lay of the land to pinpoint hard research required and the over all structure of the material. The finer points can come later after the first rewrite. I am both exhilarated and a little scared. There is much to learn!
Naturally, there are passages that make me cringe. There are also lapses of continuity and so on, BUT there are also passages that are very interesting. I was so pleased to discover that some of the exchanges between the characters read very well. They showed distinct personalities and there were many conflicts that arose naturally out of their different world views.
So I have achieved the first step. I have found something to nurture in my little misshapen first draft. The next round is coming up with a macro view of the lay of the land to pinpoint hard research required and the over all structure of the material. The finer points can come later after the first rewrite. I am both exhilarated and a little scared. There is much to learn!
Sunday, January 4, 2009
From Dreams to Reality
The new year is just newly born and the time for goal setting and reflection is upon us. I have decided that 2009 is the year of challenging and breaking through more self imposed limitations, specificially with my yoga practice and more relevantly to this blog, with writing.
I have been the consummate creative dabbler, never really pushing myself often enough to finish projects because, well, because I get stuck in thoughts about how many other fantastic artists there are out there and how unlikely it is that my work will ever be published and that there are so many writers scraping by out there who are better, more talented, more dedicated and so on. Of course there are grains of truth to this dialogue and it could be that none of the fiction I write is ever published, but it definitely will never be published if I never finish projects.
So with cynicism and skepticism riding heavily on my shoulders, I am going to challenge myself to the following goals as a beginning:
2. Incorporate changes and write a second draft.
3. Repeat step 1 and 2 for as many times as it takes to write a finished draft.
4. Send the finished manuscript to Amazon for the special deal they are offering the 'winners', which is a proof copy of the book.
5. If satisified with the final result, send it out to either agents or publishers.
Through this process I will learn a lot about the process of FINISHING A BOOK, and gain valuable knowledge. If it never gets published, I can at least have a couple of trusted friends read it and provide serious feedback and/or take a fiction writing workshop to improve my chops.
That is my pledge to myself. Already that queasy feeling is arising from the inner doubter in me who wants nothing more than for me to never risk growing in any direction. As an 'antidote' I will think about all of the people who never have a chance to realise their dreams because of real circumstances, not just self-fabricated ones. Right now I am thinking of the hundreds of people who recently died in Gaza and the thousands who were injured. Many of those will be deeply wounded by long term trauma. I think of all of the people throughout time who have been torn physically, psychologly and spiritually by trauma and I send them a prayer of healing and peace. I center myself in gratitude and strength, which is after all the roots of love and compassion. I am grateful that my path in this life has been a relatively smooth one compared to many others.
Creativity is the ultimate radical act because it affirms life.
Post November Novel
For the third year in a row I managed to squeak past the 50,000 word count by the end of November. This year's exploration was a dystopian venture of scattered proportions. I am left pondering the words of another Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) participant, Gayle Brandeis, who happens to be a professional (and therefore published) writer. Here are her thoughts on first drafts:
Wise words. I find that is the point where I become stuck. I find the prospect of writing something that most people will likely never read to be, well, futile. But then one could argue that all creative endeavours are by definition futile, if one took that point of view. The truth is it is just a cop out not to complete things and do the tough work of making stuff up.
So now is time to lighten up and toughen up and knuckle down to nurturing my little montrous newborn, which is tentatively entitled, 'Before the World Ends'. Inspiring, no?
"It all comes down to love, really. You have to learn to love your sticky, bloody, misshapen novel. Even if a lot of it makes you cringe; even if much of it feels monstrous, find something in it to love. It could be one sentence. It could be one image. It could be one plot twist. It could be one character. Whatever it is, start from there. Love it with all your heart. And with this love, plus a lot of attention and patience, you will give your novel the care it needs to grow into itself, to learn to walk and talk and carry its own weight. Love it, even when it makes you crazy, and one day, it will make you proud."
Wise words. I find that is the point where I become stuck. I find the prospect of writing something that most people will likely never read to be, well, futile. But then one could argue that all creative endeavours are by definition futile, if one took that point of view. The truth is it is just a cop out not to complete things and do the tough work of making stuff up.
So now is time to lighten up and toughen up and knuckle down to nurturing my little montrous newborn, which is tentatively entitled, 'Before the World Ends'. Inspiring, no?
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