When I draw the sting from the act of writing, I’ll liberate myself to truly advance my craft, and write both the quality and quantity I should.
Last night I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t get comfortable. Mind freewheeled. Finally I bagged it and got up.
But despite my mind’s overactivity I felt too mentally unfocused to write. So I lost a big chunk of time that really needed converting into words.
And today I wonder.
I know every situation’s easier to resolve when you’re no longer in it. I eventually got some sound, restoring sleep. I’m in a totally different state. Easy for now-me to talk about what then-me should’ve done.
Still: precisely what I’m trying to move away from is caring if what I write is any good.
What I need to do is slap it down fast as I can. And then fix it. When I do that, I write more and better. I’ve shown this to myself again and again. (Why do I resist accepting it emotionally?)
When I write caaare-fullll-llly, agonizing over every word and paragraph and punctuation, tormenting myself over whether this is proper characterization, whether this scene is in the right place … it reads, well, the way it was written. It’s laborious, painful and slow.
When I blast words onto the screen as from a high pressure hose, not only can I readily make whatever changes are necessary later, but oftentimes what I’ve written works great as is.
I’ve talked about this a lot. It’s a transition I’ve struggled to make – a technique, a skill, I’ve struggled to learn – for over a decade.
Now it strikes me that when I let go of concern about my state I’ll write more and better. In the last few days I’ve (mostly) done better at mindfully telling myself, “Okay, sit down and write some. Then come back later and write more.”
I need to make it casual. Yeah, just get used to any time and all the time sitting down and slapping out a few more words. They all get me … closer … to … the goal.
As always I do not say this is the best or only way for anyone else to write. What works for you is the best way for you to write.
But this is what I need to do in order to do what I want to do.
Popularity: 2% [?]
It is so fascinating the way different writers work. Matt is a crafter, a slow, meticulous word-smith who cannot move on until every single syllable is perfect.
I am way more spaghetti-method where I just blow through caputuring sensations and ideas and often leaving notes for myself to (insert that guy’s name here) or (make up a name for this city later) or somesuch. Not to say that when I go back through the text and tweak and fine-tune, that I don’t get into crafting mode where everything has got to be perfect- and I am one of those weirdos whose prose has to *sound* right, has to have the right number of syllables per sentance (to suit the need of the narrative- not writing in iambic pentameter here) and the flow of the vowels has to be right. Blame my early background in poetry and in theatre, it scarred me for life! ^_~
And I agree that writing should be fun and casual and a joy to do. if we aren’t enjoying it, we aren’t motivated to do it. And if we aren’t motivated, it’s drudgery. And if it’s drudgery, then damn we might as well find a job that pays with benefits if we are going to hate what we do. I have to remind myself of that sometimes, that I do this because I LOVE it and because I don’t have a choice, my brain would EXPLODE from so many stories building up inside of it if I didn’t put them down on paper (or in pixels).
Damn, I am going to miss breakfasts with you this year at Archon. We always have such delightful discussions like this!
I need to try reading my pieces aloud as preparation for the rewrite. That’s a good way to assure that the prose flows and isn’t too convoluted. As well as that it “sounds good.” Which is important.
I’ll miss you guys and our breakfasts at Archon, too. Of course it’s not as if you and Matt’ll be missing Archon because you’re out pitching pennies in the alley behind the Y. Unless you’re doing it in Dublin.