I'm wrestling with my writing right now. I'm caught in a battle of wills, frustrated with a story that won't "go". It chooses instead to stubbornly dig it's heels into the ground, resisting all manner of prodding and nudging and outright shoving. I'm not sure why I even bother at times, except that it's like an itch that I can't quite scratch. No, it's more irritating than that, at least at the moment, she says unkindly. It's the twitch in the corner of my eye that gives me no peace.
Writing is... a compulsion. That much I've accepted, even embraced, and rejoiced over, despite my current complaints. But, having decided it's something not likely to change about me, I'd at least like to do it (somewhat) successfully. I'm willing to put some muscle behind it, I really am, but I'm not sure how.
My conclusion is that I am in desperate need of a teacher. Someone to take the Big Red Pen and make those critical marks on my paper, someone to indifferently slash away the fat of my words and ideas, leaving only the lean. I need direction and instruction that comes from someone far more talented and experienced than me. How do you hone the power of the pen without it? How do you tempt those inner stories out into the open, give them legs and see them run? Or even WALK BRISKLY - shoot, I'm not being picky at this point. I just want, at some point in my life, to type the words "The End".
That seems utterly out of reach at times.
And, oh yes, I WILL take a little cheese with my whinin'-- thank you! Lovely of you to offer!
Anyway, the only thing I know to do as I await the arrival of my mentor (who will reveal him/herself in a dazzling display of light and prophetic brilliance VERY SOON, I'm sure of it), is to just keep writing. Write until my fingers are frighteningly numb and my characters all hate me. For the next two weeks, I plan to wake up an hour earlier, before the short ones rise, and pour some coffee down the gullet and make myself bleed ink. I shall, I say! Who knows what quality of literature will be produced in those bleary eyed moments, but maybe it will get me through the hardest part.
Well, I'm off to do the Things That Need To Be Done.
Hope everyone has a fruitful and relaxing weekend!
Posted by Shannon at July 8, 2004 07:51 PM | TrackBackBut... don't you know... my favorite books are those 1200 or 1400 page tomes... seemingly endless... that end all too soon... the ones you want to last forever... that etch ever little detail into your heart and mind's eye... so that you are really, truly, incredibly there... invisible to the participants of the story... but there nonetheless... feeling the breezes that tousle the hair of the toddler in the tall grass... smelling the scent of crushed mint as a stranger skulks beneath open windows on moonless nights... those books that you can't bear to have end... that you sometimes scan ahead in anticipation... only to go back and slowly... slowly... savor every single detail... every little bit of fat...
Lean? Anybody can do lean...
It's the fat that gives the flavor...
Posted by: Aunt Vickie at July 9, 2004 01:27 PMA little fat goes a long way though. I see what you're saying, but lean writing doesn't necessarily mean sparse. It's just strong and efficient, and focused. It's not that I want to change my style per say, but just, tweak it, I guess. I don't know... I'm fumbling with it a bit, but I guess everybody does that no matter what their pursuits are.
Posted by: Shannon at July 9, 2004 02:28 PM