Discipline, discipline... wherefore art thou?
So, a couple of months ago, I got a hold of this article that outlined how to avoid getting stuck in the middle of writing a book. It was pretty much a 'no duh' moment. The basic rule, he said, is to PLOT IT OUT.
DAMN. I love that messages come to me when I need them. I mean, I know about plotting. I mean, everyone knows that plot is important. But it didn't hit me until I read that article that out of all 10 books of mine, very few had any real delineated plots.
So, how hard is it to plot out a book? Pretty fucking hard. Almost as hard, I think, as writing the damned thing. Because, unlike an outline, when you plot, you have to think ahead all the way to the end. I'm the kind of writer that doesn't like endings. I love to ramble... as evident in all of my postings to this journal. But the genius in plotting is this:
You don't get stuck in the middle of the book.
Plotting is like having a map. You can't get lost, because you always know where you're going!!!! C'mon, all together now... 'NO DUH'! I'm thrilled to have finally placed this crucial piece of the puzzle.
So... now, I just have to motivate myself to plot it all out before I start to actually write. What's hard for me, too, is finding the time to do it. And the place. Home is no good for me. I love my apartment, don't get me wrong. But all I do in the place is veg out. I need someplace that inspires me. I get inspired outdoors a lot; maybe I'll take my laptop to the park and write. Riiiiiight. Like that'll happen.
Well, I said once I was going to start going to B&N or Borders every night-- ok at least once a week?-- and see if that works. I dunno. I need to do something. It's this city. It's just very hard to get inspired here, which I know is a cop out, but goddammit it's true.
It's not like Atlanta, where everyday, something happened, or someone happened, and the energy is electric and the words just seemed to pour from my fingertips there. There was no hiding from life in ATL. SA is not like Chicago which is home to me, and so comfortable that writing comes as easy as breathing. SA is not like Ruidoso where the beauty is breathtaking, and every second I wasn't writing felt like a waste of God's time. But there is energy here, too. But it's not an energy I can relate to, or tap into. I'm comfortable here, but still, writing is a chore. There is immeasurable beauty here, but I find it rarely inspiring. It's too easy to hide here, maybe that's my problem. It's so laid back and cool in SA, that all I want to do is chill, and sadly, that's all I end up doing.
Meanwhile, my life is frittering away. But no matter. 2005 will be here before I know it, and I will have a completed manuscript by then. I refuse to acknowledge any other reality. I'm done fucking around. When we leave San Antonio, I will not go feeling defeated. I want something to show for my time here. Because even though I anticipate leaving, and I dream about my life in Boston, or Greece or Atlanta or Chicago... I know I will miss San Antonio. Hell, I miss it already.
DAMN. I love that messages come to me when I need them. I mean, I know about plotting. I mean, everyone knows that plot is important. But it didn't hit me until I read that article that out of all 10 books of mine, very few had any real delineated plots.
So, how hard is it to plot out a book? Pretty fucking hard. Almost as hard, I think, as writing the damned thing. Because, unlike an outline, when you plot, you have to think ahead all the way to the end. I'm the kind of writer that doesn't like endings. I love to ramble... as evident in all of my postings to this journal. But the genius in plotting is this:
You don't get stuck in the middle of the book.
Plotting is like having a map. You can't get lost, because you always know where you're going!!!! C'mon, all together now... 'NO DUH'! I'm thrilled to have finally placed this crucial piece of the puzzle.
So... now, I just have to motivate myself to plot it all out before I start to actually write. What's hard for me, too, is finding the time to do it. And the place. Home is no good for me. I love my apartment, don't get me wrong. But all I do in the place is veg out. I need someplace that inspires me. I get inspired outdoors a lot; maybe I'll take my laptop to the park and write. Riiiiiight. Like that'll happen.
Well, I said once I was going to start going to B&N or Borders every night-- ok at least once a week?-- and see if that works. I dunno. I need to do something. It's this city. It's just very hard to get inspired here, which I know is a cop out, but goddammit it's true.
It's not like Atlanta, where everyday, something happened, or someone happened, and the energy is electric and the words just seemed to pour from my fingertips there. There was no hiding from life in ATL. SA is not like Chicago which is home to me, and so comfortable that writing comes as easy as breathing. SA is not like Ruidoso where the beauty is breathtaking, and every second I wasn't writing felt like a waste of God's time. But there is energy here, too. But it's not an energy I can relate to, or tap into. I'm comfortable here, but still, writing is a chore. There is immeasurable beauty here, but I find it rarely inspiring. It's too easy to hide here, maybe that's my problem. It's so laid back and cool in SA, that all I want to do is chill, and sadly, that's all I end up doing.
Meanwhile, my life is frittering away. But no matter. 2005 will be here before I know it, and I will have a completed manuscript by then. I refuse to acknowledge any other reality. I'm done fucking around. When we leave San Antonio, I will not go feeling defeated. I want something to show for my time here. Because even though I anticipate leaving, and I dream about my life in Boston, or Greece or Atlanta or Chicago... I know I will miss San Antonio. Hell, I miss it already.