Something I Just Noticed
I had a sudden thought about writing that amused me, so I will proceed to inflict it on all you lovely flisters!
To me, it seems, writing is logistics. The really weird thing about this is that it applies equally to my academic writing and to my fiction writing. Thinking up a plot (thesis) isn't at all the hard part. Writing an outline (er . . . outline) isn't really all that difficult, either; I can bang one of those out pretty fast. Research (research) can be kind of entertaining and even suggest new directions for the plot (thesis). But then comes the detail work. Getting all of the characters (arguments) from Point A to Point B, and look good doing it.
And that's the really fun bit, too! It's the puzzle of figuring out how things fit, what ornaments look best, what is beautiful and graceful and links together so smoothly that (Grid willing) you don't notice the seams. And it's always in the details. Theatrical ones: sets, lights, props, sound effects. The space through which the characters (arguments) move determines their paths, indicates the routes that they should go. It's a bit like exploring, like I'm Lewis and Clark and Sacagawea (I can too be three people at once!), who have the entire Louisiana Purchase and who are trying to figure out what's inside it. There are paths, but I need to poke around and find them.
And then I come across a path, and it's so brilliantly, blindingly simple and obvious, and how could it be otherwise! And I skip merrily down it until it gets difficult, and then I have to stop and explore a bit longer. And lo and behold! there is another path. There's always another path. And then, one day, I reach the Oregon coast and the project is done.
The lovely things about writing, as opposed to really exploring the Louisiana Purchase, are:
1. More fun, less oppression of native people.
2. Fewer mosquitoes.
3. It's infinite! As soon as I find one Oregon coast, there's a whole nother Louisiana Purchase waiting for me.
To be fair, I guess I should list the advantages of really exploring the Louisiana Purchase over writing:
1. Better chance of having my portrait on a gold-ish dollar coin that no one really knows how to use.
2. Um . . . watch this space . . .
To me, it seems, writing is logistics. The really weird thing about this is that it applies equally to my academic writing and to my fiction writing. Thinking up a plot (thesis) isn't at all the hard part. Writing an outline (er . . . outline) isn't really all that difficult, either; I can bang one of those out pretty fast. Research (research) can be kind of entertaining and even suggest new directions for the plot (thesis). But then comes the detail work. Getting all of the characters (arguments) from Point A to Point B, and look good doing it.
And that's the really fun bit, too! It's the puzzle of figuring out how things fit, what ornaments look best, what is beautiful and graceful and links together so smoothly that (Grid willing) you don't notice the seams. And it's always in the details. Theatrical ones: sets, lights, props, sound effects. The space through which the characters (arguments) move determines their paths, indicates the routes that they should go. It's a bit like exploring, like I'm Lewis and Clark and Sacagawea (I can too be three people at once!), who have the entire Louisiana Purchase and who are trying to figure out what's inside it. There are paths, but I need to poke around and find them.
And then I come across a path, and it's so brilliantly, blindingly simple and obvious, and how could it be otherwise! And I skip merrily down it until it gets difficult, and then I have to stop and explore a bit longer. And lo and behold! there is another path. There's always another path. And then, one day, I reach the Oregon coast and the project is done.
The lovely things about writing, as opposed to really exploring the Louisiana Purchase, are:
1. More fun, less oppression of native people.
2. Fewer mosquitoes.
3. It's infinite! As soon as I find one Oregon coast, there's a whole nother Louisiana Purchase waiting for me.
To be fair, I guess I should list the advantages of really exploring the Louisiana Purchase over writing:
1. Better chance of having my portrait on a gold-ish dollar coin that no one really knows how to use.
2. Um . . . watch this space . . .