(no subject)
I promised a story to my mentor, due one week ago. Not that he cares particularly whether I turn anything in to him, but I hoped that my fear of disappointing him would inspire. But I did not make the deadline. So I gave myself another week, thinking, Surely a whole WEEK is more than enough?
I got nowhere on my story again -- although I did have a possible breakthrough one morning when I did not have writing time and was rushing out the door. I sat and wrote that idea down, so it's waiting for me.
The point is, though, that I imagined writing an update to my beloved mentor yesterday, explaining what I've been doing with my time, admitting my failure but listing my accomplishments. He doesn't need to hear it, though, so I'll do it here instead.
1. I revised an unrevisable story and submitted it to a contest.
2. Set a goal of submitting that story to five other places (which means finding places that are not too good for it). Honestly, I see now why I haven't been getting published. Most of the places I send are too good for my work. I have to find more mid-level places, which means more time, more lit mags, etcs.
3. Listened to a craft talk online by an old classmate of mine who is quite successful. The craft talk was fascinating, partly informative and partly gobbledygook. My friend had a tendency toward abstraction that makes him hard to understand. Good teaching relies on clarity, partly (not always) and in that way I did not think the talk was entirely successful. But I learned things anyway, most especially that my friend immerses himself in writing and reading -- far more than I do. It's part of his success.
4. Read over my Master's thesis (a collection of stories). Naturally, this got my head swirling. The upshot is that I thought, Why didn't the people in my program encourage me more? And then -- this is the important part -- I started thinking of the ways in which they had encouraged me. There were positive signs when I think back on it. Not as many as some other people got, but more than I had counted. They gave me a small prize one year -- I came in second in a contest. You know who came in first? My friend with the craft talk above. That was an encouragement that I more or less ignored.
The truth is, there was a kind of good madness in those old stories. They are cartoonish. They fail to develop relationships among people. They are all about isolated people enduring grief. But they have some spark and color -- and yes, some talent. I see now what my teacher meant when she said, "You can do the thing. But you're tripping yourself up." She meant that I get the writing part, shaping sentences, shaping a whole piece, even. But I am getting in my own way in selecting the material to write about. Everyone told me this for years and years. But it's so difficult to understand what people tell you, isn't it? I think the key to seeing it is to keep working, keep reading, and go reread your own work. This is why I say half of writing is reading. If you can read your own work objectively, you will see the problems. You'll know right away what's needed. But you must allow enough time and distance to pass before you can be objective. And there's a kind of dance that must go on when you're generating the material. You're in love with it, you're putting it down, letting it bloom on the page, trying to do it quickly before your critical mind comes in and starts pointing out that the walls are all in the wrong places and you're likely to have to tear it down. That person must be held off as long as possible because you need as much material as you can possibly get in order to know what the piece is about.
My thesis stories, for example, were not about death, though death makes an appearance in every one. They're about loneliness. And though they were all about old people, they are really driven by a young person's need to find her place in the world, a need to create her own family. I could not see that. And I felt there was something wrong with me for writing about old people -- felt it was insincere in some way, forced. Not what everyone else was doing, and why they were all better. But if the fool would persist in his folly, he would become wise. Blake. It's true. I wish someone had told me that. I suppose, quite obliquely, one person did.
5. Finally, finally broke into revisions of one of my best and favorite stories, the one most likely to see print if I could just get it right.
6. Read over my unfinished pages from 2013 for two pieces, the one I've mentioned here before (not that anyone is keeping track!) about a brother and sister, and one called the Death Hike (facetiously). Both of them are good! So, while reading old stuff isn't writing, it is necessary. It's actually a critical piece of the process, I believe.
7. Decided that I must read more. My reading has always been poor. But I took how many Facebook quizzes this week? I took one that purported to tell me what career I really should have had. I got writer. Annoyed, I took the quiz again, changing all my answers to my second choices. What did I get? Writer.
8. Realized I need a better title for the story I just sent out. It's not about space; it's about time. The title is "Room," which suggests it's about crowding, which it partly is, a story about a mother with four children, and it takes you in a about six pages through her whole career as a mother. But reading it again, seeing where it needed nudges, I see it's a story about time, not space. About how motherhood shapes your sense of time. So I must go in search of a better title. I suck at titles.
I thought about posting this just to myself, but no one is forced to read it and I get a lot out of reading other people's lists and goals. (Especially yours, decemberthirty!) So here it is.
And I did exercise this week. Exercise makes you feel like a genius.
p.s. Every time I put in an LJ cut, I have to relearn how to do it!
I got nowhere on my story again -- although I did have a possible breakthrough one morning when I did not have writing time and was rushing out the door. I sat and wrote that idea down, so it's waiting for me.
The point is, though, that I imagined writing an update to my beloved mentor yesterday, explaining what I've been doing with my time, admitting my failure but listing my accomplishments. He doesn't need to hear it, though, so I'll do it here instead.
1. I revised an unrevisable story and submitted it to a contest.
2. Set a goal of submitting that story to five other places (which means finding places that are not too good for it). Honestly, I see now why I haven't been getting published. Most of the places I send are too good for my work. I have to find more mid-level places, which means more time, more lit mags, etcs.
3. Listened to a craft talk online by an old classmate of mine who is quite successful. The craft talk was fascinating, partly informative and partly gobbledygook. My friend had a tendency toward abstraction that makes him hard to understand. Good teaching relies on clarity, partly (not always) and in that way I did not think the talk was entirely successful. But I learned things anyway, most especially that my friend immerses himself in writing and reading -- far more than I do. It's part of his success.
4. Read over my Master's thesis (a collection of stories). Naturally, this got my head swirling. The upshot is that I thought, Why didn't the people in my program encourage me more? And then -- this is the important part -- I started thinking of the ways in which they had encouraged me. There were positive signs when I think back on it. Not as many as some other people got, but more than I had counted. They gave me a small prize one year -- I came in second in a contest. You know who came in first? My friend with the craft talk above. That was an encouragement that I more or less ignored.
The truth is, there was a kind of good madness in those old stories. They are cartoonish. They fail to develop relationships among people. They are all about isolated people enduring grief. But they have some spark and color -- and yes, some talent. I see now what my teacher meant when she said, "You can do the thing. But you're tripping yourself up." She meant that I get the writing part, shaping sentences, shaping a whole piece, even. But I am getting in my own way in selecting the material to write about. Everyone told me this for years and years. But it's so difficult to understand what people tell you, isn't it? I think the key to seeing it is to keep working, keep reading, and go reread your own work. This is why I say half of writing is reading. If you can read your own work objectively, you will see the problems. You'll know right away what's needed. But you must allow enough time and distance to pass before you can be objective. And there's a kind of dance that must go on when you're generating the material. You're in love with it, you're putting it down, letting it bloom on the page, trying to do it quickly before your critical mind comes in and starts pointing out that the walls are all in the wrong places and you're likely to have to tear it down. That person must be held off as long as possible because you need as much material as you can possibly get in order to know what the piece is about.
My thesis stories, for example, were not about death, though death makes an appearance in every one. They're about loneliness. And though they were all about old people, they are really driven by a young person's need to find her place in the world, a need to create her own family. I could not see that. And I felt there was something wrong with me for writing about old people -- felt it was insincere in some way, forced. Not what everyone else was doing, and why they were all better. But if the fool would persist in his folly, he would become wise. Blake. It's true. I wish someone had told me that. I suppose, quite obliquely, one person did.
5. Finally, finally broke into revisions of one of my best and favorite stories, the one most likely to see print if I could just get it right.
6. Read over my unfinished pages from 2013 for two pieces, the one I've mentioned here before (not that anyone is keeping track!) about a brother and sister, and one called the Death Hike (facetiously). Both of them are good! So, while reading old stuff isn't writing, it is necessary. It's actually a critical piece of the process, I believe.
7. Decided that I must read more. My reading has always been poor. But I took how many Facebook quizzes this week? I took one that purported to tell me what career I really should have had. I got writer. Annoyed, I took the quiz again, changing all my answers to my second choices. What did I get? Writer.
8. Realized I need a better title for the story I just sent out. It's not about space; it's about time. The title is "Room," which suggests it's about crowding, which it partly is, a story about a mother with four children, and it takes you in a about six pages through her whole career as a mother. But reading it again, seeing where it needed nudges, I see it's a story about time, not space. About how motherhood shapes your sense of time. So I must go in search of a better title. I suck at titles.
I thought about posting this just to myself, but no one is forced to read it and I get a lot out of reading other people's lists and goals. (Especially yours, decemberthirty!) So here it is.
And I did exercise this week. Exercise makes you feel like a genius.
p.s. Every time I put in an LJ cut, I have to relearn how to do it!