108 Pages into writing a novel, I discover that the spell checker's suggestion for my protagonist's last name is, "Ode naught." This is not encouraging.
Writing is an act of faith. A brilliant, bejeweled idea hops nimbly through your consciousness. Suddenly any number of other things-to-do become more important than writing. If you take yourself firmly in hand and sit infront of paper or screen, the whole world conspires to keep you from the work. Phones ring, crisis large and small demand your immediate attention. Finally, you close the door, breath a sigh of relief and pick up the pen. The brilliant idea immediately develops leaden feet. Words plod across the page. Frustration mounts. Obviously you don't have the skill to articulate even this idea. Maybe it's not such a great idea anyway.
"Thoughts fly and words go on foot." ~Julien Green
Drawing is just as bad. A few scribbles on the page and suddenly you know you're not going to be able to capture whatever it was that drew you in. You're drawn in, but can't draw. Who would know that sketching a simple ladder could be so complicated? Since it takes 10,000 hours to master anything, and you can only put in a few hours here and there, you'll be 143 before you've accumulated a modicum of skill. It's easy enough at this juncture to decide you can't draw and cash it in. Take a picture. Forget it.
"Any art is first and foremost a craft." ~Archibald MacLeish
Perhaps, over the years, you've developed enough experience to silence the critic of bad beginnings. "Rough draft!" you bellow into the deepening fog. "You can edit garbage, but you can't edit a blank page." Resolutely you plod forward. Pages get filled. You are just starting to feel proud of your productivity when thoughts of the many books languishing on shelves flit through your mind. Undoubtedly this has been said a thousand times before. Who needs more words? You should probably go and do something useful, like clean the toilet.
"Ode naught." says the spell checker with a sneer.
The funny thing is that even cleaning toilets demands a certain amount of faith. Why clean? Just look at the closet. How long has it been since you vacumed? You're never going to get on top of this mess. And even if you do get a room cleaned, who cares? It will just get messed up again. So what if you finish this story (drawing, closet, report, house, street, appointment, class...)? You've finished any number of other things that are currently rotting in your office. Why muster the energy to continue, when all you end up with is an over stuffed filing cabinet?
"Zounds! I was never so bethumped with words!" ~William Shakespeare
If you manage to silence the babbling beast and actually finish a project, you are immediately up against the draconian terrors of putting the work in front of someone else. Will you be able to launch what is obviously a small and inept attempt at creation? Can you push it through the thorny brambles of your insufficiencies?
The Kingdom of God is a small and common thing. Like mustard seeds and leaven. Bread and Jam. The faith to rise up and try, to keep on keeping on--the sunflower growing inch by inch through a crack in the concrete. Abundant life. It's the beginning, continuing and finishing that's hard. Otherwise, life is good.
"The beginnings of all things are small." ~Cicero
I'm reading again. The dearth that started over a month ago when I had Hamthrax has finally come to an end. Maybe the hiatus had something to do with joining both facebook and twitter. Suddenly I was reading blips instead of books. Yet even on a vacation in the mountains, I found myself desolately poking at this book and that, not happy with any of them. I looked at Please Let Me Know You God by Larry Stevens, various Garrison Keillor books, A fat book of Greatest Detective Stories... *Yawn*
The spell was broken by Anne Perry, a mystery writer I hadn't read before. In her book, The Face of a Stranger, a man lies in the hospital with no memory. Turns out he's a detective. As the plot unfolds he has the dual problem of solving a crime and figuring out who he is. Of course these two problems intersect in various interesting ways. A great weekend read.
Then I had to read something for our Western Literary Party. I started The Black Dove; "Holmes on the range" by Steve Hockensmith only to find two g-dmns and one sweet-J within the first couple of pages. I decided I wasn't up to (or down for) that so I switched to Appaloosa by Robert Parker. A tough sharp-shooting Sheriff comes to save the town from bad guys. I started it at Tea time, and finished around midnight. Fun enough, and now I had a ticket to the party--which was a blast. Next month is Memoirs. 3rd Friday, 1:30.
"I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train." ~Oscar Wilde
I took Mom and Charlie to Logos--because if you're going to tour the town you have to see our largest used book store. I ended up buying The Writer's Chapbook edited from The Paris Review interviews by George Plimpton. The book is "A compendium of Fact, Opinion, Wit, and Advice from the Twentieth Centurary's Preeminent Writers." I'm enjoying it tremendously. I only wish that there were more quotes from genre writers--instead of all those literary types. Mom left The Singing Sands by Josephine Tey behind--which I stayed up too late one night reading. It was not quite as good as Daughter of Time, which unravels the mystery of Richard III, but Josephine Tey writes as well as any of that preeminent 20th century bunch.
We've got some preeminent 21st century writers who've submitted work for The Publishing Project. Sixteen writers, thirty-four pieces, 50,000 words. Some of you are probably wondering how soon you'll hear from us. Let's just say at this point it's pre-imminent. We're plotting a 4-week editing workshop beginning in October. Anyone who wants to spruce up their pre-immanent editing skill is welcome to join us.
"Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep." ~Scott Adams
Meanwhile Bread and Jam is happening again Sunday, September 20 from 3:00 to 5:00 on The Word Shop deck. Bring at least two copies of a song, your instrument, clapping hands, rejoicing heart. I'm hoping the upstairs neighbors won't dump buckets of slop on us. If you bring something to nibble on, we'll nibble.
"Some writers take to drink, others take to audiences." ~Gore Vidal
And some just take a break.
Blessings,
Alliee +
PS A whole bunch of Joyce Meyers tapes came in. Is there anybody out there who still listens to tapes?