It's chilly out! I have no idea what the temps are- don't really care to know. I think that's why I never put up a weather pixie here (aside from the fact that she simply doesn't wear sweaters nearly often enough); if it's hot out, I'd sit there and stare at her, trying to will the numbers to go down, and if it's cold, I'd try to figure out just where that magic level is- temperature and humidity... riiiiiggghhhhhtttt... ohhhh, yeah, right there. Then I'd snort at her whenever the readout was too high from that. Ha, yes, I'd obsess. Reminds me of my Mother, who would will herself to be as miserable as she thought the temperature merited, even when she was indoors and quite well-insulated from the outside air. Nah, no sense in egging on genetic tendencies. They'll surface eventually without my aid, I'm sure. I will, however, say that it's absolutely beautiful out! How's that?
Zorak headed out this morning (way too early) after coffee with me and breakfast with the boys (which we savored). The boys had hoped to drive him to the airport, but sufficed with some snuggle time at the kitchen table (the heart and hearth of our home) before he loaded them into the Suburban and waved to them through the rain-coated windows. He headed for Baltimore, and we headed for church. After a nice morning, then a quick run up the road to church, it felt good to settle in among others and enjoy the class, enjoy the company, before returning to a tidy and entirely-too-quiet home.
Ok, this has been coming for a few days. Get more tea (or coffee, naturally) and get comfy. I've been picking my own brain on stories, writers, and the way things work since finding myself on the flattened end of a breath-sucking epiphany the other night... Now I'd like to pick yours. The thoughts aren't as clear as they were when they originally surfaced. This bit will be more like the retelling of a faded dream, and for that, I apologize.
One of the themes propelling the last few Dark Tower books is that the story of the Dark Tower is one that had to be told (ka willed it, to use the familiar) and King was merely a facilitator, an avenue, for the story to be told. I know this is commonly said in writing- if you listen (or feel, taste, pick a sense, any sense) you'll *insert form of sensory input here* the story itself, writing itself through you. Yeah. You know, I have a cousin who channels dead voices, and I've never been able to do that, either. So. OK, *sigh* I'm not a Medium for the many stories waiting to be told.
This revelation is sad, to me. I want to be used, and want to be useful in this way. I've stood on the edge of my vista and screamed to the sky, "Show me!" (Therapy eventually cured the nightmares from that particular writing course, where the mantra "show it, don't tell it" was repeated regularly and with cultish, rhythmic tones... I don't know if I really am the only one in the class who didn't get it, or if the others, each afraid to be the lone unbeliever at a spiritual revival, were simply shouting "Yes, Lord, Jesus!" for the benefit of the instructor. At the time, however, that never crossed my mind, so I sat there, mute and fearful that I had been lobotomized at some point in my life without ever realizing it.)
I often hear people asking writers, "What makes a good writer? How do you start? How do you know what to write?" I've asked those same questions myself. I've never received a helpful answer, either, and it's not through fault of accomplished writers who have tried to answer. From what I can tell, outside the realm of technical writing, there seem to be two schools of thought, (neither of which evidently falls under the realm of any muse to which I've been assigned): technical knowledge and the vein process. I've touched briefly on the repercussions of my attempts to learn the technical aspects of fictional writing (creative writing, if you will). I've taken courses and come away more confident in my ability to, well, to write myself into a corner - usually a well-furnished and comfortable corner, but one from which there is no hope of escape. Each course has brought only a finer ability to upholster the furniture or develop the characters stuck in said corner. That's about it. The depth of my abilities as a writer hinge on one major theme: interior design. I can't carry a fictional plot to save my life, but by golly I can sure build a great character and one fine travois for someone else to haul!
The other school of thought comes from Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith*; "There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein." This is probably as succinct as it will ever get. For us laypersons, the rough translation would be something along the lines of, "We don't know how we do it. We just do it, and we do it wholeheartedly." There you have it. Engineers refer to this very same phenomena as the "PFM box". Don't know how it works, it just does. Yup. OK. So, well, at least that leaves something to work with. If I can change the travois to something waterproof and buoyant, perhaps I could get my characters out of the corner that way, on the flow of blood. Not the nicest way to travel, but hey, if they want out of that corner...
Anyhow, this brings me full circle. I'm not asking "the writers" out there, for you have made your path and know full well that the view from atop the hill is not as clear as it seemed it would be en route. It's ok. People pester y'all enough as it is. So, in the spirit of pooling our resources, I'm asking my fellow travelers. Other writers, other dreamers, others who peek longingly over the edge of that fine line - why do I picture Qaddafi's "Line of Death" when I say that - and plot, plan and scheme to write themselves over that line. Do you think stories wait to be told, or do you think they are drawn from a subconscious existence into the full light of awareness? Do they then begin requesting to be written? Do they talk? Would you be willing to admit in public to hearing one speak to you?
I'm sitting here (on my nicely upholstered chair in my well-appointed corner), working my way through these points. I know full well that I'd be a card-carrying member of one of the "third rate writer's groups" so deigned by some. *shrug* It's ok. You've gotta start somewhere. In the meantime, the coffee is hot. The walls are dingy, and the windows need cleaning, but the company is honest and lively. The dreams are vibrant, and the tension of anticipation keeps things moving along. The ideas, scattered and incomplete as they are, are beautiful in their mosaic gleam. Won't they be magnificent once we figure out what to do with them?
I've got to admit, too, that the furniture is quite comfy here. *grin* Let me know when the next seance is, ok?
Thanks for the afternoon ramble. I look forward to hearing your thoughts, too.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
* A thousand thanks to Chris from the WTM forums for hunting down the author of that quote. I searched for two hours and found most sites attribute it as "author unknown"- and one writing professor at a University attributes it to a freshman student in his WU130 writing class.
6 comments:
I don't think I've commented here before, Dy, but this is a wonderful topic.
Some thoughts:
For an article a few years back, I interviewed five writers who had nothing more in common than the fact that they all graduated from the same state college.
Noelle Sickels, who wrote two novels --- The Shopkeeper's Wife and Walking West, said that the protagonist of the latter novel did, in fact, as you say, "request to be written."
From the article:
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Sometime during the ten-year period between her mother’s death and the acceptance of her first short story, Sickels discovered Lillian Schlissel’s Women’s Diaries of the Westward Journey, a chronicle of American emigration in the gold-rush inspired boom between 1840 and 1870. “When I thought of this historical movement, which so defines our country,” explains Sickels, “I always thought of cavalry and gold-diggers — all the male stuff. But I realized [after reading Schlissel’s book] that there were thousands of families traveling West, too.” As she marveled at how women’s experiences must have differed vastly from men’s during this turbulent and often dangerous period, “a hologram” of Alice Muller, the main character in Walking West, appeared on her desk. Sickels opens her first novel with a scene in which Alice is reluctantly packing for a journey only her husband wishes to make.
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Imagine. A hologram of a character. (I read both books, by the way, and Walking West was lightweight but memorable. Maybe your library has it.)
Kathleen Stevens, who has published some delightful children's books, including a when-we-were-younger family favorite, The Beast in the Bathtub, began her career with little more than a desire to write.
From the article:
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When Kathleen Stevens first began her writing career, she was “a compass with no direction.” The retired professor jokes that her writing students knew more about how to submit stories, choose markets, and negotiate rights after one semester than she did after her first five years of professional writing. But Stevens, who had been interested in becoming a writer since high school, didn’t let naivete prevent her from getting started. “Beating on the doors of small magazines,” she collected several rejection slips before placing a humorous essay in the now-defunct Philadelphia Bulletin in 1964.
In the period following that initial success, Stevens often drew on her experience as a wife and mother to write personal essays — “mostly light in tone but often with a serious point.” She found a regular market for these pieces in The Star Herald, a weekly newspaper of the Camden diocese. She also placed articles in magazines for women, parents, senior citizens, and writers.
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As Kathy tells it, her work grew from her family and her mothering. "Reading aloud to her children led to her interest in the children’s market, and in 1973, Stevens placed a story in Young Miss. A non-fiction piece for Seventeen followed. Then, in 1978, the text of her first picture book, The Beast in the Bathtub, was initially published as a story in Cricket. In 1982, the critically acclaimed children’s magazine also published the text of her 1983 Molly, McCollough, & Tom the Rogue."
Switching gears:
You're a King fan. Have you read his book On Writing? It may be the finest thing he ever penned, but, then, his non-fiction is generally pitch-perfect.
He writes:
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"Writers form themselves into the pyramid we see in all areas of human talent and human creativity. At the bottom are the bad ones. Above them is a group which is slightly smaller but still large and welcoming; these are the competent writers. They may also be found on the staff of your local newspaper, on the racks at your local bookstore, and at poetry readings on Open Mike Night... The next level is much smaller. These are the really good writers. Above them — above almost all of us — are the Shakespeares, the Faulkners, the Yeatses, Shaws, and Eudora Weltys. They are geniuses, divine accidents, gifted in a way which is beyond our ability to understand... [M]ost geniuses aren't able to understand themselves, and many of them lead miserable lives, realizing (at least on some level) that they are nothing but fortunate freaks...."
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That may say all any writer needs to know, no?
As a writing instructor and as an editor, I've often been in the position to dispense advise to writers. It's not an enviable position, trust me. I developed a basic patter that included this bit: Before picking up a legal pad and a No. 2 (or before powering up, anyway) one must have an abundant supply of passion as well as a basic competence. What you grow from that need only satisfy you to mark it a worthwhile effort. If you want to sell your work, however, you'll also need good luck and a spouse to support you.
Heh, heh, heh.
Anyway, per King's assessment, most of us are either bad or competent. With that much out of the way, we can sharpen our pencils and scratch out our stories. Fug the audience! Or, less colloquially, write for yourself and (maybe) they will come. And sometimes they will pay on acceptance. I'll tell you: *That* makes me happier than a Dew and a pack of M&Ms. (*grin*)
Best regards from a tired autumn hiker.
<<"In the meantime, the coffee is hot. The walls are dingy, and the windows need cleaning, but the company is honest and lively. The dreams are vibrant, and the tension of anticipation keeps things moving along. The ideas, scattered and incomplete as they are, are beautiful in their mosaic gleam. Won't they be magnificent once we figure out what to do with them?">>
Dyan, with words like that you are bound to be a writer someday. You painted such a vivid and cozy picture for me. It speaks of warmth and comfort and intelligience. It speaks your soul. Don't stop but don't *try*. Just let it be. I believe writing is like potty training (I know, just hear me out). With my first child I pushed and pushed him, "let's sit on the potty honey". He was almost 4 before he completely trained (and he still wets at night). Since then I've relaxed. I haven't given up completely, I still gently remind them sometimes "dont' forget if you have to go pee-pee you need to go on the potty, OK?". But, sometimse it works and sometimes it doesn't. I don't sweat it. One day, on their own they begin to *enjoy* going on the potty. It's not hard work, it's rewarding. They've reached their goal not for me but for themselves. And everyone's happy. Don't rush yourself Dyan, don't despair. Just write when it hits you. Even if it's one sentence, one idea, the hair color for a character. I have confidence that one day God will instill a deep passion inside of you for a work. And only then will all the doors open, and the ink will flow, and you will be an official "author". You are already a writer Dy, and I, your most avid reader. I love you.
Jess
PS. I am willing to bet the inspiration won't fully come until your kids are older - LOL Don't forget it takes a *lot* of time...
Wow! I'm in awe both of this post and of the comments that follow. I have no expertise in writing being only a consumer of the printed word. I WILL say that I might go looking for King's work about writing as his book Danse Macabre was one of the most enjoyable works of nonfiction I've ever read (about horror as a genre).
Dy, I printed off you post so I could read it on paper. I really, really enjoyed it. It was a nice way to have a cup of tea (which I did do). I don't really have anything illuminating to say, but I want to tell you that while you may have not been given a muse of your own, you certainly acted as a muse for me and my daughter this afternoon. She saw your post on the kitchen table and read it. She is an aspiring writer, I believe, spending hours on her laptop, writing whatever it is she has in her head. When I asked her where she thought stories come from, she said "They don't come from anywhere; they're just there and they come out when they're ready." Your words certainly inspired me to think more today, so I think you've done something many "real" writers don't do on a regular basis and get paid for it.
Dy,
Why do you have to post on such a great topic on a night I promised myself I would get to bed at a decent time? [Sigh]
I second MFS's (I'm pretty sure it was her, she didn't sign her name) recommendation of On Writing by Stephen King. Excellent, excellent book. I go back to it time and again for affirmation.
And an interesting thing I've learned from the Dorothy Sayers biography I'm reading. She wrote the Peter Whimsey books because she was broke and figured she could sell a mystery. She did say that the character just "came" to her, but the books came out of necessity.
So just sit down and do it. In On Writing Stephen King laments all the years he wasted feeling bad about the kind of stuff he writes, because it wasn't "serious" fiction. And another line I remember from the book (I'm quoting from memory because I promised myself I would get to bed at a decent hour, and I don't want to look it up), "If God gives you something to do, why in the world aren't you doing it?" Just sit down and write.
Now, if I could only myself of that.
My friend-in-real-life, Ginny, (whose blog is http://christianauthor.blogspot.com), sent me an e-mail about some contest blogger is having to have people write a 50,000 novel in 30 days. The idea is just to get it down, not worry about how good it is. I'm thinking about it. If you're interested, I'll get you the info.
I would love to talk about this more. Some more thoughts are liable to show up on my blog in the next day or so.
'Night,
Staci
Dy~ You may not be aware of it, but you ARE being used.
On the topic of writing--have you ever read Philip Yancey's "Reaching for the Invisible God"? In one chapter, he goes off on a fascinating tangent about the process of writing. I can post it if you're interested.
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