“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” –Ernest Hemingway
One of my most wonderful friends asked me the question,
“So, what made you decide to scrap your other manuscript? It sounds like your new idea is even better, but how did you get the courage to decide to start over?”
My first response was to laugh and say “Are you kidding? What courage?” But my husband and I had just discussed that the night before, so I held my breath instead. And held it for over a month, during which time she waited for an answer or most likely forgot, because I just didn’t know how to answer.
So in the wee hours of the morning (try 3 am), my psyche finally gathered up the fragments that have taunted my thoughts and put them into semi-coherent images. And the answer is…
…that I’m honestly, truly, on the edge of falling all the time. My only claim is this inner tidge that is staring defiantly into the face of the lashing sandstorms–in my own head, mostly, but also in the form of four growing children and homeschooling and drowning daily tedium–that tell me there’s no possible way I’ll ever get anywhere.
Fresh from my middle-of-the-night journal entry:
You know that scares me to death–writing a whole series when I haven’t even finished a book. It keeps me on edge of major funk/depression, and I’m slicing my soles on its blade. But I’m ignoring the bloodiness and severed nerve endings, and trying to think about writing the darn books and not how much I ought to quit.
Do I really have the courage? I struggle with that every minute. The only thing I can do is slide forward, or slip in my blood and leave a stained trail in my memory, so I’ll always be hobbling forward–scarred however much time heals–and always looking back at its red, glowing sheen.
But the results of Art are always positive–my artist friend says “Art is never wasted.” So even when it’s bad, it’s leading somewhere good.
Writing is so… confusing. Non-linear. Layered. Slow. My attempts never turn out the way I mean them to. (They turn out better!) But the force of the Vision of weaving the story… that image is why I force the effort to put words on paper–the effort, not the words.
Allowing the ebb and flow of life’s tides on a daily basis but keeping to my purpose in the weekly/monthly continuum, the Vision stays constant. Some days the result is a journal entry; reading about writing; sudden worldbuilding; a sparking jot; even looking away to give the ideas their privacy to “get decent” before unveiling. Many days I can show results.
And every day it’s about trusting my own psyche. Since this is what I really want, my own consciousness (sub- or semi- or waking) will help me get there.
The paper trail? After two NaNos, too many started-but-stopped novels, spirals full of junk and several short stories and picture books, I’m on my third re-write of this book. This re-write involved throwing the entire story away in favor of an unknown yet more organic lovely that is thrilling me–and I hit the half-way point last week!!
Actually, it’s terrifying me how huge and open and awesome the world is or will be. Which is how I know there’s a series, even when I didn’t plan for one when I set on this course. I know three, possibly four books’ worth in Jer’s story, all of which are pertinent to his character development. Since I don’t even know who I’m growing up to be yet (except absolute ‘wills’ and ‘won’ts’), it’s kind of exciting.
