Over Analysis

Writing is a strange process.  Yeah, I know you already know that.  But, to the uninitiated, when you hear that someone is taking a year, two years, ten years to complete a book, you think, what a dilettante.  May or may not be true, but it sure does seem that way.  Until you try it yourself. An idea might come to you, like a muse visiting and leaving a gift.  (Ah, the muse---- another time)  Some lucky ducks take that seed of an idea and weave it into some lovely tapestry, or at least something they can sell.  Others of us get a quick start and then stall. And stall.  Characters, plot, narrative thread.  Instead of telling a story like you would around the dinner table or over a few beers in the local tavern, you hem and haw and think, no, there's a better way to start.  Have him say this and her do that and make sure it all makes sense and makes the reader want to turn the page.  And then the words go silent.

Silent is where I end up too much of the time.  Maybe I have mentally beaten up my characters , asking too much for their narrow shoulders.  I have to back off. I have to let them behave naturally, as the human beings they purport to be.  And, for me, that takes time.  I have to leave room for them to tell me what they want to say and who they reveal themselves to be.  Sounds a little tales from the crypt, but the more you write the more you realize you have to be an instrument, a vehicle, let the story happen.  Unless you are writing a legal brief or a propaganda pamphlet, and even then you assume a certain voice.  In writing that falls under the genre of "Creative", whether fiction or non-fiction, the writer has to get out of the way.  Otherwise the reader will know that the story doesn't ring true.

We  (a group of writing friends and I)  have discussed the difference between the person who writes and the writer, or author.  There is a different persona once you commit these thoughts to the page (or screen). The 'writer' is a creation and is not necessarily the  one who looks a lot like you and goes about the daily business of life. There is a difference in that person once he or she starts writing.

I think we stall ( I assume that I am not the only one) when we think too much.  One of my favorite expression is: Over analysis leads to paralysis. Sometimes, we just have to step aside and let the words come.

Writer's Block: Brain in a Bottle

We've been babysitting 3 and 1/2 month old Jude for two weeks now.  He is a very pleasant baby--- he wakes up cooing and chattering, his smile melts your heart, he's strong and healthy--- with a healthy appetite to go with the whole package.  He's sitting in his bouncy chair watching yet another Sponge Bob cartoon, smiling and waving his chubby little arms, then, all of a sudden, his belly alarm goes off and it is time to eat NOW!!!   There is usually not even a buildup, just the holler.  Now Katie is trying to feed him on a four hour schedule, but really, when his belly alarm is activated this Grandma rushes to the kitchen to mix up the formula and present it to his hungry mouth.  When Katie brought him here he weighed about 19 pounds---- pretty good size for a 3 month old.  I fear that when she takes him back tomorrow he'll be closer to 30.  I hope not.  But my lower back is out of  the practice of lifting little ones, so my back lets out a holler right around the time his belly lets out its FEED ME squeal.  ( I know, bellies and backs don't holler and squeal, but you get the picture) so I need to sit and hold him while he chomps down. What does this have to do with writer's block, you might ask. Well, as the mother of four children -- a baby showed up about once every three years in our home----I always promised myself that when they were older and didn't always have me on call, then I would get around to the writing I envisioned when I was a young girl.  Yes, I am aware that many women manage to turn out novel after novel while raising a brood, but they must have nannies and a very special nap juice they add to the bottles. Or they must have figured out a way to not trap their brain in a bottle.  A baby bottle---- less noir writerly than a bottle of whiskey-- but still, held hostage.

I haven't written in more than two weeks--- having the excuse of being with my darling grandson---(I am only writing now because my 19 year old son is playing with Jude).   But to be honest, I am full of excuses.  I have some good friends who tell me they write every day.  It may or may not be literature, but they put words down and tap into that part of their brain.  This is a very good idea, a very good plan.  But I could have all the good plans and good intentions in the world, but too often I sit, look at the screen and not a single word flows from my fingers.  There are times, though, when the words do come and I have to be available to catch them.

A dear friend of mine who writes the most beautiful stories of growing up in West Virginia, has been suffering through a spell of writer' s block.  She forwarded a piece of an article that argues that real writers write--- every day, at the same time and they manage to churn out consistent pages.  The writer claims this is because of a virtue known as discipline.  But, I challenge that assertion.  I'm sure it is a good idea to write every day, at the same time, but there are many of us whose brains operate in a less disciplined way, but still manage to string words and stories together to merit the title writer.  Maybe we recieve and process information differently, maybe organically or like gathering dust.  The words wait.  We may become impatient, but the words have to be ready.

So, what about you and Writer's Block?  Please join in the conversation and let us know some of your wisdom.  Thanks.

Worth doing

If you say 'worth doing' I venture that most of us will fill in the the missing words for that phrase. 'Worth doing' is shorthand for ' Whatever is worth doing is worth doing well"---- the battle cry of the perfectionists. Some time ago I came across a variation on that phrase----'whatever is worth doing is worth doing poorly'---- a ray of hope for those of us who rarely achieve, or wait for, perfection.  The point, I think, was that if we have something to do, go ahead and do it, even if it means we will most likely miss the mark of perfection, or even of 'well'. After a few decades of stretching, thinking, doing, being and all that other stuff that goes into a life  I'd like to offer another alternative to the phrase: Whatever is worth doing is worth doing.  Leave off the qualifier, it's besides the point.  So would that philosophy leave us all off the hook to put no more than minimum effort into our work, our projects, our life?  Perhaps.  But that's a chance we take every day when we get out of bed.  Very few of us hit the marks of perfection in all or even most of our endeavors.

Today I read in the e-newpaper about a 94 year old Navajo woman who gets up every morning and makes pottery.  Making pottery is the way she made her living which fed her children and continues to be a valuable work-- even if her family thinks she should rest and take some time for herself after all these years.  I gatther from the article that she likes doing this 'work' which she doesn't even consider work-- it is just what she does, so why should she stop? It would be like retiring from brushing her teeth or eating lunch or putting a sweater on when it gets chilly.  It is worth doing.  The fact that this woman's work has been selling quite well for many years is beside the point.  She is doing what is worth while to her.

If we wait to perform "well" all the time, how many of us would ever try anything?  How many meals would not get cooked, or beds made, or children tucked in, or laundry cleaned?  All the good we do, all the little things that make up a life are worth doing.  If it turns out we do things 'well' once in a while, great.  But in the meantime let's keep doing all the things that are worth it.

Since this vehicle (this blog-business) is about writing and the ups and downs of ever getting any words out there---- wherever there is----share with me some of the things you think are 'worth doing' when it comes to writing or music or art or any of the bits of creativity we get to take part in every day.  Anyone want to share?  Drop me a line.  I'm told the comment box is easy to fill out.

"Terrifying suddeness" *

I received an email from a good friend.  His wife has recently been diagnosed with cancer----he described the news as hitting them with "terrifying suddeness". We all have our own gut reaction memories that rise up in companionship when this level of fear hits someone close to us.  What seems like out of the blue, life's going along at its regular, often boring routine, we are pulled out of ordinary into fear--- into re-arranging everything we might have once considered normal to a new normal.  This new normal has us living on the edge, nerves frayed, battle armor on, swords drawn, ready, we hope, to cope with whatever the next moment might hand to us. The price of love, of course, is the pain it will demand when the day comes for us to lose our beloved.  But long before that day comes there are the little fears, the little deaths and close calls that prepare us, tenderizing our hearts and bodies, whatever is at the core of us, for that loss. The fear of losing someone so dear to us that we cannot define ourselves without him or her is as basic as the fear of falling.  When we invest so much of ourselves in our beloved--- and we have to if we are to have the immeasurable joys of love--- we know, on a cellular level, just how dangerous this much love is.

We love because we must.  We love because we know that the joys and rewards of love outweigh the agony of not loving.  We are created to love; we seek love in its various forms because we are not fully alive without love.

When that love-- that person who means so much to us we cannot measure the cost--- is threatened--we stand on the edge of darkness praying with all our might for reprieve, for the divine favor of more time, more words, more chances to share, to laugh, to cry with our beloved.  We pray without words, trusting to the Creator of life that our agony, our presence, our pain, is prayer enough.

Throughout time artists and writers have depicted death as an entity, the Grim Reaper, the black spectre carrying a scythe and cloaked in darkness; the personification of what a broken and lonely heart is.

But--- but-- we are the heirs of warriors who will not easily sacrifice our beloved to the darkness of the enemy.  With all our heart and will and tears we fight, we pray, we bargain, we turn our lives inside out and expose ourselves to death ourselves to save our loved ones, begging, humble, broken down to our most basic selves.  It is in these moments that we know the glory of our humanity and our inheritance of the great love for which we are created.

* expression taken from fellow writer Bill Marvel