The Crap Cycle

pinterest

You know the routine.  You go to bed Sunday evening with a mind brim-full of ideas, itching to get up the next morning and write.  On Monday you roll out of bed and sit down at the computer; you've got an hour, maybe several, and you're ready to go - until you open up the document and try to start.  And then everything is awful.  You struggle through a paragraph or two and move on, frustrated, to something else.  Everything is crap!  Your writing is rubbish!  This story is nonsense!  The characters are stupid!  You will never write anything as good as your last book (or chapter)!  You should just give up now!

But on Tuesday you try again and the story flows better; you've got over that trying bit of dialogue or description and feel like you've found your rhythm.  Things are great!  You love this story!  These characters are the bomb!  You're the top!  You're the Colosseum!

And then Wednesday?  Boom!

Crap again.

In case you couldn't tell, this cycle happens to me quite a lot - especially when, as with the past several weeks, I'm given the mixed blessing of plenty of writing time.  The ratio of good writing days to bad writing days seems skewed and you become frustrated with both the story and yourself, insecure about everything from the characters to that sentence you just wrote.  I've dubbed it the crap cycle, where the scene that sounded great yesterday sounds horrible today and you can't seem to heave the story out of the rut it's inexplicably fallen into.  There are plenty of blog posts out there to encourage you through this artistic slough, to pump you up and get you running again, but I would like to point out one thing:

the crap cycle

is a good thing

The days when we feel like our writing is rubbish and we're forced to evaluate our work through somewhat jaded eyes are good and necessary parts of the process.  We need to maintain a healthy cynicism, a recurring recognition that we are always capable of doing better.  If all we're doing is gleefully throwing out words, happy with everything we write, never suffering from the frustration of not achieving all we have in our hearts to achieve - then maybe our goals are too low.  Maybe our desires aren't big enough.  Maybe we need to step back and reevaluate, and then step forward again and try harder.

a little perfectionism

is a good thing

We do need to write fearlessly.  We need to ignore the editor side of us.  But not all the time.  Execution is as important as the idea.  We should take time to make our sentences ring true, our dialogue cohesive, our descriptions interwoven and spot-on.  If we leave everything until the editing process, I do not believe our finished product will be as good - as finished  - as it could be.  Allow yourself time to concentrate on making what you write solid, and the work of polishing, the punch-list at the end of the job, will be that much easier for it.

realism

is not pessimism

All things in moderation.  Both of these principles can be taken to extremes: we can obsess too much over details, spending so much effort rewriting yesterday's work that we never get to today's, and we can become negative. Remember to forge ahead.  When you've finally gotten through a tough bit, give yourself a pat on the back and move forward; don't go back and fret over it again.  Never let your recognition that improvement is always possible become warped into an attitude of depression, envy, or defeatism.  Rather, let it spur you on to better things.  Enjoy the times when you are the top, and remember that the times on the bottom are there to keep us humble and still striving.

The Most Beautiful Curve

smile!

I'm not an outgoing kind of person.  My first day of college, back at the start of the Fall semester, was agony: I had no idea what I was doing, I didn't know anyone, and I have that very British problem of not being willing to ever admit my ignorance.  I will continue walking in the wrong direction just so others won't know I'm lost.  Being obliged to speak to people - especially to my peers - has always been nerve-wracking for me.

This is still the case, but to a lesser degree.  Through a combination of "the college experience" and simply growing up, I have begun to realize that one can - and must - learn to be shy without being rude.  I mentioned in my last post that ours is a very rude generation; I can't tell you the times I've tried to strike up a conversation with a fellow classmate, only to have them give a monosyllabic answer before returning to the oh-so-fascinating world of the iPhone screen.  Of course, those of us who are less tech-savvy can scoff at these people and pretend that because we are engaged in reading an educational book rather than scrolling through Facebook, we're not being rude - we're just introverted.

but we should never let a label become our excuse.

The naked fact of the matter is that, whether we classify ourselves as an extrovert or an introvert, we must make room for the human interaction required by our daily lives.  Maybe this isn't on a university campus: maybe it's at Wal-mart, or church, or at the fast-food drive-through.  Sure, you can go through life in your own impenetrable bubble, never acknowledging unless obliged, never learning to make small talk ("bit the bowl off the spoon!"); but on a wholly pragmatic level, people do not like the self-absorbed.  Even if they're self-absorbed themselves and totally unaware of it, they will still observe it in others - and let me tell you, it's very off-putting.

In addition to the pragmatic winning-friends-and-influencing-people argument, however, it seems to me that our profession of faith demands that we look outside of ourselves to consider the good of others.  Now, I'm not talking about handing out tracts and evangelizing people: I'm just talking about how our attitude toward life and toward those we meet reflects on our Christianity.  Of all people in the world, we should be the most joyful, the most enthusiastic, the most willing to uplift others simply by acknowledging them as human beings like ourselves.  "Someone will say, 'You have faith, I have deeds.  Show me your faith without your deeds, and I will show you my faith by my deeds.'" 

Far too often we are a whiny, negative people, filling up our social media with complaints about being sick (bet someone else is, too) or having a headache (maybe we shouldn't be on the computer...?) or not wanting to take this exam (does anyone?).  And then we do the same in real life.  (Because when someone asks how you are that day, chances are they are not requesting the low-down on your entire week.)  But in reality this doesn't make us feel better and certainly doesn't uplift anyone around us: it just creates an impression of us as an Eeyore, and no one really wants to be chummy with an Eeyore. 

rather, let our speech always be with grace, seasoned as it were with salt, that we may know how we ought to answer each one.

This morning Rachel Heffington posted a link to an article on how to make small talk with strangers, and I thought it spot-on in that, while it does not claim that by chatting it up with random folk you will win ultimate happiness, it does point out that you feel better if you engage with the world around you.  So let us lay aside this label of "introvert" that so frequently besets us, and learn to be a light in a gloomy world.

Learn tact.

Dress with respect for yourself and others.

Look for things to comment on positively.

Be enthusiastic if at all possible.

Appreciate the efforts of others.

Put away your books and your "cellular devices" when with others.

Smile (even if you don't feel you have a very nice one). 

So let us lay aside this label of "introvert" that so frequently besets us, and learn to be a light in a gloomy world.

The Creative Mind

pinterest

Last week I finished reading The Mind of the Maker by Dorothy Sayers, a contemporary of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien and best known for her Lord Peter Wimsey detective novels.  I can't say I'm much a fan of her mysteries, but this book I enjoyed so much that I gave it five stars and wanted to wave it in the face of everyone I ever met and scream, "Read this book, it's full of awesome!"  Which is not generally something I do; I try to keep my voice below a scream at all times.  Sometimes, however, I do feel that a higher pitch is justified.

The Mind of the Maker was once such instance.  It is a little hard to explain and do justice to it, for Sayers, with a kind of tongue-in-cheek, no-nonsense style somewhat typical of her generation, covers a great deal of ground in only 250 pages.  She is examining, or rather making a frank case for, the doctrine of the Trinity - and that right there is a monumental task.  She goes about it, however, not from the "top down," but from the "bottom up."  For she looks first at something very near and dear to every human artist, whether writer or painter, sculptor or musician:

the trinity within the mind of the human maker

This doesn't seem self-evident when stated like that, and yet it struck me because some time before beginning the book, I realized that in my writing I seem to have three different tracks or periods of thought.  There is the period where I seem to get the most concepts, where story ideas seem to be popping up frequently.  Then there's the time while I'm actively writing, where all my powers are concentrated on that single story.  And then I have my editing, as I polish and rewrite and convey what I want to convey, and during which I feel the need to edit everything in sight - whether it's mine or not.

These thought-periods very roughly correspond, I think, to what Sayers discusses in The Mind of the Maker, but outlining it her way is much more coherent and profound.  Her "trinity," based on experience, is that of Idea, Energy (or Activity), and Power.  Idea is comparatively easy to grasp: it is the overarching knowledge of the story, beginning to end, the story as it exists within the maker's mind.  It isn't always fully expressed even to the creator, not at first; but it is the guiding pattern of the work.  It is what allows you to say at the end, looking back at the beginning: "This is how the story was meant to be.  I didn't know it at first, but this is it.  Nothing else would have been right; this is the story."

This struck home to me, because it encapsulated my feelings as I stand at the finish-line of The White Sail's Shaking and The Running Tide.  I can't express how unprepared I was when I began the novel on November 1, 2010.  I had little more than the names of two main characters - Tip and Marta - and a setting, and that was all.  Charlie Bent and Josiah Darkwood came in of their own accord, one might say, but I found they were crucial to the story as a whole.  Lewis, only a bully at the beginning, appeared again to star as the villain of the piece - and it was right, though not wholly planned.  I look back over the story and I'm amazed at the unity of it, when I started with nothing more than fragments.  Sayers, I think, gives the explanation.  For The White Sail's Shaking and The Running Tide exist in my own mind as an Idea, and because the execution of it has matched that pattern, it feels right.

The execution, then, is the Energy.  I found the term a little odd, and hard not to confuse with Power; "Activity" works better, I think.  At any rate, this is the outward expression - in paint or words or music - of the Idea in the maker's mind.  For a writer, it's the act of writing.  It's taking the concept and giving it expression, so that readers can see that form and, through it, see the Idea in the mind of the maker.  Sayers comments that this is why it confuses a writer to be asked, "What did you mean by this plot twist, or that character?"  Because if the writer has done his work correctly, his "meaning" should be expressive in the plot twist or the character.  "Meaning" is part and parcel of the Activity.

This concept is mentioned at times, though not in these terms.  It is the same law that says that extraneous characters (no matter how vivid) and unimportant events (no matter how dramatic) damage rather than help a story.  Such goings-on are nothing but the Activity expressing itself, and not the Idea; for the whole purpose of the Activity is to present the Idea. 

Lastly in the trinity, there comes Power.  It is harder to explain than Idea or Activity, as Sayers concedes, but it is something like the conveyance of the Idea's spirit.  It is the invoking of feeling and understanding in the minds of readers - an exchange, as it were, from the writer's mind to that of the reader.  If this Power isn't present, then the expression of the Activity has failed and the Idea is not fully revealed.  I saw a quote recently (by Stephen King - go figure) that reminded me of this: "Description begins in the writer's imagination, but should finish in the reader's."  I think you could accurately add to "description" characters, plot, foreshadowing, dialogue, and anything else that might spring to mind.  All must be planted in the reader's mind, or there is no Power.

I think by this point the analogy becomes quite clear.  For like the Idea, would not God the Father be, for all intents and purposes, unknowable if it were not for His self-expression in God the Son?  And does not Paul - and Jesus Himself - make it clear that the Son is the "image of the invisible God," that "having seen Him we have seen the Father"?  He does not do His own will, but the will of the Father.  And the Holy Spirit, proceeding from God the Father, then testifies of Jesus Christ.

It would be wrong, of course, to say this analogy is perfect; because of the Fall, the trinity of the human maker's mind is corrupted and tends to overemphasize one or another - as Sayers herself points out.  And yet, as God is the supreme Maker, is it not reasonable to see how we, made in His image, are makers after the same fashion?  I wouldn't say this is all that is entailed by the Imago Dei, but it is an integral part of human nature: the true, good human nature that God Himself created.  As we are all made in His Image, so we are all meant to be makers.  Not all writers, not all painters, not all musicians.  But all looking at the world and our work with the eyes of artists, expressing and taking pleasure in our creations.  Because if we don't, if we fall into the rut of ho-humming our way through life and taking no pleasure in our work (for God did design us for work), we are not living according to the pattern the divine Maker has laid out. 

And that's never a pleasant place to be.

in conclusion: read the mind of the maker.  end of story.

Trains and Winter Rains

pinterest: sunshine & gossamer

Some while ago - back in February: was it really seven months ago? - I wrote a little post about some of my favorite things.  It occurs to me now that most of those were objects: things like family and books and pocket watches.  But I also have a number of sounds I love, for their own sakes or simply because they remind me of something else. 

things like...

the sound of distant train whistles and wheels in the night // butter scraping over toast // keys ringing on key chains // my cat purring // the mailman's truck on our street // book-spines crackling for the first time // my family's laughter // waves on the beach // the wind in maple leaves // the north-England accent // the sound of my church-family singing // my characters' voices // whatever happens to be my favorite song at that moment // high heels on hardwood // my clock ticking (and only my clock) // fog horns // rain on the street // gulls crying // percolating coffee

These are some of the things I love to hear.  What are some sounds that thrill and inspire you?

Capturing Voice

Last week I wrote a post on Robert Louis Stevenson, and in it I briefly remarked on his ability to keep the voice of the main character unique in each of his books (as many as I have read). It stood out to me in particular due to Stevenson's almost exclusive use of first-person narration - something which I have yet to attempt in a full-length novel. Several people commented on this and I thought I had better go into a little more depth on what I meant by "voice."

The concept of a story's voice turns up a great deal in writer-speech: establishing one's voice, finding an editor or agent who likes your voice, getting into a voice, differences in voice, and so on and so forth. It's used so much that it gets downright confusing, since people rarely stop to define their terms. What does it mean to say that every writer must develop his voice? And if every writer has a voice, why did I say that the voice differs in each of Stevenson's novels? Was I actually delivering an insult to his writing style in the clever guise of a compliment?

The trouble is that there are at least two voices that go into creating the atmosphere of any story, and writers tend not to discriminate between them when they talk about a novel's feel. This leads to apparent contradictions: writers should maintain their voices, but the voice should differ from one book to the next. In the first instance the voice is that of the author, while in the second, the voice refers to the narrating character (or characters).

author's voice

The author's voice is the style of writing, for a loose definition. I can't offer a more concrete one, because the concept is rather nebulous; it is what makes the story peculiar to that writer. Even within the scope of one era or genre, two books will never have the same voice unless one of the authors is blatantly copying the other. Dickens' voice, for instance, is not the same as Gaskell's, although they write about similar themes; Austen's voice could never for a moment be confused with any of the Bronte sisters'; my own voice is vastly different from Jenny's, although we are sisters. Voices may have similarities, just as a class of people may share an accent, but no two will ever be exactly the same.

"Develop your voice" is a rather pretentious way of saying that every serious writer must learn to write well, and write well in his or her own way. It isn't a conscious effort whereby you piece together your style; it's a matter of practice and perseverance, allowing your skills to grow with each manuscript. Voice is not stagnant, or at least it shouldn't be. Writing should improve from one book to the next, and with that improvement comes subtle changes to the author's voice. We can't expect every story to sound alike, even at this basic level; they will be different, while still maintaining that something that makes each uniquely that writer's.

Again, voice is nebulous. We can identify elements that make two authors differ, but there is no capturing the spirit of their writing, no putting it under a microscope or dissecting it in a lab. A writer's voice is an articulation of thought and spirit and thus incapable of being fully grasped. It does have to be honed; but in the mad rush to do so, people often get so caught up in the mechanics that they lose sight of the fact that voice cannot be stressed into existence. It comes on its own and develops at its own pace, maturing with each story as the writer continues to push himself.

character's voice

Nearly every story has a narrator, and I only say "nearly" in case someone decides to reach into the depths of the literary ocean to fish out some counterexample. Some stories have multiple narrators, or POV characters, from whose eyes the novel is told. Their voice, flowing from who they are as a character, will influence the story as much as the author's voice does; thus a flat protagonist will result in a dull voice. Characters have to be well-rounded and of some depth, and once they have dimension, a worthwhile voice will likely follow as a matter of course. It's the same as with an author: the very effort of writing is the best maturer of voice.

Character voices tend to change from story to story much more than the author's voice does. They are different people, from different walks of life and cast into different circumstances, and these variables will naturally affect the flavor of a story and how it is told. Character voices ought to differ. But again, I am of the opinion that writers spend far too much time obsessing over the uniqueness of their protagonist's voice and fussing over how to correct it, especially early on in the story. One rarely plunges into a novel knowing the main character as well as he or she should be known; generally the protagonist has to be fleshed out as the writer goes along. Vocal cords will develop somewhere on the way.

As a caveat, it is possible to have no voice in writing, but it does not come through a lack of effort on the writer's part. Indeed, I think it more likely to come when the writer tries too hard. A lack of voice, of spirit, of personality itself comes when the cold hard rules of writing are adhered to, but no life is allowed to seep into the words themselves. Authors may so struggle to hone their craft, focus so minutely on the gears of writing, and study the dos and don'ts so religiously, that they lose sight of the beauty of storytelling. This is when voice is lost. This is when writing no longer has a purpose.

Favorite Things

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens? Well, I am fond of whiskers, or rather the kittens (hopefully) attached to them, but otherwise Maria's song holds little interest for me: I haven't had a schnitzel in my life, and my packages don't come in brown paper tied up with string. Our kettle isn't bright copper, either.

I have, however, been thinking about a few of my own favorite things. It has been a lovely day, sunny and blue and a tad chilly, but mild enough to open the windows; perhaps that is why my thoughts have been rambling down happy trails. At any rate, raindrops on roses aside, here are some comfortable things that brighten my life.

family & friends // my church // old, cloth-bound books that smell of dust and bookshops // my cat // cool, sunny days // blankets and comfy armchairs // writing // tea and tea cups // chocolate (!) // trains at night // jane austen // book-hunting // notebooks // letters // owl city // my characters actually behaving // merlin // my bookshelves // sailing ships // imagining // pocket watches // stephen decatur // history // things that glitter and sparkle // autumn // stars // charlie bent // passages in scripture that just stand out // scribblin' by hand // "you too?" moments // purrs & whiskers // saturday evenings // packages in the mail.

The list could go on. There are little things everywhere that cheer me, little things that may be insignificant when one looks at the whole picture, but which are no less important for that. They say the Devil's in the details and in the context I suppose They are right; but when I look around, I see God's hand in the details.

The Finishing Touch

The other day Londongirl posted a question on You Haven't Got an Appointment! that concerns writing, editing, and publishing, then expanded on that in an email. She wrote

Can you send queries to publishing houses after you've completed a manuscript? Or should you send them when you are still working on the manuscript?

For first time authors, it's a bad idea to submit an unfinished novel. The agent or publisher who will be looking at your query may be fascinated by the story concept that you're laying out, but once they get down to "SUCH AND SUCH is an uncompleted historical fiction; its estimated size at completion is 100,000 words," they are very likely to balk. And why not? After all, they're going to be investing in you and your work; it's only reasonable that they should want to know that you have the dedication to stick with a story to the end.

While you're writing your story, focus on writing it. This is not to say that if you come across an agency that seems like a fit you shouldn't take note of it, but don't go out of your way to contact agents and editors while you're still in the business of getting your words onto paper. You've got enough to do just shaping your story; don't worry about getting it "out there" to professionals. Allow yourself to relax and enjoy writing for itself, rather than attempting to do everything at once.

How do you know when your manuscript is ready to be shipped off to a potential publisher?

This is a trickier question to answer, because there are so many components that affect a manuscript's readiness. A book is never really finished until it's printed and out in stores; my novel Wordcrafter is in the querying stage, but I still find little things to change. You're not going to reach a stage in the writing of one book where you finally feel that you have arrived, that the story is perfect, that you have written everything you wanted to say and said it in the exact manner you wanted. Even after a book is published, chances are you'll see things that you wish you could edit. Aim for perfection, by all means, but don't think that you can't start querying until you've attained that goal...because if you do, you'll never query at all. At the same time, however, Londongirl is right: there is a stage where the story is polished enough to be submitted to the eyes of agents and publishers. So how do you know you've reached it?

To approach first from the negative side, there is a way to know that the manuscript is not ready to be submitted. It won't be ready the minute you finish your first draft, so it would be very unwise to start sending out queries the day after you type "the end." (You really, really don't want agents and editors to see the rubbish of that first draft.) Give the story space and don't be impatient. Allot yourself plenty of time for editing and editing again. If you have seen the movie "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir" you might remember the scene in which Captain Gregg is dictating to Lucy and she corrects his grammar.

Captain Gregg: "To or from, who cares? This isn't a blasted literary epic. It's the unvarnished story of a seaman's life."

Lucy: "It certainly is unvarnished."

Well, editing is the varnish, and even stories of seamen's lives need it (and yes, I am eying The White Sail's Shaking). Don't pass over this in your writing. But, as with most things, it is possible to carry the good principle of editing too far. A writer can become paralyzed with fear at the thought of showing anyone the novel, and so may continue to edit...and edit...and edit...and edit...until the story is worn out and the writer is worn out and it's ten years later and goodness, what happened? There comes a point in time when enough is enough, and you've got to send the baby off. The difficulty is knowing when that point comes.

A good way of telling if you're ready to submit is in the advice of other people. This can be hard if you don't know many people who are supportive of your writing, but chances are there is at least one person whose opinion you trust. Critiquers don't need to be writers themselves; they only need to be readers who know what constitutes good literature and what doesn't. Give them the story and let them critique it for you, and consider what they say. Balance it with your own feelings, but remember that they haven't spent months on the story and aren't worn out and nervous about the whole thing - and consequently, that their minds are clearer than yours.

There is no cut-and-dry answer. It would be nice to say that a story will be ready on the third edit, but the fact of the matter is that some novels will be and some novels won't. My advice is to take the writing process slowly and to enjoy it; write and then edit, then show it to someone and edit again, and then start to think about agents and publishers. At some point in time you will have to venture out and entrust your story to Professionals, but although it is nerve-wracking, don't work yourself into a sweat over it. Writing is a wonderful thing to be able to do, and worrying over every step of the way will only ruin your enjoyment of it.

The Joy of Writing

I read a post on a blog yesterday about whether or not writing was fun. The premise was that a person (whose name was changed to protect the innocent) enjoyed making up stories and imagining different worlds, but hated writing. They felt that all the joy went out of the story-making when they sat down to write. The author of the post was replying to this person, and said that this is a common ailment among those who call themselves writers; they even quoted Nicholas Sparks, a best-selling author, who said that he does not enjoy writing and it isn't fun when he's doing it. Of course, he likes the finished product, but he looks at writing as "going to work." The writer of the blog concluded that writers-who-are-not-fond-of-writing is perfectly normal and reasonable.

Now, at this point I'll interject to say that I have not read much of the aforementioned blog, and if anyone recognizes the post I'm talking about, please don't think I'm ridiculing the writer. These are just my thoughts on the subject.

My question is, can one be a writer without enjoying writing?

The idea seems to be incongruous. While I will concede wholeheartedly that writing is not always fun, and we all know about those times where we just slog through, waiting for the plot to get easier, this is not the normal situation of a writer. After all, what is a writer? Easy: it's someone who writes. A writer is not someone who makes up stories and then transfers them to paper, but is someone who creates stories with words. Making a straight separation between imagination and work is incorrect. They overlap and intertwine. You don't abandon imagination when you sit down at the computer, nor do you leave off work when you lie in bed thinking about your epic plot; they both make up the art of writing.

So, a writer writes, and a writer should write because there is enjoyment in the writing. There is simply too much uncertainty about the business for one to write for any other reason; there is no assurance that you will be able to get published and make money, and there isn't any fame to be had unless you can do that. Granted, the ability to pay one's bills is certainly incentive to write; granted, for those dependent on their writing to bring income, writing is work; granted, sometimes the joy is lacking from scribbling. These are all true, but at the heart of the matter, writers write because they love creating and capturing things with words - the same way painters love capturing beauty with paint, or musicians love capturing beauty in music.

Any thoughts?