The past few weeks have been really difficult for me in terms of writing. Actually, they have been horrible. Here are just a few reasons:
1. I accidentally/ my computer deliberately deleted a 30 page chapter of my in-progress-novel; consequently, it was one of my favorite chapters with innovative characters and developments that I could not possibly recreate. I looked everywhere for it...in the recycle bin, in folders hidden in far away galaxies, in my email sent box, in back-up. It's gone. I cried half the night. I ate chocolate and Dr. Pepper. I printed the majority of my 4th draft to make myself feel like I've accomplished something. It was sad. R.I.P. chapter 27-scene.
2. This blog has been on hold for a while. I've been so busy with school, with the demands of others. I got lazy. Worst of all, I began to wonder, who would want to read Lynn's opinions on writing, anyway? What credentials do I have? I stink at writing. Would this blog even help advertise my writing career? Will anyone ever read my posts? How many posts do I need before I can post my link under the comment section on my favorite blogs? 10? 100? 1000?
3. I failed to pass an English essay test-out exam. This was difficult for me, because the test was read independently by two English professors (professionals, the gods of word and thought) and there were a few personal comments on the quality of my writing. Derogatory comments. This is a particularly difficult situation for someone who takes their writing so seriously, but doesn't have any publications to wave in anyone's face like, "See, you're WRONG! I have published X number of short stories, X number of books, and have been reviewed in the New York Times! Eat this, you conservative, rule-loving doctorates!" Eventually, I managed to feel better about this by consoling myself that they rejected my essay, not my novel. I never claimed to be a world-class essayist--I just wanted to get into an advanced English class early.
4. After I lost the aforementioned chapter, I was so heartbroken that I could barely type out my daily quota of writing. Ok, I'll admit it. For a while, I didn't write at all: I just stayed stuck on one of my least favorite scenes, staring at the still autumn landscape, the pond that rippled in the breeze, and a sneakily camouflaged cabin that was empty, so empty...
But things are looking up! That was last week, and this week will be fresh and new, full of fantastic possibilities! Now, if I could only write one more page...
Showing posts with label Trials and Temptations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Trials and Temptations. Show all posts
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
I've Been Waiting For This Moment For All My Life...Oh Lord
As a novelist, I do a lot of waiting. Sometimes it seems I'm a waiter, not a writer; I've trained myself not to want, nor to hope, nor be to impatient, because that would be the death of my work. Because isn't anything wonderful worth waiting for?
Sometimes, the waiting takes on the form of a snarling dog that rips away at a your insides, making you want to finish the project as soon as possible so you can dump it in the hands of the publishers, thus ridding yourself of the the pain and difficulty of writing. This is also a time when impressing people seems to take center stage: "I've got to finish my book/story soon, or nobody will take me seriously! Hey you, wait--it'll be good in a year, two years--please, don't give up on me!" To writers melting under this horrible impatience, I say--learn to love the dog, pet the dog, bring the dog into your heart and perhaps then it won't overstay it's welcome. (Sorry about the excessive metaphors) I was at this stage about six months ago, when I felt that my novel was heavy and dead; a mere anchor dragging me backwards to my old mistakes. Now I'm at the stage (see my third point) where I'm learning to love my novel for itself, flaws and all. Time does that sometimes, and the benefits wouldn't come without the waiting. Good Puppy.
Other times, the waiting takes on the slow, monotonous motion of constantly dripping water. Drip...drip...drip...drip. It splashes onto your head, your desk, your computer, making you wish you didn't have this f-ing rain cloud of work hanging over your head. Every day is the same: get up, go to work or school, go home, sit at the computer, and type for long hours. Perhaps your day is a bit more varied, but you get the point. The impatience is more annoying than enraging; in the back of your mind, you feel this tangible duty, this chore. The water never stops dripping. To these writers, I say, just fix the leak already! Remember why you became a writer in the first place. Instead of having monotonous days of a normal occupation, you have monotonous days of the world's most fun job! (or hobby) Isn't there peace and freedom in monotony as well as boredom and impatience? All you have to do is change your mindset to the "Waiting For Summer Stage."
As the above name implies, the last stage occurs when the waiting resembles the passing of seasons. I dont' know about you, but I absolutely adore spring and summer...and detest fall and winter. But I've learned to deal with the long days of snow and sleet, the fizzled grass under my feet, because my cold northern state is the most wonderful state in the USA, and the seasons are what makes it my home. Writing is the same way. Although sometimes waiting almost kills me, I've learned to slide into this seasonal mindset and to ride out the impatience for publication, to push back the desire to have something tangible to show for my hard effort. Because it will come, just like summer. *Brings to mind Wayne's World: If you book them, they will come* (And no matter what, writing is still the best job in the world.)
Sometimes, the waiting takes on the form of a snarling dog that rips away at a your insides, making you want to finish the project as soon as possible so you can dump it in the hands of the publishers, thus ridding yourself of the the pain and difficulty of writing. This is also a time when impressing people seems to take center stage: "I've got to finish my book/story soon, or nobody will take me seriously! Hey you, wait--it'll be good in a year, two years--please, don't give up on me!" To writers melting under this horrible impatience, I say--learn to love the dog, pet the dog, bring the dog into your heart and perhaps then it won't overstay it's welcome. (Sorry about the excessive metaphors) I was at this stage about six months ago, when I felt that my novel was heavy and dead; a mere anchor dragging me backwards to my old mistakes. Now I'm at the stage (see my third point) where I'm learning to love my novel for itself, flaws and all. Time does that sometimes, and the benefits wouldn't come without the waiting. Good Puppy.
Other times, the waiting takes on the slow, monotonous motion of constantly dripping water. Drip...drip...drip...drip. It splashes onto your head, your desk, your computer, making you wish you didn't have this f-ing rain cloud of work hanging over your head. Every day is the same: get up, go to work or school, go home, sit at the computer, and type for long hours. Perhaps your day is a bit more varied, but you get the point. The impatience is more annoying than enraging; in the back of your mind, you feel this tangible duty, this chore. The water never stops dripping. To these writers, I say, just fix the leak already! Remember why you became a writer in the first place. Instead of having monotonous days of a normal occupation, you have monotonous days of the world's most fun job! (or hobby) Isn't there peace and freedom in monotony as well as boredom and impatience? All you have to do is change your mindset to the "Waiting For Summer Stage."
As the above name implies, the last stage occurs when the waiting resembles the passing of seasons. I dont' know about you, but I absolutely adore spring and summer...and detest fall and winter. But I've learned to deal with the long days of snow and sleet, the fizzled grass under my feet, because my cold northern state is the most wonderful state in the USA, and the seasons are what makes it my home. Writing is the same way. Although sometimes waiting almost kills me, I've learned to slide into this seasonal mindset and to ride out the impatience for publication, to push back the desire to have something tangible to show for my hard effort. Because it will come, just like summer. *Brings to mind Wayne's World: If you book them, they will come* (And no matter what, writing is still the best job in the world.)
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