Get WIP’d
- (my proudest project to-date)
The weekend resulted in the final steps of a now- finished project…
…in terms of sewing.
Don’t get me wrong; it’s great news! I love the thrill that accompanies the final stages of a work-in-progress. But that’s the thing–the thrill holds hands with my sewing and my knitting. Notsomuch my writing.
Theory–
I’m highly visual. That allows me to see physical progress on craft-type WIPs. What exists on paper for novels is instead woven in fabric/yarn and as it takes shape, my soul is uplifted. Once a project’s finished, that’s it. Stitches are bound off, or tied together, wearable or usable depending on what’s been made.
Harvesting giddiness out of writing is an imaginative challenge. Writing is [typically] black letters on white background. In that sense, yes, it’s visual. Context, however, requires endless hours of grot’s work.
Resolve plot holes, make a character’s motivations likeable. There’s no definitive end outside a writer’s judgment that said piece is ready, or her decision to abandon more revisions.
Conclusion–
Fiction’s lack of visual shaping explains my lack of a progressive “high.”
Other ways to channel energy into writing exist. Sifting unnecessary words and scenes, shifting sequential events, adding flavourful characters. Read through older writing after weeks, months, years, etc. illustrates a story’s transformation.
Despite all that, I continue to feel I get more accomplished in terms of fibre than I do writing. Who has the remedy?
Repercussions
“Hey, there’s no smoking in my head!”
Bettina shrugs, puffing smoke into my face. “I’m harming no one but myself.”
“No harm?” I grab the cigarette from Bettina. A clump of ash lands on her fingers. She jumps back, shaking her hand against the burn.
“Bloody hell!”
I hide my smirk in my sleeve, then return to the keyboard. No harm, indeed. Except with each inhaled cigarette, Bettina’s smoke trails throughout my brain. It settles on each crevice. A cranial roadblock against creativity. Thoughts muddle. The plot twist developed last week disappears.
No worries. Focus on the avoided scene instead. I lean forward, elbows on the counter, fingers massaging my eyes.
Dani attends the rugby match, although she doesn’t understand the purpose of the sport. Ty and Orson sit next to her, cheering on their team, while she sits back in thought. What are her thoughts? “It made sense the other day!” Crucial information to drive the plot a step further. A memory? Maybe. But where’s the connexion to the game?
Damn.
“Who cares?” Bettina says. Another cigarette now decorates her hand.
Her attitude makes me tremble. Grunts erupt from my lips and I stand up. The chair drops behind me with a clang. “No. Smoking. In. My. Head!”
Bettina holds out her hands, palms facing me. “Easy does it,” she says, but now she’s on edge. She tip-toes to the door, the burning cigarette in one hand and a full pack clutched in the other.
“I don’t care what you think!” She zips through the door without a glance behind her. “I won’t quit!”
She’s No Harvey, But She Keeps Me (in)Sane
The title of this post is an inside joke for ‘Scapers and I’d take far longer than necessary to explain it to anyone else. The point is, my head plays home to several voices. But “Don’t Panic!” 
because it’s not a symptom of some psychological disorder, simply another factor separating writers from the rest of society. A few weeks ago, my mind (somewhat) randomly decided that my Inner Editor’s name is Bettina. It’s nice that she has a name, though, because now I have a more personal way to yell at her when she interferes with my ability to get work done.
Some of my writer friends and I have discussed on many occasions the voices that exist in our minds. These voices are different from auditory hallucinations, however. They whisper constantly and never go away, but they’re a writer’s connexion to the unconscious mind. The source of inspiration. The bridge between the mundane of our lives and the fantastic realms we dedicate our time to creating for others. These voices are a branch in the imagination tree I mentioned last month.
And they keep me (in)sane.
Without inner voices conversing throughout my days (and my nights–they never go away, remember?), I don’t know how I’d survive more than five minutes. Bettina et. al. entertain me when I’m bored. Through them, every tiny trivial thing that crosses my path has the potential to become something great.
My favourite example of this is the way J.M. Barrie’s mind is shown in Finding Neverland. There’s a scene where Johnny Depp’s character is shown watching the Llewelyn-Davies children jump up-and-down on their beds. As Barrie/Depp observes, the children rise up and fly out the open window. This, of course, is the cinematic version of Barrie’s thought-process, illustrating how he took events from his reality and hyperbolised a way for his characters to get to Neverland. This is always the first scene that comes to mind when I think of the film because it represents the mindset of creative writers with such accuracy.
Back to Bettina et. al.–>the reason for their existence, I believe, is to help writers stay on that bridge between the conscious and unconscious. Which is probably why I can never manage to shut my mind off. You know that whole meditation thing? Yeah, all that does is allow the voices to get louder as they fight for control over who must be heard above the others. In my case, it’s either story ideas that won’t wait for me to finish my current works-in-progress, or a random song selection from the infinite music I’ve heard throughout my life, which is forever stored in the crevices of my brain.
The voices aren’t always the most intelligent, but they provide good company. As long as they stop keeping me awake at night, they’re welcome to stay.
Positive Compulsion
Last night was the ‘Thank God It’s Over’ (TGIO) party for my NaNoWriMo region.
2009 has been the most inspirational year out of the three I’ve participated in thus far. There’s a liveliness and camaraderie I missed before. For the first time probably in my life, I’m with a group of like-minded individuals and I genuinely feel accepted, embraced for all my quirkiness (in this case, the norm).
Our regional leader gave a brief speech that reassures my goals as a writer. She reminded us that the events of November are a fun activity for anyone, but added that those who want to pursue the art of writing need to make a full commitment. Be compulsive! Write every day, regardless of the quality. Make sure thoughts get put on paper (or screen).
Typical pep-talk heard within most writing communities (at least the ones I’ve been around). A mantra that drives me as I grow in my skills and realise it’s the only way to achieve success.
Quality has hindered my progress in the past. For sure, it’s the reason I don’t already have a lot of finished projects. I have NaNo to thank for pulling me out of the quality quicksand. Three years later, I have the confidence to pull ahead and get the words out, leaving the tweaks and revision for later. It’s refreshing to be conscious of progress, though I know there’s still miles of work ahead for me. Despite all that, I look forward to off-season revision meet-ups with my regional mates.
Next year starts my journey into novel publication. It’s something I should’ve started years ago, but life always insists I stay on the opposite shore.
(funny how life enjoys doing that)
No more! say I. It’s time to get my foot in the door and attempt to survive in the world the only way I know how: through my imagination.
