The Work of Writing: Week One Update
In case you missed it, I'm embarking on a month-long project of trying a different writing work style every week. If you're a non-writer who's wondering why I'm doing this, STOP READING MY BLOG AND GO BACK TO YOUR FINANCE JOB. Just kidding, I ADORE you. I'm doing this not-so-glamorous experiment because nobody really talks about the pros and cons of different writing styles--people just talk about how Hemingway drank daiquiris. Oh, really? Writers tend toward alcoholism? LOOK IN THE MIRROR, SOCIETY. IT'S YOU.
Ugh times ten thousand. This week was not only sickeningly hot, it was a study in everything that is frustrating about writing. If you recall, I was planning to write only new content for an hour a day at the same time each day. Some lowlights:
1. I couldn't write at the same time every day because my schedule is different every day. Where's the genius who thought up that parameter?
2. I didn't write at all on Thursday because I was so sleep-deprived that I had to choose a nap over writing during the sliver of free time I had between jobs. I don't regret it because I was near death, but I feel guilty about skipping a day.
3. On Friday, I began to get frustrated with the sloppiness of the story. The trajectory seemed off--as though I'd taken a wrong turn circa page 15 and was now careening down a terrible highway. As you may recall, I set a goal for myself to only produce new content--and I did, 20 pages of it, girrrrrl--but once things started feeling off-balance, I just wanted to go back and edit. Or drink myself to death.
4. Yesterday's "writing" was just awful. I'd-rather-be-anything-but-a-writer-level awful. I was at Intelligentsia, it was packed with loud tourists, I have never felt less inspired. I left in a rage and stalked down Michigan Avenue with my best I'm-a-serial-killer-get-out-of-my-way-you-plebeian-scum face on and bought some expensive honey at Whole Foods.
1. Despite the fact that I am now on the Chicago serial killer registry for kickstarting the Great Fruit Fly Massacre of 2013, I have 20 pages of a brand-new story that simply did not exist a week ago! I want to fling the pages around an Egyptian temple and make my acolytes strew herbs on them. WRITING A NEW STORY IS THE GREATEST FEELING IN THE WORLD. I KNOW YOU FEEL ME! Earlier in the week when I was young and the world was mine, I was feeling pretty high on the whole concept of creation. Coming up with something new can make you feel like you're that elusive autopoietic machine or whatever it's called. FREAKING COOL, RIGHT?!
2. I remembered that stories need to have an "inciting incident." OH, RIGHT. As I wrote, I started asking myself questions as though I was in a bad relationship: where is this thing going? What's the point? What am I doing here? Why is that man talking LOUDLY ON HIS CELL PHONE CAN'T HE SEE I'M TRYING TO WRITE?
If you decide that writing every day is your thing, it's probably going to feel like what it is: a grind. You won't always feel like an autopoietic genius. There are a thousand things waiting to burst through the seams of your structured day and just overwhelm you. It's hard to get enough sleep and make enough money for rent. It's even harder to carve out time in the day to work on your own stuff when you're constantly getting new emails, tweets, and texts, and the dishes are piling up, and you remember guiltily that you haven't eaten a vegetable in days, and also you now have cholera and are skidding towards the grave.
Don't let the frustration of general existence tear you away from putting in a little time to write. Some of what I wrote this week was awesome, since I am a MacArthur fellow. Some of it was stupid, since my brain is 40% 15-year-old boy. It wasn't the greatest week of my life, but I put in a little time and I got results: a Frankensteinian baby of a story that needs drastic plastic surgery. Nobody ever said fiction was going to look beautiful without a few stitches.