Yesterday at naptime, I was sitting at my desk, being terribly unproductive and feeling shitty about it. I’ve never been so unproductive, even though I’ve certainly had obstacles before. This is not the first time I haven’t gotten what I want. By far. My writing career to this point has been almost entirely about not getting what I wanted (or thought I wanted at the time, as these things tend to go). I mean, hell. When Drowning Practice didn’t sell, I still plugged away at Adverse Possession, using every spare moment of writing time as best I could. So why have I been so paralyzed this time?
Well, for one thing, the view from my seat wasn’t so hot. I don’t have a before photo for you, because I changed it as soon as I realized what had been hanging over me the whole summer as I tried to write. I have a bulletin board on the wall my desk faces. I use it exclusively for whatever the current project is. Images that resonate. Ideas on index cards. Etc. In the spring, I’d taken down the Adverse Possession stuff and put up the stuff for Cold Black Stars (the new novel’s working title). Then That Which I Can’t Yet Blog happened, and the Cold Black Stars board came down, and up went a series of index cards intended to address the immediate crisis. My office became a war room. I would take all the necessary steps to fix the situation I’d found myself in, and those steps would be orderly, logical, and bring me to exactly the desired result. (Yeah, anyway… Still waiting on that bit.)
This was exactly what I needed to do at the time. Something beyond my control happened, so I made plans to take the actions that were within my control, and I did so in an organized fashion. Great. But now things are out of my hands again, but I was still sitting and looking at that map of What Went Way Wrong every day. No board of inspiration meant to feed a creative project. Just a map of failure.
Great, yeah?
So I took it down, and put the Cold Black Stars stuff back up. I’m back to work on the new novel. Whatever happens and however the Crap I Can’t Blog About plays out, I’ve done what I can for now.
Want a peek? These random bits won’t mean much outside my brain, I know, but I’ll share anyway.
I cut this out of the New Yorker in 1996 and have been carrying it around since. I had no idea why until I started this book.
The first thing the main character said in my head. I'm showing it only because I'm 80% sure it won't make it through even one round of revision. It's the seed of his pov, though.
This is always, always on the board, ever since I saw it on Caroline's blog.
A bit about the “not a confession but a love story” thing. Well, for one thing, the book is a confession. (No, not mine.) And it certainly isn’t shaping up to want to be a traditional love story. But it reminds me of advice Michael Cunningham gave us back in the MFA days:
When someone asks you that dreaded question: “So what’s your book about?” and you know they don’t actually care about the answer (they usually don’t), just tell them it’s a love story, because that will pretty much always be true.
And in the years since, I’ve found he’s right. Any fiction I can think of can be seen as a love story of sorts. (Yes, Blake. Even you. Scorch Atlas is totally a love story.)
What do you guys think? Prove me and MC wrong, if you can.
Of course all novelists write love stories. It is the only emotion we have, in its variety of manifestations, worth the maintenance.
Thus the title of my current work: “And it’s only Love.”
reminds me of a campbell mcgrath line from “american noise” that goes (in my memory, at least)
“this is a love story, not a western”
such a beautiful volume…
I hope the re-arrange is helping. Sometimes you’re unproductive in terms of actually putting words on paper (or the screen) but it’s still happening somewhere in your head and heart.
Keep at it but also give it time.
I’m fairly new here (well, since April, but quiet till now). As a writer making the first-time – attempted! – switch from non-fiction writing/literary research to fiction, I’ve found your words, experiences, explanations, frustrations, and ideas to be part of what’s helping move me along (or keeping me at it, at least). Thank you for being open (with what you can!), even with strangers. It helps a lot. And your bulletin board concept – brilliant. I’ve known I need to surround myself with my thoughts/ideas/inspirations/random things that connect in my brain. I’ve wanted to do up a “writing wall,” and now I will. See? Thanks for helping me move along!
Oh, how I love it when you post about process…
1. I love this title. Yes. I said it before and I will say it again. 2. I love your handwriting. 3. Onwards!
Great quote from John Irving. I fully intend to copy you and put it up near my desk.
As much as I try to tell myself that I can write anywhere, that the view, say, doesn’t matter, it is simply not true. I don’t need tears of angels in a jar made by elves to write, but I do need a clean space with something visually soothing and relevant to let me be happy while I write. I hope your new view does the trick.
Good, good! Black on white is the only cure.
LOVe the bulletin board, LOVe the title, LOVE the first line. I think Cunningham is right, it is all love or anti-love stories of one sort of another, isn’t it?
That Irving quote just hit me over the head; I have felt drowned by my embryonic novel, worried I’d never do it justice, that I was way in over my head…and I thought that was a bad thing.
I am glad that it was the author of my favorite book that showed me otherwise.
Maybe I can pick my silly book back up again and finish it if I can just let go of all my fears that I can’t live up to it.
And for what it is worth, I love the first line, and I hope it does make it into the finished product.
Yes. The John Irving quote hit me, as well. I believe it can also apply to visual arts and will post it in my studio to encourage me.