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Novel babble
Mar. 25th, 2010 02:23 pmRemember that novel I used to always prattle on about on here? Seems I've kind of lost my way in trying to get that done.
It's not that I've given up. I still meet with my critique partner Stephanie once a week, and diligently go through our story generating exercises, where I focus my attention on expanding and refining existing scenes, or creating new ones that fill the holes in my story. The problem is, that's all I've been capable of for months. I've failed at making myself stick to an evening writing schedule on weeknights. I've failed at carving out larger blocks of novel time on the weekends. I've failed at all attempts to approach this piece with discipline and determination. I've felt like I'm just not up to the task, like I've got nothing left after expending a day's worth of energy working and tending to all the other things required to sustain my existence.
With that in mind, it's no wonder I'm still a long ways from completion. But the desire to tell this story still burns, even if the flame is small and weak. The main thing is that I'm impatient with myself. I feel like I should have a better grasp of things, that it should all just pour out. I know that's unrealistic, I know it just makes me feel frustrated and inept and unwilling to try for fear that it will be all for naught.
I really, REALLY want to get over that. And I guess the best way to do it is to figure out a plan of attack not so focused on the endgame, one that allows me to enjoy the journey as much as the destination. Maybe if I have a series of micro-objectives to hit, like finishing one particular scene, or inserting some summary that provides much-needed context, or even just describing a character that I'm not fully seeing, maybe that will give me the incentive I need to continue my slog in spite of my doubts and fears and insecurities.
I dunno. I suppose I should be above the need for such immediate gratification. I suppose the promise of earning an MFA degree and the chance to say I've written a book, both feats that set me apart from most people, should be enough. But they're not. Not when those feats need to be achieved above and beyond everything else I already have on my plate. Not when it seems there's nothing I can expect to gain from either accomplishment other than bragging rights. Yeah, yeah, conceivably an MFA might set me up for some new and better career opportunities, and logic dicates that I'd pursue publication once I had a completed novel manuscript, but neither are possibilities I wanna take for granted.
I need to make the writing the reward in and of itself. Like I did back when I first started scribbling stories. Reclaim the sense of pride and accomplishment I used to get from translating the images in my head to paper. I need to get back to impressing myself with my own talent, because as much as I appreciate the encouragement and enthusiasm of others, they don't motivate me unless they're tapping me on the shoulder, pleading for me to hand off more, more, more pages for them to read, now, now, now, please. And nobody has time for that. Not unless they're a writing coach, and frankly I don't have the cash required to enlist the services of one.
What I do have, however, is a past history of having accomplished things that required an uphill battle. I graduated high school near the top of my class, despite a home life that sometimes made things such as academics the least of my concerns. I finished the second half of my bachelor's degree with no financial support from my mom, all while holding down a full-time job. I burned through my MFA coursework the same way. I bought both of the cars I've owned AND my condo without anyone but me contributing to my down payments. I could probably think of other examples, but those are the major ones.
I guess the difference between this and completing a full-length work of fiction is that I viewed the things I listed above as essential, mandatory for my personal survival and success. It's hard to look at Julie's story in the same light, because I'm not gonna starve or lose the roof over my head or diminish my quality of life if I never finish. So the trick is to figure out how to incentivize the intangible gains I can expect. Like improved self esteem. Greater confidence. Motivation to move on to a second manuscript. And a third. And a fourth. And so on.
How I go about that remains to be seen. But at least I have a starting point. Hopefully I can build on that during my upcoming visit to the writer's colony.
It's not that I've given up. I still meet with my critique partner Stephanie once a week, and diligently go through our story generating exercises, where I focus my attention on expanding and refining existing scenes, or creating new ones that fill the holes in my story. The problem is, that's all I've been capable of for months. I've failed at making myself stick to an evening writing schedule on weeknights. I've failed at carving out larger blocks of novel time on the weekends. I've failed at all attempts to approach this piece with discipline and determination. I've felt like I'm just not up to the task, like I've got nothing left after expending a day's worth of energy working and tending to all the other things required to sustain my existence.
With that in mind, it's no wonder I'm still a long ways from completion. But the desire to tell this story still burns, even if the flame is small and weak. The main thing is that I'm impatient with myself. I feel like I should have a better grasp of things, that it should all just pour out. I know that's unrealistic, I know it just makes me feel frustrated and inept and unwilling to try for fear that it will be all for naught.
I really, REALLY want to get over that. And I guess the best way to do it is to figure out a plan of attack not so focused on the endgame, one that allows me to enjoy the journey as much as the destination. Maybe if I have a series of micro-objectives to hit, like finishing one particular scene, or inserting some summary that provides much-needed context, or even just describing a character that I'm not fully seeing, maybe that will give me the incentive I need to continue my slog in spite of my doubts and fears and insecurities.
I dunno. I suppose I should be above the need for such immediate gratification. I suppose the promise of earning an MFA degree and the chance to say I've written a book, both feats that set me apart from most people, should be enough. But they're not. Not when those feats need to be achieved above and beyond everything else I already have on my plate. Not when it seems there's nothing I can expect to gain from either accomplishment other than bragging rights. Yeah, yeah, conceivably an MFA might set me up for some new and better career opportunities, and logic dicates that I'd pursue publication once I had a completed novel manuscript, but neither are possibilities I wanna take for granted.
I need to make the writing the reward in and of itself. Like I did back when I first started scribbling stories. Reclaim the sense of pride and accomplishment I used to get from translating the images in my head to paper. I need to get back to impressing myself with my own talent, because as much as I appreciate the encouragement and enthusiasm of others, they don't motivate me unless they're tapping me on the shoulder, pleading for me to hand off more, more, more pages for them to read, now, now, now, please. And nobody has time for that. Not unless they're a writing coach, and frankly I don't have the cash required to enlist the services of one.
What I do have, however, is a past history of having accomplished things that required an uphill battle. I graduated high school near the top of my class, despite a home life that sometimes made things such as academics the least of my concerns. I finished the second half of my bachelor's degree with no financial support from my mom, all while holding down a full-time job. I burned through my MFA coursework the same way. I bought both of the cars I've owned AND my condo without anyone but me contributing to my down payments. I could probably think of other examples, but those are the major ones.
I guess the difference between this and completing a full-length work of fiction is that I viewed the things I listed above as essential, mandatory for my personal survival and success. It's hard to look at Julie's story in the same light, because I'm not gonna starve or lose the roof over my head or diminish my quality of life if I never finish. So the trick is to figure out how to incentivize the intangible gains I can expect. Like improved self esteem. Greater confidence. Motivation to move on to a second manuscript. And a third. And a fourth. And so on.
How I go about that remains to be seen. But at least I have a starting point. Hopefully I can build on that during my upcoming visit to the writer's colony.
