Thank you, Edmund White

I believe when we struggle with something, and when the time is right, we're given the information we need to overcome the struggle.  Or at least to make peace with it.

As I write my novel, I often feel inferior to those writers who are able to write something totally made up.  I don't know if it's that I don't have much of an imagination (actually, a lot of things in my novel are made up), but much of the novel I'm working on is based on my personal life, or a period of my personal life, between the late-1980s and mid-2000.  I know that I couldn't write a novel as detailed and textured as the one I am now, if I hadn't based it on what happened to me.  In fact, if I hadn't based what I'm writing on what happened to me, I wouldn't be writing a novel at all.  I'd be writing essays, which I'm far more comfortable with. 

Then I was browsing through City Boy: My Life in New York During the 1960s and '70, by Edmund White, at a local bookstore (yes, we still have a few of those), and I happened to open it to the page with this:

I didn't have writer's block, though all my failures with plays and fiction had left me feeling wounded.  I would feel sick with fear every time I'd begin to write something made-up [p. 141].

I recognized myself in that second sentence, and I can't tell you what a relief it was to know there was another writer–none other than Edmund White, writer of dozens of books, including non-fiction, biographies, and novels–who dreaded writing anything that wasn't anchored in what really happened to him or someone he knew.

I don't feel inferior anymore.  Just because I don't have a dazzling imagination doesn't mean I don't measure up to a writer who relies entirely on his imagination to weave his stories.  Or that I'm not a writer.  It's what we do with those personal experiences, how we dramatize them, turn them into fiction, that really marks our ability as writers.

Get Down Something

Here's what I've found.

When I'm really struggling to figure out how to fix something in my writing, I write down something, anything, it doesn't matter what. 

I may be frustrated because I know what I wrote still isn't right.  But that doesn't matter.  Because the trick is that getting something down is better than getting nothing down at all.

And even if it's not right, it might suggest something that gets you closer to what is right.  If you leave it alone for now, you might come back to it later and see exactly what it should be.  All because you went with what suggested itself at the time, even though you knew it wasn't what you'd end up with. 

Sure it would be nice to find the right answer immediately.  But it doesn't always work like that.  Sometimes, you have to spend some time circling around it before you figure out what it should be.

Try it.

I hope it works for you too. 

The Best Place to Write

Where do you write?

I write in different places.   

Sometimes, I write at home.  I have three places at home where I write: in my office on the second floor, on the island in the kitchen (where I am now), and downstairs in Chris's office (where I went recently during a period of hot weather; it's much cooler in the basement).

The next place I usually write is in the Silent Study room at the local public library.  Sometimes, the Silent Study room is the perfect place to get work done.  It's actually silent, like the name says.  The group of people in there respect each other's right to silence, and we all get our work done.   

Other times, well, let's just say I'd like to kick some of these people out.

There's the woman who wears too much perfume (that gets my nose running).  The old Chinese gentleman, who uses a tiny magnifying glass to see his laptop screen, and sucks on his own saliva, making a slurping sound (can't he hear himself?).  The overweight black guy who never turns his cell phone ringer down or off, and it rings the entire time he's there.  The large black woman who slips her shoes off so everyone can smell her feet.  The group of Chinese children, who are up and down, as the cliche goes, like toilet seats, and whose supposed whispers are more distracting than outright talking.  The young chickees who whisper and laugh constantly.

You'd never know some people are in that room.  Other people, you know every time.  You'd think they'd wake up and see the name above the door:  SILENT STUDY.  What part of that don't you understand?

Then there are three coffee shops around town:  The Starbucks at a strip mall, where I treat myself to a mocha frap about once a week (I can't believe they're $4.99 per; what's in them to justify that expense?).  The locally-owned coffee shop near where I live, that can be really noisy.  And Waves Coffee, some distance away.

On the rare occasion, I travel to an adjoining community, where the public library is new and beautiful and a great place to be.  Except there's no Silent Study room, and, at about two-thirty in the afternoon, when the kids get out of school, all hell breaks loose, and I know getting anything done from that point will be impossible.   (Oh, and there was the East Indian fellow, who sat near the study booths and promptly fell asleep, snoring louder than Chris does–and that's loud.) 

I haven't figured out the trick to being focused and productive as far as where I work is concerned.

Sometimes, I need the absolute quiet I get at home, particularly when I'm working on a more complex task, like a thorough rewrite.  But, sometimes, I find being at home boring and distracting too.  I get up too often to look out the window at a noise I hear.  Or to look in the fridge.  Or to do just about anything but work.

And, sometimes, no distractions at all is too quiet.  Like I tell Chris, I need to work around other people too.  Just because I don't have a job outside the house doesn't mean I don't need to interact and feel like I'm a part of the bigger world.  More often than not, especially lately, I need to feel the energy of other people around me.  I spend enough time at home; I shouldn't have to work on my writing there every day too.

Coffee shops are hit and miss.

Last Friday, I went to Waves.  I felt good.  I knew I'd have a focused and productive day (which I did).  But the second I walked in the place, I felt the temperature drop.  Yes, we've had a lot of hot weather recently.  But setting your thermostat at 65 degrees F. seems just a little low to me.  And I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and shorts.  I lasted about two hours in the fridge before I had to leave.  Hours later, I still felt cold. 

The one smart thing I did was bring ear plugs with me.  Nothing in Waves absorbed the sound, so it was pretty noisy, with all the people coming and going.  The ear plugs blocked out the din of everything around me, turning it into white noise.  This was one instance where noise didn't prevent me from working.

I think writers need to go with wherever they feel like writing, depending on the day.

If staying at home today feels like the right thing to do, then that's where you should be.  If being around other people, but in a quiet environment, feels right, then the library might be the right place.  Although you never know, until you're there, whether what's going on that day will be conducive to getting anything done.  And, if you need the excitement of an energetic, noisy place, with the churn of lots of people, a coffee shop might fit the bill.  On the other hand, it could be too noisy, and you might find yourself leaving shortly after you get there, having gotten nothing done at all, and wondering where you should go next.    

An Experiment

I'm going to try something.  I don't know if it'll work, but I'm going to try it anyway.

In writing, there's what I call narrative and action.

In narrative, the writer stops the action and describes or explains something.

In action, the writer shows the characters doing or saying something.

Invariably, readers want to see characters do or say something.  When characters do or say something, they involve the reader.  When the action stops, readers lose interest in the story.  Then you, the writer, have a problem.

I love to explain.  In the first draft (and subsequent drafts) of my novel, I stop the action all the time and explain something.  The something I stop to explain may relate to the action, but sometimes it may not.  For pages at a time, the action flags.  I get bored reading all the narrative, and I'm the writer.  Imagine how bored the reader would get–if my writing ever made it to a reader. 

So what do I want to try?

When I'm rewriting, I want to eliminate virtually all of the narrative.  I want to continuously show the characters doing or saying something.  And, if I really need the reader to know something–only so he doesn't get lost–I want whatever the characters do or say to reveal it.  

The experiment will be to see if I lose my beta reader in the process.  He's very perceptive.  He's a smart guy.  He'll be able to fill in the blanks I don't provide.  And, if he can't fill them in, then he'll let me know something's missing.  That will be my cue to add a bit of narrative. 

But only a bit.

See, that's my problem.  When I start explaining, there's no end to it.

Overwriting

I'm going to share with you some examples of overwriting in my writing, that I hope will help you recognize them in yours.  

Believe me, I'm not proud of any of these.  What can I say?  I'm an over-writer.  I believe I have to spell out everything for the reader so he gets it all.  And, not only do I have to spell it out, but also I have to repeat it.  If you don't get it the first time, you better get it the second. 

Ugh!

If I could only figure out how not to do this in first drafts.  I'd be able to save myself so much time.  

At least I found some of these before my beta reader did.

Here we go:

Example #1:

Overwriting:  "I'm in love," David announced.  I looked at him.  He was ready to burst.

Better:  "I'm in love," David announced.  He looked ready to burst. 

If the protagonist could see David was ready to burst, then, obviously, he was already looking at him.

Example #2:

Overwriting:  I heard the quiver in my voice.

Better:  My voice quivered.

Why tell the reader your character heard himself.  Just have the character do it.

Example #3:

Overwriting:  He extended his arms above his head in a stretch.

Better:  He stretched.

So unnecessarily wordy.  Does the reader really want to read all that, when he could get the same idea with two words?
Example #4:

Overwriting:  "Living here's been easier than living in Vagina–I mean Regina."  He corrected himself, then chuckled.

Better:  "Living here's been easier than living in Vagina–I mean Regina."  He chuckled.

The character corrects himself in what he says.  No need to tell the reader he did it.

Example #5:

Overwriting:  Where we talked, laughed, and enjoyed ourselves.

Better:  Where we talked and laughed.

If the characters are talking and laughing, they're probably enjoying themselves.

A Good Writing Day

And then, after a streak of shitty writing days, you get one like today, leaving you on what can only be described as a high.

Even as Chris and I had dinner this evening, he knew something was different about me.  I was more chirpy.  I bounced around a bit more.  My chatter was elevated and animated.  Yes, it was.  And I deserved all the good feelings.

When you receive a writing day like today's, you have to ask yourself, what was different today from all the recent shitty ones?  And what can I do to replicate it, so that number of my great writing days exceed the number of my shitty writing days (because who likes shitty writing days?).

Was it my new attitude to take my writing more seriously (even though I thought I did that already)?  Did I just happen to be at a better place in the rewrites of my novel, which allowed me to feel focused and energized and excited?  Or was it the location–Starbucks–and the Grande Mocha Frappuccino non-fat no-whip?

Whatever it was, yes, please, I'll take more of them.  

It's days like these that I really LOVE being a writer.  They are few and far between.

I'll savor it while I can.    

The Ongoing Struggle with Show and Tell

If I recall correctly, show and tell was easy when I was a kid.  I'd bring something to school, dazzle everyone with what it was, and dazzle them further with what I told everyone about it (come to think of it, I don't remember show and tell at all, but this is what I imagine it was).

Not so in writing.

I continue to struggle with when to tell and when to show in my writing (which I've already written several posts about here).

And then I found this in Alice LaPlante's The Making of a Story: A Norton Guide to Creative Writing:

…Show the important stuff.  Important behaviors, important interactions, important speeches, conversations….  Anything that changes the situation of the story, novel, or essay in a significant way should happen in "eyewitness" mode [p. 213].

And this:

…Often we can tell something more efficiently, elegantly, beautifully, or subtly than we could hope to do if dramatizing it.  In such cases, we should eliminate the dramatization, or scene, in favor of narration [p. 216].

I hope this helps.  If you're struggling with the same thing, I believe what LaPlante has to say about it makes a lot of sense.

Happy writing.