Since this year is all about being honest with myself, I have to work through a problem that is preventing my success as a writer.
I am friends with a number of professional authors. Two of these people are making really large strides towards building strong careers and lasting legacies of books and other materials. I have seen them accept awards for their stories and work towards writing for their own television series.
I listen to podcast novels and short stories by a bunch of other authors who have found a way to make a name for themselves in the podosphere. Multiple novels over the course of the year and a half that I’ve had my iPod. I can’t even count how many short stories I’ve heard or read.
You would think that all of this wonderful content and access to talented people would catapult me into the stratosphere of creativity. But please remember, this is me we’re talking about.
It has done the exact opposite.
I have one novel that is 15 chapters in. The story on this one is developing. I wrote the first 15 chapters in a white heat with only a vague idea of where it was all going. I developed one very strong lead character and a cast of supporting characters. I established a mystery to be solved in the first chapter and then added even more questions as it went on. I put the primary character in mortal danger and I even put her in the way of a force that may be stronger than she can handle.
And then the bottom fell out. I started that story two years ago. It’s still at the same point 15 chapters later. I don’t even remember the last time I added anything to it. At this point I would have to re-read the entire thing to remind myself were I was and try to figure out where I was going. Basically this one is dead in the water.
I have another novel that is 10 chapters in. I already know the entire story that this one entails. I know the beginning, most of the middle and the end. I know the primary characters, the basic plot, two of the sub plots and the structure. I know the genre. I know the meme. I know the heroes journey of the two primary characters. I know most everything needed to write the story outline, skeleton and even add some flesh to the bones.
I know that I have to write the rough draft first and that it’s okay if the rough sucks. That’s what rough drafts are for. I’m smart enough to know that I’m not supposed to allow the editor to sit with the writer while he is doing his thing. I also know that the rough is just for me. No one else will ever read it.
Despite knowing all that, this one has been dead in the water for almost 9 months. I got to a point in the story where it felt like I ran into a solid steel wall. And despite a few false starts over the last few months, I haven’t been able to scale or circle around the wall. (Recently I’ve been considering tunneling under it…)
These are just the two I am willing to admit to now. There are several other novel starts that are quite a bit older than these two. One of them goes back more than 20 years.
So, I began to wonder, why is it that I am having such trouble? Why is it that I’ve surrounded myself with writers, published authors, editors, and those who think of themselves as intelligent wordsmiths? Having all of that backup, what is my problem?
When I decided to be honest with myself, I never realized where it might lead. It didn’t occur to me that being honest meant digging out all of the old shit that’s been cluttering up my head all of these years, examining it in the cold light of reality and then making a value decision about what mattered, what was real and what was my foolish imagining. I naively thought that I would be able to just go on with my daily life and maybe fix a few things as they came up. Kind of like holding a starship together with spit and duct tape. Man. Was. I. Wrong.
I’ve spent so long living in other peoples heads trying to figure out how they got what they wanted that I forgot a simple truth about life. My heroes journey has very little to do with the heroes journey of the people I know. Again, I know this sounds obvious, but I’m a bit slow.
I haven’t spent nearly enough time getting into my own head to figure out what I want and who I am. It’s really no wonder that I am having trouble writing. I keep comparing myself to the published authors I know. I wonder why my stories aren’t as good as theirs. I wonder why I feel a pang of jealousy and anger each time I hear a new story by someone I know or even worse, someone I’ve never heard of who managed to sell their first piece on their first try. So, since I don’t know myself, I can’t access the part that tells stories that resonate within me. They come out of desire. They come out of a sheer stubbornness. They come out of a touch of talent, but they DON’T come out of my heart.
I have rejection letters, just like every other writer. I recognize that there is a rite of passage that I apparently haven’t paid enough dues for. That part only mildly annoys me. I know that the price of entry is high.
Social media has become a crutch that I have to scale back on or eliminate entirely. It’s too easy to sit and commiserate with others like me who haven’t published anything. Wallowing in shit is easy, even if it does stink. But there has to be an end point.
I’ve reached mine.
A person who has been a good friend for almost 11 years received an award from the NAACP and instead of feeling elated and enthusiastic, I got a major attack of jealousy. It was their night to shine and though I did feel happiness that their efforts had been rewarded, all I could think about was how much further I had to go.
Time to stop with the Bull. My career. My choice to succeed or fail.
I know what it takes to write a novel. I know what it takes to write a short story. It’s not impossible to do, even for someone who has a history of starting and stopping like I do. So my pledge to myself is the following seven steps:
1. I will ignore social media for the next 90 days until I have finished the rough draft of Hunter.
2. I will stay away from fan sites or author official sites or any other web presence that will tend to make me doubt myself.
3. I will only listen to the older radio shows on my iPod – there is no direct competition from The Shadow, or Gunsmoke or Suspense. I can listen to these and just enjoy the story.
4. I will write a minimum of 500 words per day even if it’s the same word over and over again.
5. I will work towards shutting down the goddamn editor so that the writer can do his thing without being.
6. I will remake the connection with my own mind. I will forge a new link to my heart so that I can concentrate on my own stories.
7. I will give myself a damned break about whether or not I am any good at creating stories.
I’ve seen enough bad ones to know that I can do better.
90 days. Not a life time. Just enough time to write a rough draft and then give myself two or three weeks before starting a new project. Enough time for a new change to become a permanent habit. Enough time to turn things around for good.
Wow.
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