I am in the middle of what might be chapter six of my book. Of course, there’s no real way of knowing because I just forced myself to take a break so I wouldn’t just hit the delete button on the whole thing.
I decided that writing a short blog post might prevent me from doing something hasty because what I had written so far sounded about as clunky as walking with huge wooden blocks strapped to my feet. Thump, clunk, thwap.
It stumbles along, cumbersome and thick, like I’m working with English as my second language. Considering English is my ONLY language, I would suggest that, Houston…we have a problem.
I decided that my writing today was beyond horrible, so I opened up the first chapter, one that I had previously thought was okay. I thought it would be clever to do a side-by-side comparison to check if the voice sounded the same…maybe that way the first chapter would help me write the sixth.
It was a good news/bad news moment…the good news? The lablog writing sounds the same as that first chapter.
The bad news? The lablog writing sounds the same as that first chapter…which turns out to be unadulterated shite. Cue the wailing and gnashing of teeth.
I am trying to take solace in the Stephen King quote from his book, On Writing.
“Stopping a piece of work just because it’s hard, either emotionally or imaginatively, is a bad idea. Sometimes you have to go on when you don’t feel like it, and sometimes you’re doing good work when it feels like all you’re managing is to shovel shit from a sitting position.”
And now, I am publishing this post and going back to my shoveling whilst sitting in my chair.
You may believe me when I tell you, shite shovelling is where most of the real work is done. Sylvia Petter, a writer friend who works as a CW professor, explained that my way of working is cantelevering, a method described to her by Peter Carey:
“Start with 20 pages, strip back to the minimum. Take each bit and zoom in to the maximum, strip back to the essentials, add add, strip back, add add, strip back, etc.”
Those 20 pages may stay ugly for years as I keep going back, reworking, then moving forward, going back, rethinking the point of view, going back, defoliating, going back, filling in… A slow, doubt-causing way to write.
Sometimes, though, it’s just the view from the day that makes your pages look irredeemable. At one point, reading through the nearly final draft before publication, I had the terrible feeling that my publisher had made a mistake by taking me on. I took the day off from editing and went outside.
I like the idea of cantilevering; a tenuous span tossed forward from the constantly evolving base.
I believe that is exactly how I write. I am continually going back, fiddling and chipping away and then tentatively going forward, then back, etc and yes, it is indeed ‘a slow, doubt-causing way to write’.
I think the best plan is exactly what you did, get outside and gain a little perspective in more ways than one. Thanks for sharing…
Oh vey, wish i was there to give you a big hug. I can completely relate, except i am working in a different medium. Remember our old piano practicing days and how after many arduous hours suddenly a beautiful tune evolved out of all the clunking and banging. I have faith you are going to produce some beautiful music……
Bless you Barb…I can feel the hug. The machine actually gained a little momentum later in the day so I’m so glad I kept pushing in spite of it pushing back 🙂
Thanks for the piano memories. It’s true.