In the span of four days, I wrote about 13,000 words. It was on a difficult matter for me to write about, but I just kept typing and typing. There was much to say, and still more unsaid. It's been a very long time since I wrote that much. I think that's painfully obvious for me while reading my own words- I'm so out of practice that it doesn't come as naturally as it used to! I used to read my own words and be impressed. Now I think it comes out looking too simple where it should be elegant, too awkward where it should be eloquent. I've disappointed myself. So, here I am trying to get back to my roots and explore the writing process and how it relates to my most recent writing (while I edit the bejeebus out of this post, still unsatisfied. Hi!).When I wrote essays in school, I would sketch outlines in my notebook, rearrange the order of ideas, then write a rough draft; I would then type the rough draft, changing the words as I transcribed. It was my method of forcing myself to re-write every word; I found it easier to move paragraphs in a certain order if I could turn the pages in my notebook while I did it. Whew, I'm really out of practice!
Even though this recent project doesn't contain a specific thesis or it doesn't have an argument in which I'm trying to persuade anything, I feel that I could not achieve the logic flow of thoughts that I used to accomplish. Maybe it was due to the nature of its content, but it was all over the place. There's a chronological thing going on, and then there's different common themes. Do I write it chronologically? It made sense because some events were necessary predecessors to others. But I can't make a strong point about one theme when breaking it up over the span of several chronological events. If I wasn't trying to make a point- just vomit out raw memories- is it necessary to edit? I think if I were to do it again, I'd organize it according to theme, not in chronological order. For the record, I do not make a point to edit blog posts, but sometimes I get that itch and tweak a thing or two.
It got me writing, and that's what I am determined to do. I've got to keep reading and writing. I find it a little challenging (but not impossible) to handle the entirety of editing 13,000+ words in one chunk. Surprisingly, it didn't feel like I was writing that much. I wonder if this means I'll be used to writing in high volume, so it won't be as intimidating in the future. I feel like it has debunked some sort of notion I had about how much work it is to write. Don't get me wrong- there were moments after I was sitting there for hours on end that I clutched my head and exclaimed, "My brains- they're melting!"Like I said, editing 13,000 words is challenging-not impossible. Just as much time and care should be invested in planning, editing, and refining writing as the obvious jotting of words, in my opinion Like I mentioned, I used to invest about as much in the planning of an essay as the writing when I was a student. If I knew what my main idea was, I would make bullets of strong supportive points I wanted to make.Then, I would expand each one and flesh it out until It branched out into an essay. If you've ever written an essay the right way, this should be a no-brainer.
I think great writing requires that sort of design- like an architect sketching every detail of his concept before actually building a thing. The trouble of making it flow arises when you're not making one central, overarching statement. If you don't have a thesis to tie it all together, then the reader will have a hard time coming away with a conclusion from the writing. I don't think this applies per se with the sort of writing that I just finished. (And because I tied this paragraph in to the 13,000 word project, it is not an unrelevant one.) It was not that structured to begin with, it was more of a record of things I will hope to forget in detail. I don't have a specific audience.
The subject matter is not something I feel comfortable writing about here, but let's just say that it was exploring some parts of my past, one of which would explain why I am afraid of writing anything down. I think I'm no good, and am apprehensive about leaving myself vulnerable to have others tell me what I fear. Therefore, I don't try. I've been criticized and scrutinized my entire life. I don't seek ways to get rejected. I know it's silly, but when something is so ingrained in your past, it can be hard to see it objectively.
Ok, I feel so full of it trying to BS my way through explaining anything relevant to writing. My original intention was to note, "Hey! I wrote lots and it didn't kill me!" and how this is actually a good start once I know what I want to write about. I don't have to pre-plan the hell out of fiction the way I do with expository writing. I can just type and let things flow for a start. It's much easier to correct writing while reading it- not writing it- so I think I would use the same process I do for expository writing, which is (as a general rule) the smartest process I have used. I just wouldn't do the same sort of planning because it's creative, not expository. It would go like this: Detailed planning, fleshing out (writing), and editing/refining until desired finished product is achieved. I have little doubt that if I had spent hours planning my 13k project, I would have exceeded the finished trainwreck I'm stuck with. "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure" applies to writing!
Monday, June 27, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
Why do you want to be a writer?
We all have muses, etc. as mentioned in the previous post. Do you know why you want to be a writer? I can't say I've written enough to myself well, but I can imagine a few reasons.
First, it's a way of being at peace. Like in The Blue Castle, Valancy used her imagination to change her dismal reality into something she liked thinking about. I find that there are things in life that one cannot help but wonder what alternative destiny would occur if things could be changed as easily as say, editing a character's name. Have you had a bully or enemy you would like to see get their just desserts? Writing, just as reading, can be an escape from reality- an outlet.
However, it can be employed as a tribute to reality, a way to relive the most relished moments in life. I get nostalgia about the strangest things. For example, the other day I thought about being a new student at FIU. In my first semester, I would arrive early and sit in GC at a table or outside near the fountain, and read my Arthurian romances and eat granola bars for breakfast. I loved the thrill of being in a new school, taking classes I loved so well (and thrived at), and reading exciting tales about knights, maidens, kingdoms, and magic. The yellowish lights never bothered me and I learned to tune out the top hits on the radio (I believe it was a necessary skill to learn when you live with 8 other people). I think a big part of the joy I felt sitting there was the feeling that I belonged in that Arthurian Lit class. It was my element. I understood and loved every part of my new role as an English major. I know I'm mediocre at best, but that's what we're about here!
I have strong feelings of nostalgia sometimes. What causes that? Does everyone experience it? I was listening to Franz Ferdinand's most recent album, Tonight, when I remembered driving to FIU in my "new" 1998 Chevy Prizm (the nicest car I ever drove because it had A/C & a CD player) using my shiny CD player to listen to the first two Franz Ferdinand albums. Starting at FIU was a euphoric experience for me. Even if home life was shit, I had the freedom to drive, listen to music, be a student, have my job. It was a time when I had nothing to worry about. Writing a paper? Taking a test? Cake! I can handle these things. These were the elements I had under my control, and I suppose that lends some credit to its being such a satisfying experience. Things went downhill rapidly after graduation, but I was truly happy while I was there.
Briefly back on the topic of music- I find that I remember specific locations I was at when I heard a song or album for the first time. I remember being in my Victorian history class when I listened to The Servant album. I would listen to it over and over. I drove down 8th street for that class because it was in one of the trailer things near the stadium on the north side of the school. Weird, right? I mean, that it's so specific. Ok, I've got nothing more to say on the subject for the time being. Good day.
First, it's a way of being at peace. Like in The Blue Castle, Valancy used her imagination to change her dismal reality into something she liked thinking about. I find that there are things in life that one cannot help but wonder what alternative destiny would occur if things could be changed as easily as say, editing a character's name. Have you had a bully or enemy you would like to see get their just desserts? Writing, just as reading, can be an escape from reality- an outlet.
However, it can be employed as a tribute to reality, a way to relive the most relished moments in life. I get nostalgia about the strangest things. For example, the other day I thought about being a new student at FIU. In my first semester, I would arrive early and sit in GC at a table or outside near the fountain, and read my Arthurian romances and eat granola bars for breakfast. I loved the thrill of being in a new school, taking classes I loved so well (and thrived at), and reading exciting tales about knights, maidens, kingdoms, and magic. The yellowish lights never bothered me and I learned to tune out the top hits on the radio (I believe it was a necessary skill to learn when you live with 8 other people). I think a big part of the joy I felt sitting there was the feeling that I belonged in that Arthurian Lit class. It was my element. I understood and loved every part of my new role as an English major. I know I'm mediocre at best, but that's what we're about here!
I have strong feelings of nostalgia sometimes. What causes that? Does everyone experience it? I was listening to Franz Ferdinand's most recent album, Tonight, when I remembered driving to FIU in my "new" 1998 Chevy Prizm (the nicest car I ever drove because it had A/C & a CD player) using my shiny CD player to listen to the first two Franz Ferdinand albums. Starting at FIU was a euphoric experience for me. Even if home life was shit, I had the freedom to drive, listen to music, be a student, have my job. It was a time when I had nothing to worry about. Writing a paper? Taking a test? Cake! I can handle these things. These were the elements I had under my control, and I suppose that lends some credit to its being such a satisfying experience. Things went downhill rapidly after graduation, but I was truly happy while I was there.
Briefly back on the topic of music- I find that I remember specific locations I was at when I heard a song or album for the first time. I remember being in my Victorian history class when I listened to The Servant album. I would listen to it over and over. I drove down 8th street for that class because it was in one of the trailer things near the stadium on the north side of the school. Weird, right? I mean, that it's so specific. Ok, I've got nothing more to say on the subject for the time being. Good day.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Someone I used to know
I have various muses that provoke my imagination. Sometimes I get this overwhelming sense of nostalgia thinking about happy moments in my life. Sometimes I hear a song- a specific song- and it gives me an idea for a specific story based on the tone, mood, and sometimes the lyrics. Sometimes it's when I dream about something that has never happened to me- like going to California. I fantasize about it, and I often wonder if the fantasy would be dulled by having finally experienced it. Have you ever met someone that you felt you connected with, sort of a kindred spirit that you started developing a friendship with only to have them disappear off the face of the planet without another word? That happened to me once, nine years ago. It was a most unsettling way for things to go, but at the time my imagination ran wild. I thought about him today because I still remember his birthday, June 23rd. I used to think about it all the time, wondering if he died, or if he got tired of me, speculating what could have possibly happened to make him stop talking to me. For a while I thought something bad happened, there could be no other explanation. Then my innocence waned and I grew aware of the corrupt nature of human beings. I grew cynical and skeptical that this person ever showed true kindness, it must have been a ruse. Even though all regard I held for him is long gone, I remember how he made me feel and how it changed over the rot of time. I have often thought (following a post on epistolary fiction) of looking over the old emails we sent each other, and make some sort of story out of it, leading to the dissolution and cynicism of the main character. It would be a way to be at peace with a mystery- write my own ending. It's a means of gaining control of things we cannot change.
The art of blogging & epistolary literature
Now that I've created a blog purposed for contemplation and discussion of fiction, I have to mention a faux-blog that I read once about a woman's dating experiences. It was called "Single in the Suburbs". It is presented as her actual experiences, but some of the content seems contrived. I mean, it could very well be about her actual experiences, perhaps with enhancements made for the purpose of creating interest for the reader. I have no doubt at least some augmentation took place, because Sara Susannah Katz appears to be a very competent writer, perfectly capable of such a fictional venture.
The mystery remains, but the concept is one I am fascinated with. It's like reading a journal or diary (which is sort of what a blog is!) where you gradually learn about a person's life. It's very similar to the concept of a novel constructed of letters- first person point of view, written in increments with time/date stamps. This, I learned, is called an "Epistolary Novel".
Daddy Long Legs is such a novel, one that I've read numerous times. It's an interesting way to write a first person story; it has to be written in chronological order, and the reader can refer back to certain dates. I loved Daddy Long legs for reasons other than its being an epistolary novel. For one, I find it interesting to read letters someone is writing only on one side, without reply. You have to wonder what the other character- the fictitious recipient thinks of the letter. We then read these letters with that awareness. With a diary or a blog, however, the assumption is that we are getting an inside peek at private thoughts without necessary concern for what another character would read into it.
I wonder if there's a name for that... for a fake blog/journal story. What do you call one that is completely made up? I think a creative twist on the fictitious blog technique would be to present it as if someone was reading a blog that had years of writing in it already- and when that happens, how do you read it? Backward, of course! How did this person get so angry? What was so tragic in his or her life to make them depressed? The assumption I'm making is that the most interesting blogs are riddled with drama!
The mystery remains, but the concept is one I am fascinated with. It's like reading a journal or diary (which is sort of what a blog is!) where you gradually learn about a person's life. It's very similar to the concept of a novel constructed of letters- first person point of view, written in increments with time/date stamps. This, I learned, is called an "Epistolary Novel".
Daddy Long Legs is such a novel, one that I've read numerous times. It's an interesting way to write a first person story; it has to be written in chronological order, and the reader can refer back to certain dates. I loved Daddy Long legs for reasons other than its being an epistolary novel. For one, I find it interesting to read letters someone is writing only on one side, without reply. You have to wonder what the other character- the fictitious recipient thinks of the letter. We then read these letters with that awareness. With a diary or a blog, however, the assumption is that we are getting an inside peek at private thoughts without necessary concern for what another character would read into it.
I wonder if there's a name for that... for a fake blog/journal story. What do you call one that is completely made up? I think a creative twist on the fictitious blog technique would be to present it as if someone was reading a blog that had years of writing in it already- and when that happens, how do you read it? Backward, of course! How did this person get so angry? What was so tragic in his or her life to make them depressed? The assumption I'm making is that the most interesting blogs are riddled with drama!
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
A start can't be a bad thing, can it?
I don't expect anyone to be reading this, but if you're there, hi! I created this blog so I can get motivated to write. I'm paranoid about sharing anything I've written- a terrible start, I know. I have sketches of detailed characters floating around in my brain, ones with virtue, baggage, talents, misconceptions, unrequited love, pining, disappointment, ambition, and lots of room to grow from there. I find character development to be the most fascinating aspect of literature, and love to speculate where a life could lead if a character has a change of heart. I named this blog as I did because people with the slightest ability- whether it be prodigious, mediocre, or abysmal- tend to think they are the bomb-diggity; they think that they are unique and special and the whole world should love them. I give one admission to this notion, that just because someone is not a prodigy does not exclude them from the interest of mankind. Knowing this, and being aware that I am mediocre at best, I strive to contribute a few nuggets of interest to the world, even if that world is populated by myself alone (I suppose I'm saying that I write for my own sake). My stories right now are incubating in my brain, and I have no excuse but my own shortcoming to explain why I have nothing to share as of yet. I have some difficulty starting with names, but I feel that overall I have a better idea of where I'm going now than I did five years ago. I honestly hope that in five years hence, I will have improved exponentially both in skill and in self-discipline. Cheers, invisible reader! Hope we will meet again.
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