Three stages of creativity: inspiried, uninspired, re-inspired

Friday afternoon and my writing day is winding down--I didn't get nearly as much done today or this week as I wanted to, so I'm promising myself that this weekend and next week I'll do better and work harder at sticking with it.  My March 1st deadline is creeping up on me; I spent January in such a fog that it kind of passed me by.  Cute husband and I are finally going to see Crazy Heart this evening, a movie we've been dying to see (but we live in a place where movies take a long time to get here), so I'm hoping it will be a chance to enjoy a really great story and will re-inspire me for some writing time tomorrow.  I love the movie's tag line: "The harder the life, the sweeter the song."  I also highly recommend looking into the music of Ryan Bingham (yes, odd coincidence that he has the same name as the main character of another great movie, Up in the Air) who wrote some of the tunes for the movie.  The link to Crazy Heart above takes you to a website that plays one of his songs for you.  Corey gave me two of his albums for Christmas and we really love them.

Rumor has it there's snow in the forecast for tomorrow, and what's more romantic than sipping a cup of tea and working on your story while the windows darken with snow.  Sounds pretty nice to me.

But speaking of being re-inspired, wanted to share with you this card from my mom that arrived in the mail yesterday:

Yep, so true.  And much needed at this juncture.  Thanks Mom.

Have a happy weekend all.  Find a little thing that inspires you and just run with it.  See where it takes you, it might be a nice place.

Important conversations and a radioactive computer

Yesterday cute husband and I were out for an evening walk to our favorite store--Trader Joe's--when I asked him what he thought of my story.

Let me be frank with you.  While I'm thrilled to be writing again and thrilled to finally have a real project going--something I'm waking up each day knowing I need to work on--it's also been an extremely tense and sometimes depressing few weeks.  It's so easy for me to lose my confidence and even easier for me to avoid my computer all day, some days literally not writing a word, walking past my desk all day long with my head turned away like the computer is radioactive or might eat me.  I know I've told you this before and I hope it doesn't sound too much like complaining, but things are just extremely uncertain right now--not just for me, but for Corey too--and I can't help but put a ton of pressure on myself to make my story great, get into a writing program, write a bestselling novel and ride off into the sunset.

That said, I always try and stop myself from saying the sentence, "Things will be perfect when..." to myself because that's never the way it works out.  I remember hearing once that our bad habit of playing "what if" with ourselves (what if I'd taken that job in New York City, what if I'd gotten a degree in photography instead of accounting, and on and ON) is not only an exercise in futility because we can't go back again, but also because even if we could there'd still be so many things that could go wrong in that alternate reality.  E.g. you move to New York City for the job but move into a crappy apartment there (because it's all you can afford) and the building collapses, trapping you for days and causing a concussion that erases your short term memory.  Or you get that photography degree but doing so takes you out of Accounting 202, where you met your husband or your-best-friend-to-this-day, et cetera.  But to get off my meandering path and come back to the point: while things are little bit less than ideal right now, I know that it's all part of the journey (no, let's call it a trip) we're on.

So all of that explained, let me get back to our walk yesterday.  When I asked Corey what he thought of my story, he said he loved it.  He gave me compliments and said how much he'd missed reading my writing.  Then, he paused.  "But can I give you a few points to focus on," he said.  And then he dropped the bomb: "Get out of your comfort zone.  I love how you write but when you describe your characters it sounds like you talking, and it needs to sound like them talking."   I said, "Okay," thinking the pain was over.  He continued: "And I know this goes against everything you believe, but you need to make an outline or something of what's going to happen.  You need to plot everything out and then make it happen."  He paused again.  "And don't put your entire life into this story--like if it doesn't come together you can't apply to a program.  You can start again on something new or start on something new in the middle of writing this one."

My head was reeling as we wandered through Trader Joe's--usually I scan the shelves obsessively looking for new items I might want to try, but yesterday I just grabbed 2 green peppers, a tub of hummus, and a bag of oranges.  Internal monologue went something like this: I'm no good.  Even my biggest fan, second only to my mom, thinks I'm no good.  He's trying to find a polite way to tell his wife, you might not have what it takes, move on to something else.  My characters aren't even characters then, if they just sound like me.  "What are we having for dinner, though?" Cute husband asked.  "Don't know," I said, making a dash for the cash register. "I guess we're just going to forage tonight," I said.  Forage is our polite way of saying "leftovers."

Needless to say it was a quiet walk home, but by the time the oranges were in the fruit bowl I realized that it was the best conversation I'd had in a long time about my writing.  That sometimes you need someone to tell you--Be bolder!  Take all the little stuff you're really good at and blow it up!  And when I opened up my story last night I was reading it over in a whole new way and suddenly thinking about all of the directions I could take it in because it was as though someone had finally given me the permission to do so.

But it doesn't end there...

Today at around noon, Mom called.  I hadn't mentioned any of this to her, but somehow--it actually has been determined that she has ESP--she seemed to know that I was struggling and for about twenty minutes, under the guise of just talking to me about some good books she'd read recently, said, about fifteen times, "You can do it.  I really believe you'll do this."

And lo and behold after the application of several scientific testing instruments, my computer shows no trace of radioactivity.

Write to the music

Today I purchased a CD by one of my favorite musical artists: Patty Griffin's Downtown Church.  Patty is a folksinger, but with bits of rock and bluegrass mixed in, and I've loved her since college when I heard her song "Moses."  Since then I've bought every new album on the day it's released.  Just in case you might be in the market for some new music, Downtown Church is Patty's adaptation of several gospel classics, all of which were recorded in the basement of a Presbyterian church.  After two listens, I can promise you it will be money well spent--very beautiful interpretations of beautiful old songs.

I bring this up because I've been using music these last few weeks to inspire my writing.  So much of writing is getting into a rhythm--just sort of finding the flow so you can really start to let loose for a little while and, like I've mentioned before, find the more organic elements of your story, instead of trying to manufacture every little thing.  I know that other writers do this because often in the acknowledgments they thank Bob Dylan or The Rolling Stones, etc., saying, for example, "thank you for your music, which got me through the long, dark hours of writing this book."  And it makes sense: music is a powerful tool for doing anything that requires motivation.  I read just recently that good music is integral to a successful running routine because there are certain rhythms and beats that actually trigger a psychological response that makes you want to get up and move.  (Thus, dancing.)

As for music's role in writing, I actually think there is also an element of feeling like you've got a fellow artist looking over your shoulder as you write.  Yes, you get lost in the music and as you begin to write the melody supports your own ability to find a narrative "melody" and cadence, but it's also nice to know that you're listening to something that had to be written first.  Whether it's Mozart or Bob Dylan or Shakira (yes, sometimes she is my drug of choice, I admit it), it all had to be conceived of first, and reworked, and put back together.  And like anything else, it's comforting to know someone who's been through it before is there helping you do it for the first time.

Monday musings on practice makes perfect

Hi old friends.  I'm so sorry I've abandoned you these last few weeks.  For some reason I've been in a blogging rut--very little to say, other than, yep, still writing, still struggling.  That Christmas story I started back in December has become something of an obsession, as I've decided to try and make it my submission piece for the writing program.  In a way this has relieved some stress because I no longer have to feel like I've got no ideas, but at the same time the pressure is twenty-fold because I know I must make this really good.  It's such an internal mind game with me: I know that I can do this, I know that if I got into this program I would flourish there and learn valuable things that would help propel me to the next level of my writing capabilities (maybe a novel?), and yet there are many moments in the day where I truly lose sight of all that, and start thinking about working at Talbots again.

But enough of the melodramatics...  That's where things stand.

So all of that stuff said, I've really missed blogging and the ability to write what I'm feeling on any given day or sometimes go off into strange territory just writing about some aspect of life I've been thinking about lately.  So I apologize, and I'm back.  Sorry everyone, but the beginning of the new year is always a tough time for me.

I think I mentioned to all of you back in December that I was loving a book of short stories by Maile Meloy (who, I've since found out is the sister of Colin Meloy of the Decemberists! what a talented family!) called Both Ways is the Only Way I Want It.  No doubt I've been trying to channel her as I write my own short story.  The truth is, the only way to get better at writing is to read read read and then write write write.  The summer before I went away to college, I remember reading 35 books (in a three month period).  (Thanks to my dad for letting me read while I worked at his office.)  It was interesting to then go back and look and the stuff I'd written before that reading binge and compare it to the stuff written immediately after.  In so many ways, grasping the nature of a strong narrative has to become internalized--something you're not so much thinking about as just naturally producing like tears, or saliva.  Furthermore, it's interesting to examine what I imagine as the "rungs" of my writing life.  With each new piece of writing I climb a little higher and complicate things a little more.  With each new story you're adding one more thing you want to try and perfect on the paper and ultimately I imagine that you're able to hold in your brain a million different worries about what you're doing and work to avoid mistakes.  But this philosophy can be hard to live by.  My tendency is to look at every story like it should be good, polished, something I'd be willing to submit for publication.  But in reality even the crappy stuff can be helpful--sometimes the best way to avoid going wrong is to examine what happens when things do go wrong so you can right yourself when all hell breaks loose.  Yep, it's a lot like working for NASA.

So as I grow more frustrated by the day, I have to remember to trust myself.  To have faith that even if I mess something up while I'm writing, there is this magical thing waiting in the wings called editing, where I'll force myself to be critical and find the missing pieces that, contrary to popular belief, are not gone forever.

See you tomorrow.  I promise.

An attempt to...not write

Hi friends.  Still writing away over here, believe it or not, but have picked up a new hobby to relieve some of my writing-related stress.  Hope you'll join me for a touch of whimsy on my new photography blog, Bread & Bottle.  And don't worry, Promise to Write is still my main game (it won't suffer the fate of wrenthen).

Writing my way across the divide, to the New Year on the other side

Well it's about a quarter to five where I am right now, and as I wile away the hours until the new year, I've been tinkering away again with my short story.  I don't know if other writers do this, but whenever I'm in the middle of something that I'm very unsure about it's very hard for me to face it each day and work on it.  I hate not being confident; I begin to doubt every word I write, and for lack of a better term, I start to feel like there's no "flow."  That is to say, it starts to feel like the events are not unfolding organically, but in a very strained, contrived way.  So with these frustrations in mind I've been trying to study up on the short story as a form.  While my ultimate goal in life--the thing that would make me feel like I'd truly accomplished my dream--is to write a complete novel (and get it published), I've never actually written anything that long before (hence the dream part).  I've always just written stories.  And to be honest, I love a good short story, but if you asked me what made it good, I don't know if I could tell you.

And this is a problem.  It's comparable to baking a cake: if you don't know the ingredients, you, um, can't really make the thing.

Today, as I was perusing Barnes & Noble.com's "Best of 09" list, I found this quote in a review of one of Alice Munro's (the supposed master of the short story) books: "The novelist Benjamin Cheever once brilliantly summed up New Yorker fiction as the kind of story where nothing much happens, but you feel a little sad about it anyway."  And it's true--the stories in the New Yorker always kind of go nowhere, and frankly I'm not sure if I like that.  That said, some of  my favorite stories are just ruminations on a life--a quick peek into someone's existence, and in the end it's not as though there's a big explosion or a moment of truth with a nemesis, most of the time things just stay the same.  But it always feels as though I've gained something from just knowing their way of life for a few minutes.

When I think about my own short stories, stuff I've written in the past, I don't know that all that much does happen--usually the story starts out with something big happening and then we move forward from that point, exploring different people's reactions to it, examining the ways in which it might have changed people's lives and with a bit of backstory thrown in so we know the kind of people we're dealing with.

As I mentioned, I've been reading (and just finished) a wonderful short story collection by Maile Meloy called Both Ways Is the Only Way I Want It.  She's just so good!  It makes me want to write like crazy, but at the same time it makes me want to drop my pen forever because I'll never be as good as Maile!  I'm sitting here thumbing back through the book trying to pinpoint what exactly I loved so much and trying to figure out how to incorporate those qualities into my own writing, but it's not working that well...

Frankly, I've got no answers here.  This post is basically just a summary of what's been going through my head today as I try to think about the story I'm working on in a larger context: what do I want it to be?  As always, I think the simplest answer is to just keep writing until I get a little more comfortable in my own skin again.  But it's hard.  You know my favorite quote because I've told you before: "Writing is like driving at night in the fog.  You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."  When you think about it, that's the way many things are in life--we don't know what's ahead of us, nor do we have a total understanding of what's behind us, but we keep going.  I guess I just forgot how easy it is to get frightened, paranoid, and filled with self-doubt when you can't see a blessed thing around you.  But I'm determined to keep driving, so you can expect to read this blog in the new year.

Those are my crazy thoughts this New Year's Eve.  Happy New Year!

Musings on a winter's day

Hi friends.  I hope everyone is enjoying this quiet time between Christmas and New Years, hopefully with a few more fun get-togethers on the horizon and the snow still something you think looks kind of nice.  Next week this time we'll all be staring the long hard winter in the face while trying to follow through on our New Years resolutions (I traditionally give up on mine on January 18th, which I commemorate by drinking heavily that evening).  Cute husband and I have been traversing the country visiting loved ones left and right.  We were with cute husband's parents (henceforth to be referred to as "cute parents") for what we call "First Christmas" since we do Christmas there a few days early.  Then we hopped a plane to the mountain region to be with my parents, where we enjoyed Christmas Day.  Somewhere along the way my Christmas story got lost inside my word processor and yesterday I finally found it and dusted it off a bit.  I've been writing a little bit each morning and am determined to share this one with you in its entirety, so thank you for giving me a little extra time to make it readable.

In other news, I know it's annoying that I keep changing the blog format, but the purple was making my eyes hurt--something about winter makes me crave the neutral tones.  Speaking of which, come late next week many of us will have fallen into our post-Christmas midwinter depression.  I know that we did book lists just a couple of weeks ago, but I wanted to share my January stack with you.  These are the books I'm planning on leaning on to get me through the sad cold months, and I'm hoping a few of you might pick up one or two along with me so we can enjoy them together.

On the right are a few fun ones I got for Christmas:

Wishin' & Hopin' by Wally Lamb (I'm a big fan--I'd rank She's Come Undone and I Know This Much Is True among my favorite books)


Pictorial Websters -- I've been reading about this one on some of the design blogs I follow and I can tell you that thumbing through the pages looking at old-fashioned woodcuts is surprisingly fun when you're feeling a little low.

American Family -- You might remember my post about this one awhile back.  It lives up to what I imagined and more!  Every time I hand it to one of my family members to thumb through they become instantly captivated.

Now the LIT-RA-TOOR, from bottom to top:

Half-Broke Horses by Jeannette Walls -- Her last book, a memoir called The Glass Castle, blew me away, so I look forward to this one, which is a fictionalized account of her grandmother's crazy life.

A Gate at the Stairs by Lorrie Moore -- I bought this one in October on the day it came out because I've been a Lorrie Moore fan since I was about seventeen.  It's since made about every best of 09 list out there, so I'm going to dive in come the cold depressing days.

Hurry Down Sunshine by Michael Greenberg -- Read about this one a few months ago and couldn't find it anywhere but found it in the tiny--but fabulous!--local bookstore here in the mountains on Christmas Eve (I called Santa and asked if I could just go ahead and buy it for myself and he promised to reimburse me).  It's a memoir written by a father about his mentally ill daughter and I think it promises to be heart-wrenching (a feeling I enjoy).


Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann -- I'm not even entirely sure what this one's about, but I keep hearing about it so what the heck!

Hope everyone is getting a little time to relax and enjoy the season.  And though I know I make jokes about the New Year, it really is a marvelous time.  It's such a great tradition we have: every 12 months we take a breath and give ourselves a chance to start anew.  I like it.