Showing posts with label Anton Chekhov. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anton Chekhov. Show all posts

Friday, August 9, 2013

Only Rocky Ground Will Test Your Balance.


Over the past several weeks, the writers at Novel Matters have hit on tough topics such as self-publishing, disappointing sales results, writer’s block, and other challenges of the writer’s life.

From the beginning of this blog, we’ve attempted to offer responses to the question, “Why write?” and, more particularly, “Why write fiction?” Over time, the answers have ranged from the sublime: Art for art’s sake! To the mundane: I write because I must. To the dreary: I’ve no idea why I write, I’d stop if I knew how.

Perhaps our reasons for writing change like our socks and underwear. Likely, we make up our excuses as we go along until eventually we’ve been at it so long that turning back, rather than continuing, is the absurd choice.

Part of me wonders if writers don’t suffer from the same affliction as gamblers. Just one more crack at it. One more hand (idea), one more pull at the slots (alluring character), one last spin of the wheel (novel) and then I’ll stop.

Except “stop” doesn’t mean stop, it means “win.”

One more shot at this book-writing thing and I’ll hit the big time. Donald Maass will ask me to dance. Amy Einhorn will salivate just hearing the premise. Readers will line the streets waiting for my autograph. Paparazzi will fall out of trees attempting to photograph me in a bikini.

Okay. Maybe not that last one.

If we’re honest, we all have a fragment of our soul that believes literary success—maybe even fame, but at least a pay cheque—is around the next corner. We’re addicted to the idea that our little book might be The One.

This mildly crazed part of us isn’t the piece that rules in the clear daylight. Certainly not. We have sensible reasons then. Good ones like art for art’s sake, and I write because I must. It’s only at night when we can’t get to sleep, or worse, are woken out of a deep slumber, that the niggling dark part of our soul pipes up and whispers, “Psst. Have I got a hot-topic premise for you. A sure-fire bestseller. Better turn that light on, kid.”

If you’re thinking I disparage this part of my soul, you’re reading me wrong.

It’s that unreasonable hope in my soul that keeps me typing when all reason tells me to get up from my desk and get a job at Taco Bell. A real job. Respectable. The kind that comes with a regular pay cheque and the self-respect attached to it. It keeps me reading, writing, improving, studying the industry. It keeps the ideas flowing when common sense would have stanched the flow ages ago.

After awhile—years—that unbalanced corner of our soul becomes the one thing we count on when we face relentless reality and rising odds. It becomes the only truly sane thing about us as writers.

I may never be a great writer.

Then again, I might be.

In Anton Chekhov’s The Sea Gull, Nina is a young actress who, after two heartbreaking years, returns to the Sorin estate with the knowledge that she will never be a great actress. She speaks to Konstantine—a writer who is in love with her, but whom she does not love—about her losses, which include her youth, career, and an infant son conceived out of wedlock. Near the end of her monologue she says: “Now I know, I understand. Kostya, that in our work . . . acting or writing . . . what matters is not fame, not glory, not what I used to dream about, it’s how to endure, to bear my cross, and have faith. I have faith and it all doesn’t hurt me so much, and when I think of my calling I’m not afraid of life.”

The unreasonable corner of a writer’s soul is the faith that makes it hurt less, that makes us not afraid.

That’s why artists were given the provision of owning a dark, crazy portion of our souls.

Shuffle through the loose bits of your soul for this difficult to find scrap. And, if you find it, embrace it. Strange as it is, unreasonable, and unseemly, it’s destined to become your best friend.

Are you in touch with your inner crazy? We’d love to hear about it.

Friday, March 1, 2013

Unreliable Pipes & Sippy Cups

On Wednesday, Bonnie wrote, "Creative energy runs in unreliable pipes."  Well, said, Bonnie. I might pin that above my computer.
While searching for equally brainy quotes about creativity, I came upon one that I love by Ray Bradbury, "We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled.  The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out."

Maybe it's just the way my brain works, but the combination of these two quotes brought to mind the sippy cup I used with my kids, the kind with a tight-fitting plastic lid and straw.  Even when it was full, nothing came out of the cup unless the straw functioned properly.  My son could toss it on the floor or projectile it across the room, but unless he hit the lid just right or learned to utilize the straw or the dog got it, nothing came out.

Sometimes it feels like I'm wrestling a stubborn sippy cup when trying to direct the creative energy to my pages. Wouldn't it be great if it came instead in a Big Gulp cup with a flexy lid like the kind that skids off when you bump it against the steering wheel?

The cup is a good thing. It captures the creativity and holds it until we need it. The pipe is definitely a good thing, because it channels the flow to the page.  What can we do to keep the channel open and functioning? Here are some of my favorite quotes about creativity. It's nice that famous authors have blazed the trail ahead, whacking at thorny shrubs and palm fronds with their inky machetes.  They know what they're talking about.
  • Show up.   Same time, same place. Or change the place, but know when and where you're the most creative. "I only write when I'm inspired, and I make sure I'm inspired every morning at 9:00 a.m. " Peter DeVries
  • Don't empty your reservoir.  Leave your last sentence or your last paragraph dangling, but don't bring closure to the scene.  "I learned never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it. " Ernest Hemingway 
  • Bring your best to the table. Make it a priority, not the last of your to-do list. “...a writer should not so much write as embroider on paper; the work should be painstaking, laborious."  Anton Chekhov
  • Fill up on good writing, not junk food. Read widely and be discerning. “If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.” Stephen King
  • Dig deep.  Don't chicken out. Write what only you can say. “Go where the pain is, go where the pleasure is.”  Anne Rice
  • Know when to walk away. Got frustration? Go polish the silver or wash the car. Do something that doesn't require thinking but keep your notepad nearby.   “The best time for planning a book is while you're doing the dishes. ”Agatha Christie 
  • Write intuitively. Hold a loose rein on your outline and be open to surprises. “The only good writing is intuitive writing. It would be a big bore if you knew where it was going."  Ray Bradbury 
  • We repeat, don't talk about your WIP. "I think it’s bad to talk about one’s present work, for it spoils something at the root of the creative act. It discharges the tension." Norman Mailer
I will end with this quote from Anne Lamott that gives me comfort.
For those of us who remember the Polaroid camera...
 " Writing a first draft is very much like watching a Polaroid develop.  You can't - in fact, you're not supposed to - know exactly what the picture is going to look like until is has finished developing."

What does and doesn't work for you when staring into the creative vacuum?  Is there a routine you follow or a special tool you use, a favorite quote above your laptop?  Please, we'd love to hear!