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I’m going to attempt the possible … I’m going to try to write this post in one sitting.

I’m inspired to write these days and that is a beautiful thing. Though the process itself is daunting AF (as the kids say), the fact that I am now in the querying stage of my novel is kind of liberating. It means I have paused the revision process and can start on something new, or at the very least can think about the next thing.

I’d like to take my writing more seriously; no matter what becomes of it, this is what I do. This afternoon I got together with a new friend, one who has been wanting to write a book for years and who has been collecting material by living her life—that’s how we do it, writers like us. She has felt blocked lately and when we first met a couple of weeks ago we talked about our projects and, she told me today, this opened her up a bit to the possibility of finally sitting down and starting to write.

I started my book a decade ago because I wanted to try to write a novel (of my own; I’d ghostwritten one once before) and because I had the germ of an idea. I worked on it a bit and put it away for years. Then a couple of years ago I realized that whenever someone asked me what was new in my life, I responded by telling them what was new in my boyfriend’s life. I needed something; I was in a deep and deeply rooted rut.

So I signed up for a novel writing workshop and started a second writing group (short lived but very valuable) and some months later I started working with my writing coach and I wrote and wrote and deleted and deleted and second guessed myself, then wrote some more, chopped off half of what I’d written, filled in lots of gaps and then revised the shit out of the thing over and over and over. And over. The cows have yet to come home, but I’m done for the time being.

It’s all fodder—the overheard snippets of conversation, the quirky people you see on the subway, the places you’ve been, the heartbreak and demons, the absurd dreams. The name you make up because it sounds funny and you decide you need a character named ____. The thoughts you have that are so wise and profound that they must be shared with the world and so you will assign them to a character who happens to share your deepest childhood fears. The ridiculous thoughts that make you laugh but that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else in the moment you think them. The piece  of blue sea glass you find in the sand that you decide is from a bottle of Saratoga Spring Water that was broken on a yacht during a heated argument … a yacht that never made it to its destination. The photo lying on the sidewalk for which you invent a story.

If you want to write, write. It’s not easy, but it can be. It’s not always fun, but it can be. A percentage of it is extremely cathartic. You’ll be filled with self-doubt, it’ll never be perfect, but not a word that you write will be valueless. The drivel will clear the way for the good stuff and the good stuff for the great and every now and then you’ll craft a sentence so hauntingly perfect that you know it will have an impact on at least one other person.

One of the very best things about writing is that it’s never too late to do it. You can publish your first novel at 83 and your first op-ed at 100.

I’ve been contemplating starting a blog based on the exercises we do in my current and longstanding writing group. Each time we meet we come up with a prompt and the interim assignment is to write a piece—doesn’t have to be polished—inspired by the prompt. The results are rarely mundane, sometimes brilliant, often funny, and it’s really cool to see the wildly different directions that four very different writers can take from the same starting point.

Maybe I will start this blog. The best thing about deciding I’ve finished the novel for now is that, no matter what becomes of my novel or future projects, I finally feel like a writer, and not just like someone who says she is one and hopes it comes true.

 

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Just like starting over

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“Writing in English is the most ingenious torture ever devised for sins committed in previous lives.” -James Joyce

Granted I’ve not tried to write much in other languages, but this book writing thing (did I mention I wrote a book?) can be maddening. Maddening! And yet so many books get written and published and a fair amount of them are really good. How do these people do it?

I’m in the mountains celebrating Father’s Day and then taking a few days to, as I keep saying for some odd reason, as it’s not an expression I’ve ever used before, “bang out my revisions.”

I saw a friend last week who comes to town a couple times a year and he said, “Wait—weren’t you working on revisions when I was here in December?”

WHY YES, I WAS!!!! And then, based on those revisions, I needed to copyedit, which led to further changes. Then I submitted my draft to my editor and my writing group and my beta readers and more revisions stemmed from that … and so on and so on and so on.

I found a metaphor for this today. I love metaphors. Not in writing per se, but in life. I took a longer walk this afternoon than I’d set out to … this is a hilly walk and is decent exercise and exercise is something I wish I loved more than I do. It’s a walk where, once you reach a certain point, it’s silly to turn back, you might as well just keep going up that road and take the long way back—you’ve gotten this far. So I kept bargaining with myself that I didn’t have to do the whole thing—I just needed to do something, which is my general approach to exercise. I would turn around once I got to the bend in the road, which I could see many steps in the distance. Only I’d never get to the bend in the road because once there I’d realize it wasn’t a bend, it was the suggestion of one. So I could never really catch up and I had to keep going. And that’s what this revision process feels like. I’ll revise until I finish this draft, only once there I realize the draft isn’t finished after all.

However, I want to move on to new projects, and so I must finish this one for the time being. In so doing I will start pitching to agents—in fact I already have begun this process, and it is a long and arduous one that uses a very different part of the brain than the writing does and a different part than the revising and maybe I should go back to school and learn a trade or follow a new pursuit?

But since I’m not going to do that, I’m going to “bang out” these revisions, continue my agent research and querying, and move on to my next writing project.

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, but I do set goals at other times of the year. This feels like a starting point. My goals for the second half of 2017 are: to become a better writer, to read more, to spend less, to finish revisions (for now) and move on to the next thing, to purge a bunch of stuff that is cluttering my apartment and mind, to meditate and exercise regularly, and a whole bunch of stuff that I don’t want to put on record.

Happy Father’s Day, y’all.