pjthompson: parker writing (dorothy)

I’ve got just over 42k done on a new novel. That’s not as impressive as it sounds because much of that was prewritten long ago and I’m getting back to it. But I have written over 4300 new words in the last two weeks. I’ve never written at a blistering pace. If I can write 700-750 words on a given day, that’s an impressive word count for me. So, I am unreasonably pleased by that 4300 words, enough so that I feel comfortable about talking about it now.

But not too much. Talking about what I’m writing is a sure way of killing that thing for me.

I’ve been flailing for so long, trying to get things back online, trying old ideas and new ones, and, apparently, I finally landed on the right piece of writing at the time that was right for me. I have been able to put in an almost daily writing habit, something that has eluded me for a very long time.

I won’t say it’s always been easy. The forces of procrastination are still there—but they are the normal forces of procrastination, the ones I’ve been used to dealing with my entire writing life. Not the procrastination of the soul that has been plaguing me for so long.

And the forces of sabotage are still there. As I said recently on Twitter, “I love how when you finally start to make substantial progress on a piece of writing and it’s feeling good the inner critic has got to find new and more extravagant ways of sabotaging things.” But I recognize that voice for what it is and I can tell it to shut up and move on with what I’m doing. It’s been nagging me all my life, it’s part of the artist’s way, all artists everywhere (or most I know), and part of the deal we make with the Universe. For some Universe-only-knows reason.

But unlike the last few years, I recognize that now, too, and can shove it roughly out of the way and get back to what I need to be doing.

So, wish me luck. I’m on that bumpy and thrilling road again and hope to keep on traveling.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: parker writing (dorothy)

 

 

I’ve got just over 42k done on a new novel. That’s not as impressive as it sounds because much of that was prewritten long ago and I’m getting back to it. But I have written over 4300 new words in the last two weeks. I’ve never written at a blistering pace. If I can write 700-750 words on a given day, that’s an impressive word count for me. So, I am unreasonably pleased by that 4300 words, enough so that I feel comfortable about talking about it now.

But not too much. Talking about what I’m writing is a sure way of killing that thing for me.

I’ve been flailing for so long, trying to get things back online, trying old ideas and new ones, and, apparently, I finally landed on the right piece of writing at the time that was right for me. I have been able to put in an almost daily writing habit, something that has eluded me for a very long time.

I won’t say it’s always been easy. The forces of procrastination are still there—but they are the normal forces of procrastination, the ones I’ve been used to dealing with my entire writing life. Not the procrastination of the soul that has been plaguing me for so long.

And the forces of sabotage are still there. As I said recently on Twitter, “I love how when you finally start to make substantial progress on a piece of writing and it’s feeling good the inner critic has got to find new and more extravagant ways of sabotaging things.” But I recognize that voice for what it is and I can tell it to shut up and move on with what I’m doing. It’s been nagging me all my life, it’s part of the artist’s way, all artists everywhere (or most I know), and part of the deal we make with the Universe. For some Universe-only-knows reason.

But unlike the last few years, I recognize that now, too, and can shove it roughly out of the way and get back to what I need to be doing.

So, wish me luck. I’m on that bumpy and thrilling road again and hope to keep on traveling.

pjthompson: parker writing (dorothy)

Today’s quote from Isak Dinesen—”I write a little every day, without hope, without despair”—strikes me as great advice. Not just for writing, but for living. I can see why Raymond Carver liked quoting it so much.

The thing is, though, it’s extremely difficult advice to follow. Much of the time life seems to take us—creative people as well as “normals”—on a crazy seesaw of hopes and disappointments. Our expectations and wants get us muddled as we try to do the tasks before us, and when we can’t meet all those desires and self-imposed goals, we fall into fits of despondency, think ourselves failures. The inner harpies of self-criticism kick in big time then. They rend and claw without mercy.

For creative people, this extends to and is magnified by the work we do. All creative work is a risk, a thing considered unnecessary by the larger world. There are so many layers of perceived failure available for us to choose from and beat ourselves up about. Creative people seem inevitably to go there, but it’s never a helpful place. It does us no good, it does our work no good.

So…without hope, without despair. Just you and the work. Just me and the work. A little every day, without expectations and the larger-than-life burdens we pile upon ourselves. Maybe this isn’t a recipe for the “current publishing environment,” but it is a recipe for doing the work when it feels like you just cannot. It’s a method of moving forward, even when the mudslides flow around your knees. It’s a practice that keeps the insanity at bay, the practice of doing the best you can with each day, and cutting yourself some slack about the other stuff.

When the harpies start piercing and biting, as oh ye gods they inevitably will, throw them a scrap of hope to gnaw on. Let them chew on that as much as they like so they stop distracting—because we don’t need it at the moment of creation any more than we need the despair.

Mirrored from Better Than Dead.

pjthompson: (Default)
Okay, so maybe this novel isn't the worst thing that's ever been written by any human being ever on the face of the planet. Maybe I was just in a mood Friday. Maybe it's still stinky and parts, still a whole lot of people shooting off their mouths for no good reason and extended periods of time, and maybe it needs fixing, but may be I don't have to quit the world and join a nunnery.


Venus In Transit
Zokutou word meterZokutou word meter
20,250 / 100,000
(20.2%)
pjthompson: (Default)
So I wrote this partial first draft eight years ago, right?

The good news is that the core idea is sound, and that I've learned a lot since then and growed me up some as a writer. The bad news is that "reclaiming" this draft is a deeply painful experience. The urge to chuck it all and start everything from scratch is almost irresistible, but I'm pushing forward. I think it's important for me to have a finished first draft rather than an endlessly rewritten and reworked partial. Once the damned thing is in the can, then I can ruthlessly rip out this opening and redo it, but I really really really really think I need to finish.

Doesn't mean I have happy feet while I'm going through the old material, but at least I'm walking the walk.
pjthompson: (Default)
Writingness of the day: I've rechristened Brother Wolf because that working title is completely obsolete under the new scheme. Its new working title is, Rough Magic, but I'll probably change that, too. It harkens back to The Tempest, which isn't a bad thing at all, but unfortunately both Mary Stewart and Mercedes Lackey have used This Rough Magic, and a Russell Crowe movie was also called Rough Magic. (I happened to have loved that movie so much I bought it, but Rotten Tomatoes only gave it one fresh tomato out of seven, which I think is way too harsh.)

Yeah, yeah, I know, you can't copyright titles, but I don't like to go into a project with a title that I know has been used a few times. If that happens after a book has sold, tough bananas, but until that time, I'm going to try to come up with something else.

Titles are usually one of the first things that come to me for a project, and they become thoroughly ingrained with the story mythos—so changing the titles can be a painful affair. This one has had three so far: A Taste of Night was the original title, but it became obsolete, then I was considering taking up that name again until Vicki Petersson used it. Woe is me. One advantage of having so many back and forths with the name is that I didn't feel at all conflicted this time out.

What was I thinking? of the day: You know that inner critic you have, the one that's always telling you that your writing sucks? Yeah, I know you have one. I haven't known a writer who didn't, pro or non-pro. One of the more disturbing aspects of looking over this old material is that I apparently went through a phase where I formalized that internal negativity by putting them as footnotes in all my manuscripts. Egad! No wonder I didn't finish any writing for three years.

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