A smile wreathed her face. “My sister is the perfect shopping companion for me. She goes into a store and takes off, looking for what she wants and needs. Then, when I look for her, I can usually find her trying clothes on, and what we compare what we found. “Oh, that looks cute, can I try it on?””
Energy, exploring, and expectations.
The more I write fiction, the greater I understand that much of my writing is about exploring what I’m thinking and understand (and then trying to explain and share it by putting it in a story), and managing expectations about writing.
Some days, about one in fifty, I think, I don’t want to write. It’s mostly because I weary of my routine and want a time out. This typically happens when multiple energy levels – creative, physical, intellectual, mental, and emotional, let’s say – simultaneously drop to low levels. That puts me in a black place. That’s when I must dig deepest and longest to sit down and start typing those first words. If I can make it through a paragraph, I’ll persist and write several pages.
I know this. That’s when managing expectations enter my personal equation. Like everything else, my writing efforts reside on a spectrum. I know there are days when the words leap effortlessly through mind and onto media (and I love those days, and thank the Universe for the experience). On the spectrum’s opposite end on those weary, turgid days. Not only do I not want to write, but I’m also pretty much a much larger asshole than I am on other days. My tolerance, patience, and bonhomie seem completely drained on those days.
I also know that regardless of my approach and expectations to writing (and editing, and the rest of the writing process) on those days, I can rarely tell the difference in the end product. I edit, revise and polish too much. I tend to write the bones down in a flurry, and then more leisurely add details, bridges, and expansion. For instance, the first line of a new chapter begun the other day ended up being the first line of the sixth paragraph by the time I finished the chapter. That line was the part of the scene I first saw, but then the light grew wider and brighter, and I saw more of the scene, and entered the characters and their expectations and participation more deeply.
I know all of these things because I’ve explored myself and my approach to writing, and what I like and dislike about my processes. And then I write and post about it because that helps me clarify my understanding. Sometimes, other writers respond, and let me know, “Hey, me, too,” and that helps, too, because I see that I’m just another normal, fucked up writer. I might even be human.
Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Exfloofagant (catfinition) – something involving cats that exceeds the bounds of reason and necessity.
In use: “Michael was exfloofagant, posting manufactured words about cats every day.”
I like this song for the call and response, and weird title, but this line always bugged me:
You like a four letter words when you’re ready to
But then you won’t ’cause you know that you can
Really? “You like a four letter words…?”
Yes, of all the things out in the world that’s wrong in music, this is the piece wedged in my grammar craw. I always believe the title part, “Armageddon It,” was a piece of misheard words, like “D’yer Mak’er.”
Are you getting it? Armageddon it.
You ever have an annoying epiphany that just keeps stabbing into your thoughts, like that shower scene from the movie, Psycho, complete with the music, despite all the effort you make to shut it out?
Yeah. More coffee?