Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I was expecting another fast and furious writing session. That’s one of those times when the muses pile in, dictating so urgently that all you can do is type and hope to keep up.
After studying myself extensively, I know there’s a lot that I don’t know about myself. I know that my moods and energy levels cycle, though, and that I often go through a dark period that lasts about two days, where I become pessimistic, bitter, and angry. I also know that I go through a period of buoyancy as well, whenever, when the sky is the limit. It’s about being aware of those cycles and the peaks and troughs, and managing myself through them. And, I know that although I write almost every day, my writing energy also runs in cycles.
First, about writing almost every day. I try to write every day. It’s my intention and effort to go, order coffee, sit down, and write. I push hard to do it. Existence intervenes. Doctor’s appointments, social engagements, holidays, family obligations and other things all provide obstacles. I try to work around them, but sometimes, I fail.
I used to hate it when I failed to write. Part of the hate was the fear that, if I don’t write every day, I’ll lose whatever meager skills I’ve acquired. Now, either because I mock my skill level or whatever, that fear is much less. It might take a little more time and thought to encourage the muses to arrive after a long writing break, but they generally do come in. I’ve become more familiar with their ways and the signals they give off when they approach. I’m a bit better at letting them in.
By the way, the longest break from writing every day this year is four days.
Because I think about myself in general and my writing often, trying to make sense out of who I am, what affects me, and how it affects me (especially given how my body has changed through the years), I know about the cycles. So I was ready for an energetic writing session to strike.
One point about that, though, gives me pause: do I make the writing cycle happen out of expectations and investing more in myself, and extending a greater effort, or does it actually come about on its own?
I’m not positive, but I believe that like many things, there’s a bit of both in it, and that what’s true one time is probably not true the next time.
Today, though, was an exciting and intense writing session, sweeping me out of here and deeply into the imaginary existence that I’m writing about. It was one of those sessions that are so fantastic, they’re addictive, because it encourages hope that this can happen every day. That’s not how highs work, though.
There are some drawbacks. First, didn’t drink my coffee. A third of it is gone, but that’s all. Small price, right?
Two, I’m suffering from writer’s butt. My Fitbit reminded me to get up and walk each hour. I said, “Okay, in a minute. Just let me finish this sentence.” Next thing I know, ten minutes and several hundred words have passed. Oh, well.
Good day of writing like crazy. Time to go on and address other aspects of life and living, like, you know, eating. Cheers.
I’ve learned more about myself, again. I’m happy to report this. I think it’s important to recognize that we’re always changing. That means that we always have some mystery about who we are that we need to confront and resolve. (At least I do, but I suppose others like to leave some mystery to themselves.) Some changes are as slow to witness as a snail’s progress across a patio. Other changes can be seen like a meteor’s flash in the August night.
One thing that I’ve learned is why I like editing, a lesson learned and forgotten. Writing like crazy in my finest efforts is primal, immersive, and intense. It’s also rewarding. Reward is associated with solving problems that are created as part of exploring the plot and understanding the characters. Reward also comes from the tangible progress of putting words onto pages until hundreds of pages are done and a novel is completed. That’s very tangible and satisfying.
Editing, though, lacks that sense of progress and reward of writing like crazy. I miss both of those things. But I’ve found that the editing process grounds me. As it’s more relaxing than writing because it’s less intensive, it has a gentler and more reflective quality in it.
Writing like crazy is also exhausting. That might seem strange to people who don’t know how much thinking is involved in writing. Editing, being less exhausting, leaves me with more free energy. Weirdly, I don’t know how to use that energy. I end up reading more. Conversely, reading more triggers the write-like-crazy impulse in me. But I’m editing, so I need to shun that. It’s a frustrating dynamic.
There is a sense of progress inherent in editing. It’s measured in the number of pages and chapters read, the number of notes made to check on this, and the number of those items that become resolved and checked off. But creative writing is problem-solving; editing isn’t, to me, so different areas of my brain are engaged. When I’m editing, I’m mostly reading. Remembering, I’m reading and editing my own work. I’m familiar with it. That’s exactly why others need to edit it for me when I’m satisfied that the draft is sufficiently complete to hand it off to someone to edit.
Done editing for the day. Not a great deal was accomplished in the sense that I didn’t cover many pages. (Ten, actually, when I go back to see how many I read.) That was because I discovered a name was spelled incorrectly. I was surprised to find that I’d spelled it wrong in the manuscript and in my bible of information. Global find and replace was needed, but to reach that point required research and decisions about which spelling to use.
That’s editing though, finding and correcting the mistakes, along with revising the story to improve flow and clarify.
At least in my mind.
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.
You ever been writing and catch fire? The words blaze through you and onto the page, forcing you to do your best to keep up. It’s an exhausting but exuberant process, oddly like scoring a touchdown or do something else that requires focus, attention, and energy.
Then you stop writing to attend to the mundane requirements of life, but the writing doesn’t stop. It keeps flowing. Changing metaphors, it’s like rivers overflowing its banks, flooding you with more of the story that you’re writing. Great, but so damn distracting, because it’s consuming your energy, removing you from normal conversations and interactions. You become short-tempered and irritated with others because your energy is pouring into the writing pouring into you.
And then, it won’t stop at the day’s end. Your body and brain are ready for sleep, but the writing continues in your mind, refusing to be stopped.
I’m not complaining, though, just pointing out that sometimes, those muses can be wickedly aggressive.
Okay, time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
It’s just like, suddenly, a volcano erupts. Words flow into my mind, demanding to be put down. All is seen and heard, and the path ahead is clear. Focus and concentration swell like a romantic song, and the urge to write is a fire. An internal little engine begins chugging, I must do it, I must do it, I must write, I must get it done. And, yeah, the mixed metaphors are appropriate to convey the complexities.
Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Hey writers, Ever experience one of those days when small matters happen and escalate in your head? People and animals seem to act unreasonable. You spill something, clean it up, only to spill something else within a few minutes? And the news makes you want to take the vacuum cleaner and suck your brains right out of your head. Then you discover, look at the time, you’re well behind what you’d planned and now you need to rush, but things keep happening to detour and divert you, fueling greater exasperation and frustration.
No?
Well, I’ve had that sort of morning. It’s only minor things, but it’s distracting, enervating and debilitating. In fact, it’s downright degenerating.
Tell you what I’m going to do about it.
I’m taking all that frustration, bitterness, anger, resentment, despair, exasperation, well, all that negative shit spinning me around like a food processor on frappe, and I’m channeling it. I’m putting that crap into my own box and converting that energy into something helpful.
To do it, I have an imaginary bucket. Metal, painted purple with bright blue and yellow trim, it holds about five gallons. Rebel is written in orange cursive writing on its side. I scoop all that negative energy out of my aura and the air around me and put it into my imaginary purple bucket. Then I mime washing that crap clean, because I’m going to re-purpose it, but I want it clean.
Next, I have an imaginary red plastic funnel. I connect it to the imaginary port on the the side of my head. (Note: the head is real.) My imaginary port is up on the right side of the rear of my rear skull, above and behind my ear. (Note: the ear is real.) The port isn’t easily reached but my hat — which is real — covers it so people don’t stare at it, so I like it there.
Holding the funnel connected to my port up, I pour that bucket of negative energy into the funnel. The port has an imaginary tube inside my head. The tube leads to my energy transmogrifier. Originally invented by that amazing scientific team, Calvin & Hobbes, the transmogrifier can turn anything into anything else. Today, I’m changing that negative energy into positive writing energy. Once the transmogrifier has done its work, I press an imaginary button on an imaginary panel. The panel has a wireless connection to the transmogrifier. Once the button is pressed, the transmogrifier releases that fresh writing energy into my bloodstream and nervous system.
It feels great. It feels like I’m sitting on a warm, comfortable beach being courted by a wide aquamarine sea that teases me with a balmy, fresh breeze. An cloudless, azure sky acts as an umbrella against the world’s evil, mundane, and hate. I sip an icy cold IPA, just because, close my eyes and sigh with contentment.
Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
It’s good to push sometimes. For me, that’s especially true for physical activities.
Feel that burn, baby. Feel the muscles demanding, cease and desist already. Meanwhile, you make promises. “Come on, just five more.” You count them down and your muscles and joints respond. Then you urge, “Five more!”
“No,” they shout back, but still they try, damn it, and you go on like this with the sweat beading, streaming and dripping, stinging your eyes and flavoring your lips with a salty essence as your heart attempts to free itself through your sternum and your pulse thunders in your temples, until the end is reached and you are spent, and you sit, limp, breathing hard, but smiling.
I used to do this, too, with projects in the military and with my various employers. One more hour, I’d promise myself, my wife, my friends as the work day ended and darkness fell, but I’d need to keep working, keep going, chugging coffee, concentrating, head down and all in, until, fini. All would be amazed, asking, “You did that in one day?”
Yeah. I was ‘ate up’ as we liked to say in the military.
I don’t do that with fiction writing. Yesterday was a beautiful, glorious writing day. Finishing and editing one chapter, I saw the sources for five chapters – this is where they begin. I saw the chapter titles and the essence of their chapters and how the five flowed to form the confluence of the novel’s climax. So I wrote notes to capture the gist. As I did, specifics for the chapters came into my head, so I wrote random paragraphs for each, capturing scenes, dialogue exchanges, and sharp special moments. This went on and on. It seemed like an endless stream. I thought, “If I push this, I can write these five chapters today.”
But no; I don’t do this with my writing. After debating it and accepting the decision, I wondered why. I knew the why but I wanted something more tangible for me to understand. As I walked après-writing, I concluded creative energy is different from physical, mental and emotional energy (or time energy, but that would be a huge other post). I can only address it from my point of view, but I have my writing history, along with my drawing and painting history, to see how I approach creative activities differently than other activities. Yes, in my employed life, I often used this creative approach to decide how to tackle issues and situations, but once engaged, the creative energy was no longer required.
Perhaps it’s only me; we’re all different. Even though the end results, words in some media, look the same, we came to it in unique, individual ways. For me, the creative energy is deeper and more taxing to draw out, even when it starts gushing. I’ve come to understand, accept and respect that.
But this is a new day. Fortunately, I can draw fresh creative energy almost every day. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
I’ve long adhered to a few basic ideas. I want to think them out, so I need to write about them.
First, I have basic cycles. Yes, this is the basic emotional, intelligence and physical bio-rhythms. I know, and can feel them, waxing and waning.
I can tell when they all plummet together; at those times, I can’t get my shit together. It feels like I’m on the verge of spiraling out of control as I bounce through near-calamities, barely avoiding disastrous results.
It is not a good time.
I’ve become more aware of these cycles as I’ve aged. I don’t think they’re increasing in strength but that, as I’ve become aware of them, I’m paid greater attention to them, and from doing so, can sense their changes.
I can tell when they all come together; I feel fantastic and optimistic when they all rise and converge.
But, besides those cycles, I’ve recognized a few more energies within me: dreaming, social, writing, memory and creativity.
After observing my dreaming cycles for the past few months, I saw the pattern today. While I’m a veritable dream machine, the intensity, number and ability to remember them fluctuates. A pattern has emerged of going up and down through several weeks.
Social energy is harder to define. I think it has a pattern as well, but I have a naturally low social energy. Another blogger pointed me toward a post that queried, “Are you empath?” Of their thirty points, I was nonplussed to see how many seemed to apply to me, or that I applied to myself. One of the aspects identified was how being around others drain me. I’ve always known that. I find being with others hugely taxing. I find corners and the edges, where I can avoid the rest and shield myself from their energy and guard my own.
Which ties in with my creative energy. I’ve always been aware ‘on some level’ of my creative energy. I feel it most powerfully when it surges, and have always felt it. There is a cause and effect relationship inherent in it; I enjoyed being creative as a child. Being creative was encouraged in school and by the family. Drawing, painting, musical instruments, writing short stories, they lived it all, so I did it all. Besides that, creative activities could be done in solitude and solitude was accepted for these activities. Pursuing them allowed me to avoid socializing, which drained me. I ask myself, though, if I hadn’t been creative, encouraged to be creative and then pursued being creative, would I be more social? Perhaps so, but in reflection, exercising creativity has always been a joy. I think being creative is my natural path.
Writing energy is a bit different from the others. I’ve coaxed and nurtured my writing energy to develop. It seems like it resides in me but it’s a latent energy that needed to be brought out. Writing energy is harder to maintain because it is even more solitary than creative energy. I’ve learned a few tricks through the years to identify and maintain my writing energy but it seems to have sudden rises and plunges. I’m still learning to see and feel the rises and plunges coming on, and I continue to probe myself for the cycle.
All of these energies, however, are dependent on having enough sleep, eating properly and exercising. When these areas are taken care of, then I’m able to maximize an energy when it rises. Conversely, if I don’t take care of these areas, I’m not able to maximize them. Worse, when I’m in a trough, I feel it more acutely.
Writing and creativity energy are waxing now, so I blame them for this post. See, I’ve been intensely writing and creating. I woke up thinking about Hendrik Lorenz and Chi-particles.
Then it all went from there.
Michael Seidel, writer 