Faith as a Writer

 

Welcome to IWSG Day. The goal of this blog hop is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a haven for insecure writers of all kinds. IWSG is the brainchild of the amazing and generous Alex Cavanaugh. Thank you to the June co-hosts: SE White, Cathrina Constantine, Natalie Aguire, Joylene Nowell Butler, and Jacqui Murray!

June’s optional question: When the going gets tough writing the story, how do you keep yourself writing to the end? If you have not started the writing yet, why do you think that is and what do you think could help you find your groove and start?

The title of my very first blog post was “I Can Do This.” All these years later that theme continues to resonate through my writing life. Joyce Carol Oates wrote a book called Faith of a Writer. In truth, it’s not my favorite book on craft, but the title has always resonated with me. Faith in my writing allows me to slog through many a story-struggle because once I get something down, I know the result can be edited. So many initial and fairly awful attempts end up deleted or changed beyond recognition, but as long as there is something to work with, I know forward progress is possible. Case in point, my current novel was inspired by a small glass bottle we dug up from our backyard. That bottle has long disappeared from the story, but a draft novel resulted from that initial passage.

Sometimes, when the effort feels notably painful, rather than decide I can’t write, I give myself permission to think. Recently my writing group suggested one of my characters wasn’t giving my story complexity. I agreed but didn’t know how to give it to her. I spent many middle-of-the-night-I-can’t-sleep-hours pondering her—letting her drift around my mind until she obliged me by fleshing herself out. Once I make the changes those think-sessions suggested, she’ll be less wallpaper paste and become more of the pattern itself.

And finally, on pieces like this blog post when often I have no idea what I want to say, I start by writing stream of conscious. Most of that ends up as a pile of discarded word glop—which happened to the entire paragraph with which I initially started today’s post. But once I get something down, a nugget appears that informs me of the direction in which I need to go, and I follow its lead. The fun part is more often than not, I end up in a totally different place than where I thought I would land.

It’s a little like sculpting. I chisel away, cutting, pasting and editing, knowing the right words will emerge as long as I trust they are there.


How do you keep writing when the going gets tough?

When Nothing Comes, Something has to Go

The brass clock clicks on noon as I lean my head on the wooden shelf of my cubby and wait for the words to come. Inhale. The edge of the panel digs into my temple. No topic today, though there’s is a whirlpool inside--ideas relating to two small projects I am in the middle of. I’m on hold with both and finding it difficult to force my focus elsewhere.

I could, I suppose, wander down the carpeted steps to the basement and the laundry that I put in while my daughter was in the shower this morning. I forget. I always do. By the time I remember, its 6:10 a.m., I’ve got no clean socks, and it will go another day if I don’t gather it up. Right. Now. At least I turned the water to “cold wash” so the resulting trickle in the shower was lukewarm. Sorry to say, the words I received upon our daughter’s exodus were not.

Our basement however, is the cat’s domain. She crawls on top of the vinyl boat cushions my husband stores in the rafters and sleeps until mid-afternoon. If I wake her, I’m in for it. She’ll stand by me at my writing chair, winding herself in and out through my legs, yowling. If I try to pick her up, she’ll run away. She might let me pet her, but that inhibits the typing and though she purrs while I stroke her, one second too long and she nips my legs. The laundry will have to wait my friends. In the drier. Tomorrow. 6:10 a.m.

Earlier, I was able to pull my thoughts from the freelance work long enough for a final review on a essay for an on line contest—I adapted a blog post from a few months ago and have spent weeks polishing it up. Today I dared to press send. I don’t expect to win, but am patting myself on the back. In truth, I could wait another six weeks and still find changes to the piece, because writing is never done. But at some point, you have to have faith that your baby can manage away from you, even though you’ll bite your nails with worry and pray it puts on a good showing.

Writing, in so many ways, is about letting go. You have to trust that you’ve nurtured and cherished the piece long enough to let it out to the real world—that along the way, it has absorbed the best lessons you’ve learned—which is something I can’t give myself credit for with today’s Middle Passages post.

Do you post on your blog when you are clearly stumped?