Writing is Hard

"There's nothing to writing. ..All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein." ~Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

The only thing I've ever been really good at is writing. In high school, I was known for it. Creative writing came so naturally to me, that even when I had to present a topical speech for communications class, I could do it easily, overcoming for a few moments my own shyness and discovering I had no fear of public speaking through the filter of my own writing. When I could use my writing to entertain, I was happy to speak in front of the class. Once, when I was a senior, conservatively dressed, looking freshly scrubbed and earnest, I presented a persuasive argument I had written that young women could find a fun and rewarding career in prostitution. Now, neither Gloria Steinem nor my mother would have been amused, but my speech was funny and my classmates and my teacher howled, eradicating my fear of public speaking forever.

Today, besides the effect of my writing on readers (though I'm waiting breathlessly to observe that more widely), I'm intrigued with the process. It interests me, for example, that I can get more work done in line at carpool than I can first thing in the morning with my coffee hot beside me and a house all to myself. But in the car there are no distractions: no dogs longing to be petted, no dishes to load, no laundry to sort. And I don't know if it's true for everyone, but a vacuum is never more appealing than when there is serious work to be done. The second draft of my current manuscript is giving me fits right now but my carpets have never been so free of dog hair. And that original creativity-killing dragon known as television, has been slain by my knight in shining armor, TiVo. TiVo rescued me from the dank obelisk of scheduled programming, freeing me to write on my schedule, comfy in the knowledge that Grey's Anatomy and The Sopranos will be waiting, ready to enjoy guilt-free, when my word count is in for the day.

But, I was discussing process, right? Not distractions from it? Right. Take note that the tangent can be a real distraction from purposeful writing.

Learning about craft is important, to some degree. I've always written, always worked toward finished products, always dreamt of publication but, until a year ago, I didn't realize how much was on the internet for writers. I had separate parts of my brain for each, writing time and goofing off online time and never the twain shall meet. When I was close to finishing the first draft of my last manuscript, I decided to look around online just to see if maybe I could find a little information about publishers or agents. What a doofus I was. Days of research later, I was a member of RWA, an applicant for a scholarship to the National convention in Atlanta, and had a whole group of online compatriots who shared revision tips, brainstorming techniques, and support for each other as easily as neighbors exchanging cups of sugar over the fence line. For awhile, craft dominated my study-time each day. I learned from it, but sometimes too much emphasis on craft can take away from the story and, in my world, story is paramount. I don't write literature. I write stories. But genre is another discussion altogether.

An online community is a real help as writing is such a fiercely solitary activity. I can't discuss an early work in progress for fear of killing the buzz of writing it in the first place, but neither can I focus on anything else. Friendships suffer during weeks of good revisions when every sentence and plot twist makes me giggle. I completely neglect friends and family who don't live right under my nose. The two men who do live under my nose tend to suffer during those times because any interruption (is it the testosterone that makes men unable to find their own things?) could cause a pivotal idea to twirl right out of my head. I don't mean to be bitchy about it, really. But I am just the same.

Fun as it may be, the process of writing is an enormous leap of faith. There are no guarantees that I will ever sell anything, much less make a career of writing. There aren't even any guarantees that I'll be able to finish every story I start. My last manuscript of about 85K words took about a year, revisions and all. I'm six months and 56K words into the new book and it's good. I'm through the first draft and working on revisions. But there's no ending because I don't yet know how it ends. There's more of the story to be written and I know the ending to this book will be just as satisfying as that of my last, but I have no idea what that ending is. What I do know is if I keep filling in the story, keep lining up the subplots, keep embellishing the overall plot, the end will arrive. I have that faith.

The writing process for any writer is individual, but the joy of immersion into a story that's spinning out of your head faster than you can type it must be universal. Otherwise, why do it? Why put yourself out there? Writing is basically that well-known dream of being stripped naked in public come to life, and as often as the joy appears, there are more times when it's a painful, introspective process. How much easier it would be if you could pick and choose which feelings to display. But you can't. Not if you're going to be truthful. As far as I can tell, that's what leads to the dreaded writer's block. And I'm not touching that topic. That's just whistling up trouble.