fivecats | Parlour Tricks

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Entry tags:

dreadful,
writing

Parlour Tricks

1925
February 2006 Raleigh, NC
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When I sit down to type out an entry, say, like this one, I simply sit and I type. The words flow fairly easily, with few hesitations or concerns. I think, I type. Pretty simple, really. People I used to write letters to told that my writing reads much the way I talk (to me this means "full of grandeous self-importance, occasional humor and overly long complex sentences that make me really glad I never learned how to diagram a sentence because I might feel bad about how overly long and awkward they really were.") which I regarded as a compliment.

So then why is "real" writing so dangedably difficult?

I'll spare you the whining,
After putting a lot of time and effort into long, long blog entries that would take days to write and re-write, I stopped blogging completely to devote my time to writing my Victorian-era kids novel. That was the theory, at any rate. I got a rough draft of a part of the first chapter written down (now lost) and then found myself seeking out all sorts of other distractions to keep me from writing.

Writing letters and blog entries is just so much easier.

And then, last August a good LJ friend (who I hope doesn't mind me anonymously quoting him) wrote to me, praising my writing in my blog entries and posed a question to me that stopped me in my tracks.

"I'll ask you the same question someone asked me a decade ago: With all your magical talents, do you you really want to spend your time doing nothing but simple parlor tricks?"

Man, I just hate it when someone nails me like that.

No. Of course not. Hasn't that been the goal all along? Getting published?

Still, I find that I'm very comfortable with one style of writing (self-obsessed ranting and raving, turning Real Life into personal narratives) and original fiction is like, well, worse than pulling teeth.

The other night I sat down to write out the first chapter of the Victorian-era book. It's a scene I've played over and over in my head for well over a year. It's a good scene, a good start to the book, with action and more than enough confusion to keep the reader interested and wanting to read more. When I started writing all that was coming out was stilted, dry, boring prose. No, actually, it was worse. It was dismal, pathetic and dreadful. Horrid.

However, I resisted the tempation to CTRL + A, Delete everything. Instead, I dutifully saved what I had written and walked away from it, trying to figure out what had gone so horribly wrong.

A couple of years ago I had a job interview with RIT for a teaching position. As part of the day-long interview I had to give a 45-minute lecture on a subject of my (their) choosing. XML was the topic of choice and I frantically learned everything I could about the relatively new markup language. I then learned PowerPoint, created my lecture slides and started rehearsing. I rehearsed in front of friends at work, at the airport, on the airplane, in the hotel room the night before. Just before the lecture was supposed to start I took a few minutes to review the slides... and it was if I'd never seen this material before. All of my clever, witty insights? Gone. Any semblance of understanding the information, much less being able to communicate it? Wa-a-a-a-ay gone.

I fumbled through the first few slides, committing the PowerPoint sin of reading exactly what was written on the slides. Then, after a few minutes, I hit a stride and, managing to shut my conscious mind off, I was able to get through the rest of the lecture about as cleanly as possible.

Performance anxiety, pure and simple. Big crowd of college professors sitting in judgement of me, sitting between me and my dream of becomming a college professor.

I can stand in front of a large audience and be comfortable -- heck, I taught for enough years to not have that bother me much anymore. Still, when it counts, at least in my mind, I panic and freeze up.

I've decided that the "you have got to be kidding" bit of writing that I did for the first chapter needs to be viewed as the barest of frameworks for the house I'm eventually going to be building. I just need to get the ideas down there and then start idenitifying and filling in the holes. Those large, cavernous holes.

I've also backtracked and started sketching out those first scenes, identifying what's missing (any sense of place, time, the smells, lighting, dress, etc) and begun making notes on where to insert these all-important items.

I know I can do this. It's just being far harder than I thought it was going to be.

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YOu're a brave, brave man. I can't see myself writing anything longer than short stories, and even that is a stretch. A decade ago I challenged myself to write something more than my usual one-page peice. I wrote 4 pages. Good, but stiff stiubbornly short.

Since falling in love with Alex my inner muse has been unusually quiet, and LJ constitutes almost all my writing since then. It's a bit depressing and I ofetn find myself wondering where my imagination has run off to...

Anyway, aside from all that, I think it's antastic that you're even attempting a novel. If you ever want someone to read through and split the hairs, then I'll offer my services. I'll even attempt to restrain myself from 'correcting' American spellings. =op

Never underestimate the power of SmileyProse. The two of you,

smileyfish and

fivecats are among my favorite writers. Period. Your styles are vastly different of course, but you each pull me into the moment, if that makes any sense.

Muses are unpredictable things.

I've had a few ideas on things to write about, but many have been more memoir-ish in nature. Some of those have gotten treatments, initially, as entries here. I feel far more confident about writing some of these things.

The few fiction ideas that have formed in my mind strongly enough to think about writing about have been difficult to work on. The last one suffered a similar fate as this one, with me getting exasperated at how bad the writing was. (Mind you, in the intervening years I've thought through a lot of the plot holes and internal logic of the story so it's considerably stronger than it was when I started writing it. Maybe one day I'll even try to finish it)

Love is a wonderful thing for life in general. It is, however, something that does tend to put a damper on certain artistic outlets. I think this happens, in part, because (a) you're happy and (b) have a reduced need to Express Yourself to a wide audience. Also, that need for acceptance for who and what you are is already being taken care of by the person who loves you back.

Your imagination is still there, it's just that your mind it too preoccupied with other things right now. Some sort of event thingy happening in April or so...

When I'm ready for critical readers, I'll keep your offer in mind. (As for the spelling, I'll just smugly be grateful that you "think it's antastic" that I'm writing) :-)

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I think you're right just to get the bloody ideas down on paper, especially any parts that are fun to write, however badly they come out, and then let your obsessive side take it from there through the really frustrating remodeling. Encourage your editorial alter ego by only playing They Might Be Giants when you're working on the book. Or better yet, play Slaughter when you're not working on the book. Apart from ending your marriage, I bet that would be a good strategy.

As for American vs. English spelling, I was so proud this weekend for solving one clue in the London Times crossword to get "labourer." Couldn't do the rest of course.

-Dribbling Drew

Actually, I'm finding music of just about any kind immensely distracting when I sit down to write this book. Music abounds when I'm writing blog entries, but this is, again, something wholly different.

As for the Times crossword, I tend to stick with the clean logic of numbers and Sudoku these days.

...

Tom, you are a natural writer, with far more talent than many of those who call themselves "writers" here. It comes easy to you, it's clear, except when you want to sit down and write the great american novel. Or variations therof.

I'm no writer so I can offer you very little in the way of advice - except perhaps not to try too hard. I'm scared that by doing so you'll destroy what is innately yours - the ability to string words together entirely naturally, unforced and with wit and passion.

And I'll be the first to buy the book!

Robbie,

I agree with what you've said except for one phrase...

"I'm no writer..."

:-)

Agreed.

...

I've ranted and raved for so many years that I doubt I'll ever lose the ability to do so at the drop of any hat on most any subject. Even the longer, more seriously personal blog entries have come pretty easily. It's the "create a new world and make it believable" part that I find myself stumbling over. Badly.

A story like my last day with Bjorn had obvious power and emotions to it. The trick, for me, was to express my doubts, my grief, my deep, deep regrets in such a way that treated both Bjorn and my readers with the respect that was deserved. Throughout that writing, though, the world we inhabited didn't need a lot of explanation. Much of it was understood, and those parts that, upon closer examination might not have been so well understood, were at least glossed over by the emotion behind the story.

Here I don't have that luxury. I'm trying to recreate 1850's Victorian England, both the richer West End and the slums of the East End. And the people, the fashions, the housing, the working conditions, the sights, the smells and everything else that's necessary for making the world created therein real. It's pretty daunting.

Several years back I tried my hand at another book idea. Bonn read the first two chapters and said, "You know what's wrong with this? It isn't funny. At all. You're a humourous writer and this doesn't read like it's from you." For that story she was right. For this one, there's sparce little humour to be found in it -- but the overall point is that I'm not sure it has my voice. Yet.

I think I just have to work at finding my Fiction Voice. Having leaned so heavily on my Rant&Rave Voice for so long it'll take some work. Still, I knew what I was writing about Bjorn wasn't humourous, but it was controlled and right.

It's in me somewhere. I just have to calm down and get out of the way enough to let it come out.

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Well of course it's hard. If it was easy then everyone would be doing it. :-)

So write the book already. Don't let the fun part of the writing get away from you.

You'll edit it later, anyway (and so will your ultimate publisher). But the first draft is for you.

Scott

The first draft may be for me, but I have pretty high and exacting standards for myself. Very high standards, truth be told.

I really don't want to be one of those type of writers who has to have everything exactly perfect on Page One before I can go on to Page Two, but I'm thinking that might be the case. At least the first chapter. If nothing else, I need to prove to myself that I can capture the right tone, the right feel for what's going on in my head on paper.

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it is difficult yes! and then on top of that you ghave to schedule writing time. lol!
a big encouraging hug from me. :-)

Scheduling the writing time is a bit tough. Learning to write for extended periods of time with a heavy cat in my lap is another thing, too. (My back and hips aren't as young as they used to be, I'm afraid)

and thanks :-)

...

I'm glad you still have dreams and aspirations.

Yeah. However, the wet, dull thwacking THUD of them slamming, full force of the brick wall of reality is a bit much to take.

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I've never been moved to even try. How sad is that?

What's the story behind the map of London?

It looks like it must be fairly old. Rotherhithe and the Isle of Dogs look like they're just fields.

Correct. It's a map done from 1924 - 1926. It's as close to 1850 as I could find at the time.

And don't be fooled by the color -- my low res toy camera doesn't do any white balance correction.

...

The story is set in 1850 London, hence the map.

Actually, the map is from 1924-1926, but that was as close as I could find at the time. I printed out all of the separate pdf pages, cut them out, taped them together and put it on a backing of cardboard. It hung in our bedroom for a long time. Now it's in my writing room to serve as a reference guide for me.

Mind you, I'm finding what I really need is a Victorian-era expert to ask very specific questions. I know that significant parts of the historical aspects of the story will end up being fictionalized as well, but I would like as much of it as possible to be accurate.

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Here's London in 1830: http://www.motco.com/Map/81003/
And one from 1859: http://www.ph.ucla.edu/epi/snow/1859map/

I've actually found a color map of 1850, but I need a decent color printer to print it out on.

I'll definitely look into these maps, though. Thanks.

I panic every time I sit down to my laptop. Every single time. It's like trying to get water out of a rusted pump. The stuff that comes out first, slowly and painfully, is a nasty brown color.

But then, after an hour or so, the clearer water flows a little more easily.

After an hour I was wondering what the h3ll I was doing, who I'd been trying to kid for all of these years and why it hadn't been so painfully obvious all these years that parlour trick was all I was capable of, ever had been capable of and ever would be capable of.

I don't think I've ever been so disgusted with myself.

I think I'm going to have to get the first scene/chapter all but pristine before I can continue. I know it's just going to eat away at me (as it is now) and distract me from going any further.

And to think I thought writing was fun at one point.

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I can barely put together two or three paragraphs about my day anymore, forget about spelling and punctuation, even though I used to proofread and help produce a magazine at one time. YOU write so well, and I think
have the muse's on your side, so I think the plan to block it out and fill in is a sound one, just don't think about the anxiety, follow the plan.((((((hugs))))))

There's something about this writing that matters so much to me. In my mind it's "real" writing, not this fluff and nonsense that I do here. Suddenly I have all of these things that need to have attention paid to them -- character, motivation, character development, setting, addressing the 5 senses to make it all come alive...

Really, it's far easier to rant and rave here and pretend I'm being astute and amusing.

Another section of Anne Lamott's excellent "Bird by Bird" talks about turning radio station KF*CKed off in your head. It's the continual voice that tells you you're a worthless piece of sh*t who not only can't write but is widely disliked, laughed at behind your back, pathetically unloved and will end up dying alone and cold in a gutter so you might as well just give it all up and go lie in the gutter now and get it all over with.

I have to learn to turn that radio station off in my head.

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Ain't that the truth?

I have had many of those same "wow you're a really good writer" type comments, insomuch as I write the way I speak.

I am not nearly creative enough to come up with fiction. This I know, and so I salute you.

I started trying to write fiction back when I was in 2nd or 3rd grade. I understood how fiction worked, what was required and I knew that I could do it.

Somewhere in my early 20s I stopped writing much of anything. That's when the gears got all rusty and ground to a stop. Trying to get then greased up again is a bigger task than I thought it would be.

(As for yourself, do you really write as perky and energetic as you sound on the radio?) :-)

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Oh please. When have you seen me write anything "perky and energetic"?

Ok, energetic, maybe. But perky?

Don't make me puke.

I am NOT perky.

Then you describe your Sunday Afternoon Clear Channel Approved voice.

...

You just did.

"Sunday Afternoon Clear Channel Approved voice."

:P

Yeah, "perky."

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Whatever. :P

My brother, who tried to write a 'factional' book about a co-op established by our father and other soldier-settler farmers described it as like 'eating an elephant' and realised that it could only be done one mouthful at a time.

Like you, I write great letters, but have no ambition to push myself any further than that. I admire your tenacity, and I'm sure that in the fullness of time you will achieve your goal. Perhaps you are trying too hard. After all, when you are blogging you feel totally relaxed and the words flow freely. I'm sure it is somehow a matter of making a 'mind switch' and it will happen

I've wanted to write fiction for years, since I was a fairly young kid. After I stopped writing in my early twenties I became satisfied with letters and journal entries as a way of kick-starting the process again.

I took one blog entry, rewrote and edited it and had it published in a local free journal. It was good to see myself in print again (what's 20 years between bylines?) and it sparked the desire to do something big.

The basics of the story came in a pretty sudden rush and, since then, it's been trying to get enough research done to where I felt confident that I could handle the story.

Now it's finding the confidence to write it and finding the patience to not be perfect right off the bat.

I like the eating an elephant one spoonful at a time metaphor. It definitely works for me. (Vegetarian that I am) :-)

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(deleted comment)

Yet another Anne Lamott bit of writing wisdom from "Bird by Bird" (which I've mentioned at least once here) is the idea of looking at your story in a one inch frame. Just write what little you can see in that one inch frame. Don't worry about the other things going on outside the frame -- not yet, at least. For now, just do this one little bit.

The first scene is probably a bit too big of a frame to be looking at right now. Last night I wrote out a list of things that were missing from the first scene and I think that helped me. Seeing it all on the screen gave me a starting point to work from. Include these vital scene-setting elements and things will begin to get better.

I wrote my Master's Thesis in an upstairs room of the house we were living in at the time. I leaned up against a wall and spread piles of papers around me in a semi-circle and hand-wrote it all from that vantage point (with David Sylvian's "Secrets of the Beehive" playing endlessly on tape nearby). Compared with this, that was easy. That was all facts and/or personal interpretations of pre-determined visual media (tv shows).

I know enough, I think, to make this story believable, interesting and entertaining. It's just getting the danged words out that's the problem.

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Do you remember writing that line? It was back in Ms, Nemecek's class when she had us do a "write one line and pass it around" story-writing exercise.

And have you read Ernest Hemingway's A Moveable Feast? It his memoir, in smallish essentially blog-sized sections, of his life as a 20 something getting starteda sa writer while living in Paris. My sister recommended it to me and while reading it last year (and this) I kept thinking it provided a model for a way for you to create two books using your blog entries as starting points (one on reflections from the 1970s and 1980s (check the sub-title to A Moveable Feast) and the other of your observations on your life today (defining "today" as beginning when you and Bonnie got together). It struck me that this might be a transitional way for you to work on your book creating skills without having to start from scratch (plus I think these would be great books).

On your novel I can scatter-shoot a few ideas (as time grows short): I would suggest that doing research to make the book "real" is unnecessary: there's no one alive who can say "that's not the way I remember it" and, more importantly, your story needs to be believable more than it needs to be "real" . . . (painful as it is for someone who reveres history to say) . . . I would also suggest that a perfect or even near perfect opening chapter is not necessarily the only way to start writing a novel, it seems to me that the first chapter you write doesn't even necessarily need to end up in your final draft of the book; maybe it's more of a launch pad and you need it down on paper (which it is) so that your writing can get to the real stuff: the craft that is being launched (in other words, Neil Armstrong didn't say his little piece by stepping off a launch pad onto the lunar surface) . . . I'd guess that you're writing is and will be at its best when it flows rather than when you intellectually construct it . . . finally, here's a site I heard about that offers some mid-19th century British magazines on-line www.bodley.ox.ac.uk/ilej/

You do have the knack.

I'm not exactly why this line made me laugh so much when I read it this afternoon, nor why I'm still laughing at it this evening. I can't even exactly remember writing it -- although I do have a vague recollection of someone (Julie...??), ten minutes or so after I wrote the line, reading it aloud with a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

And then, of course, all fingers immediately pointing at me.

One of my recent reoccuring lines about my job is that for the first time in my 'career' my opinion is sought out, listened to and acted upon. While this is a wonderful thing, I've also learned that the other edge of this particular sword is that I can't sit in the back of the class and make smart-a$$ remarks the way I've done for most of my life. The people I work with aren't used to me yet and I don't want to damage the high regard they have for me. Just yet, at any rate.

Oh, and want a laugh? Check out the last bullet point and the names cited in the last example on this page: http://journalism.okstate.edu/courses/jb1143/bibliography.html

As for the novel, the first chapter is well set out. I'm well aware of the notion that the first chapter is often just a 'starting point' or a practice run at things. I've mapped out this first chapter so many times, though, and know exactly how and why it's supposed to proceed that I'm well set with it. Happily well set with it, in fact. Now I just have to write/edit the danged thing to a point where I'm happy with it.

There is a huge difference between the writing I'm doing here and the writing I need to do with the novel. This is all about me ranting and raving, telling old stories and new ones, but not needing to go into a whole lot of explaination on certain things. The novel, however, is entirely dependent up on me to set the scenes, give sufficient setting descriptions and character motivation and development. I have to make things happen and that's dangedably more difficult than I thought it was going to be.

There's an old '70s book called "The Inner Game of Tennis" that I reference a lot. The book teaches the idea that once you learn how to perform all of the strokes in tennis -- the forehand, the backhand, the serve and the overhead -- and then learn the basic strategy of the court, you know how to play the game. All that's left is to be very zen about it, get your mind out of the way and just allow yourself to play the game. Mistakes come when you start thinking about things too much.

I know this is part of my problem with writing -- and it's something that does not happen here.

And, actually, Neil Armstrong's famous phrase was written for him before he ever left the planet -- and he managed to flub the line. :-)

Thanks for the link to the magazines. They're great!

And, a long, long time ago I wrote up my favorite Mrs. Nemecek story as a part of my "Overly Long Annotated Autobiography." I did a longer treatment of it in a letter to a friend. I'm thinking, now that I think I've found her online (I had the spelling of her name ever-so-slightly wrong) that I should re-write it and post it, then anonymously email her the link. Know which one I'm talking about?

Thanks for the insights and support. I really appreciate it.

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"Yum, yum, pass the ketchup."

Re: "Yum, yum, pass the ketchup."