Write As Though No One Is Reading

I fell in a writing rut for a while--ok, the last three months.  I tend to get really hard on myself when I don't make my goals--whether they're writing goals, fitness goals, academic goals, or personal goals.  I believe that setting goals is a powerful tool.

Sometimes it's a tool I overuse.  Because with this writing break, I believe several things were happening.
1)  I am transitioning mentally from this year-long sabbatical I was given into pursuing another big, challenging goal (going back to school for physical therapy).
2)  I was letting all of the things I have learned about writing novels and publishing them congeal and sort out in my mind.

I did so much research, through reading books and blogs and attending conferences, that my brain overloaded a bit.  Not in a bad way, but enough that when I sat down to write, it felt like my head would explode from all of the things that I was "supposed to do."  Three-act structure, motivation-reaction, characterization, show-don't tell, goals, conflict, raising the stakes--all of the things that make great novels.  When I sat down to write, it felt like all of those things needed to fit into my first draft or I would be a terrible writer.  More than that, I didn't really feel like I had a story to tell.

I'm beginning to realize that I will never really have an idea for "THE STORY"--you know, the one that's so fabulous it's sure to be published.  "THE STORY" is a myth, and it's a dangerous myth.  If a writer was indeed blessed with the perfect story idea, and executed it flawlessly, and it was published to great acclaim, they would be up sh** creek if they didn't have the skill to repeat their success.

I don't want to be that kind of writer.  I want to be the kind of writer who sits down consistently and writes stories.  The better I get at telling stories, the closer I will be to publishing.  But I don't want to make publishing my end-all.  If I want a writing career, the long, profitable kind, I need to be consistently good at what I do.  And I'm not there yet.  I'm accepting that it's going to be a long road, and a joyful road, if I can keep the process fun.

Which brings me to my point:  If I'm going to sit down most every day to write a book, there are going to be lots of days where the writing's no good.  On those days, I need to keep going, because I can't afford to only write when the writing's good.  If I keep that up, I'll end up with another three month dry spell.  I need to write like no one is reading.  And when I remind myself that, in fact, I'm not a published author and there really is no one reading, I feel a kind of weight lift off of my shoulders, and it feels good--I'm free to write as much c-r-a-p as I want, and it doesn't hurt a thing.  That makes me smile.

Save the quitting for tomorrow

Remember my three-week blogging hiatus?  There was a reason.

The short story is that I was insecure and didn't really think it mattered if I wrote or not.

The longer version involves not only my character flaws, but also my husband.  My spouse began blogging about the same time I did.  We have very different blogs, and are attracting different followers.  He's getting google hits like crazy, for random things like "opossum smile" and "spain chocolate."  He already has more followers, more hits, more comments, more likes, more everything.  I am truly, truly happy for him.

And it's driving me crazy.

I know that building a blog following takes time.  It's hard, and I'm so independent that even reaching out online is a challenge for me.  I know that we are blogging for different reasons, and for different audiences.  But every night, he comes home, logs on his dashboard, and begins reciting the wild google search terms that have led strangers to his blog.  He counts the number of hits on his blog, even sometimes the number of spam comments he has collected.  I feel the frustration and jealousy building up so much that it makes me want to hide in a corner.

Yes, I have tried to explain that I would prefer he keep his accolades to himself, until I can get my green-eyed monster under control.  His response was something along the lines of, "Well, what I do shouldn't affect you.  You should be happy for me."

I agree with him.  Intellectually.  But emotionally, my competitive nature that I pretend doesn't exist is seething.  I don't really belong to the "Aim to Win" school of competition.  I tend to pursue the the "Aim to Dominate."  And if I know I can't succeed at total domination, my instinct is to not play.  But if I quit writing, I am really the only one that loses.  (I have a hard time admitting I'm that petty.  I hope that acceptance is the first step towards change...)

I think this is the part where I'm supposed to give a pep talk about writing anyway, no matter how frustrated you are and how much it seems like everyone else in the world will get there before you.  But I don't really feel it at the moment.  Instead, I'd like to offer up a different philosophy:  I can always quit tomorrow.

This philosophy saw me through two years at a high-poverty school.  There were some days that were so hard that I didn't believe I could make it through another day, let alone another year in that situation.  Rather than look ahead, I would make a pact:  I wouldn't quit in the next hour.  Sometimes I felt confident enough to promise myself not to quit that day.  I couldn't promise myself that tomorrow wouldn't be bad enough that I would have to walk away for good.  But in that moment, that day, I could stay.  So I guess I have to recognize that I might need to walk away from writing someday.  Maybe I'll be so frustrated I won't want to keep going.  Maybe I'll be too busy or recognize that I just don't have the talent.  But today is not that day.  Today, I choose to write.  I'll save the quitting for tomorrow.

A bit of rodent decency

Sometimes I feel a discouraged about this world and all of the injustice in it.  And then I come across something inspiring, something that makes the world seem a little brighter and a little kinder.  Today is one of those days.

I came across an article proposing that rats are empathic.  Scientists have shown that rats help each other out in a bind.  They trapped one rat in a tiny cylinder that could only be opened from the outside and put a free mouse in the cage to see what happened.  The free mouse fretted and fussed until they figured out how to open up the cylinder and release their friend.  Not only did the mouse persist in freeing his trapped friend, they celebrated together once he succeeded.  Pretty cool.

How often do I stop to help strangers?  Sometimes I fall short from the high bar established by rodents.  My spouse and I were recently at a gas station filling our tank when a man with an empty gas can came up.  He explained that he had run out of gas and needed a few bucks for gas.  I was immediately suspicious, but my spouse said, "Bring it over and I'll fill it up."  They poor stranded guy filled up the can, walked away to the truck stuck a quarter mile down the street, and we went on our way.  I wondered, though, how long he'd been there.  How many people had he asked for help.  And was he really out of gas or looking for a handout? (My skepticism gets the better of me at times).

Yet less than a week later, my spouse and I found ourselves in a similar situation, only on the other side of the fence.  We blew out a tire on a busy highway Sunday afternoon.  We could have changed the tire, had we had a car jack.  We didn't.  After about twenty cars zoomed by, someone stopped.  It was an older gentleman and his wife.  He stayed for fifteen minutes while we changed the tire and insisted we keep the car jack in case we needed it.  What an incredible guy.  I want to believe that people, and rats, are good at their core, that we want to help people out in a bind.  And every time my belief in human decency is confirmed, I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.