I wrote last fall about how I was starting over from the
beginning, to learn to write again. I’d been writing seriously for almost 10 years, but my career didn’t reflect that. A lot of
things had happened during that decade, from the personal to the global and
back again, that had set me back and hindered my idea of success; I remember feeling that the only way I could move consistently forward was to start
over and learn to write again from the very beginning.
I thought it would be poetic, less actual learning,
more just putting in daily practice, letting the words flow and the manuscripts form in a less-stress way. Perhaps, after a
few months, I might even emerge with a masterpiece.
But as I went back to study writing blogs and videos like I used to, I found that, despite the many things I
do know about writing good characters, recognizing a strong plot, and the nuts
and bolts of writing well, there is still so much I don’t know.
Still so much I’ve been doing badly even, that was actually a part of what held me back. When that realization fell from the heavens and hit me firmly in the head, that, despite the years I’ve spent this journey, I still
have a long way to go, well, it was a serious blow.
I felt like I’d wasted my life. I’ve been trying to be a
“real writer” since November of 2011. How is it that after all this time, there
were all these basics I was unaware of? Plot points I was actually writing wrong?
Was this the true reason for the meager success, the lack of achievement to my name?
I’m tempted to say that I’m no better off than I was at
fourteen, typing away at my first NaNo story, believing 14,000 words was a
full-length novel. But that sentence in itself tells me I’ve learned something. Still, the feeling is there, a sudden pressure, a lethal potion of panic
and hopelessness. The certainty that I’ll never make it. Real writing,
good writing, it’s too hard, it's too much. I will never write the good stories, no
matter how long I’m at it, so I might as well not write at all. I’m just not good enough; I thought I was made for this, but clearly, I am not among those born-talented souls. It all makes sense now, why I never succeeded with previous stories,
why my peers excelled while I fell behind. These last ten years have been a total waste of time.
But then I catch myself. As my writing instructors like to say, “Writing is a marathon not a sprint.” So I’ve
stumbled and been down for a minute. So I got off the track and went down some
rabbit trails before finding my way back to the real race. The things I’ve
learned, the experience I’ve had, the things I have accomplished are valuable. And even if they weren’t, and I was starting over from negative 0, I
don’t have to get it all right today. I don’t have to write a masterpiece
today. Today, I can start: I can put in the legwork, do my writing
lessons, glean all that I can from their teaching, and then apply them to my
stories to the best of my ability. What works will work and what won’t, will
not. I can keep writing, day in and day out, staying focused on this
story until it is done. And when it is done, whenever that is, I can edit it to
the best of my ability and seek out the feedback to make it better. I can keep
working and reworking and new-working novels until I finally do have “the one.”
It is a long haul. It is hard work, and I didn’t fully appreciate
that until I felt like I should have a book to show for my time – and I didn’t.
But if I keep going, and I keep going well, learning better strategies and
putting in productive work, then I have to make it eventually. Maybe with this
story. Maybe with another. But what’s out there for me will be there for me… someday.
This draft does not have to be the one. And the right one is
still on its way, in God’s timing and not my own.
I’ll leave you with this song from the Zombies
soundtrack (lowkey obsessed, not going to lie), that I turned to a lot
in recent years. We’re going to be someday.
Comments
Post a Comment