Tag: honesty

critiquing, writing

Objective

elouisebates

I promise, this is my last navel-gazing post for a while. Really.

It’s just, I think I’ve had a breakthrough in figuring out some of my frustrations with where I’m at with my writing (and a lot of other areas of life) right now.

It isn’t so much that publication is my goal. But I DO want to be read by others, and this is a major reason why:

When I love something, I want to do it as well as I possibly can. I don’t have to be the absolute best at something, but I want to do it as best as I can. I love to write stories, and I want to write good stories. And the problem is that for so long, only people who love (or at least like) me have been reading my writing and commenting on it. And they’re nice to me. Not since college have I had someone completely objective reading my work and commenting on it (I’m assuming that the objective readers on ff.net are the ones who simply don’t comment), and so I no longer know from someone else’s perspective what my strengths and weaknesses are as a writer (aside from the grammatical weaknesses Laura pointed out on my last piece she critiqued. I do know my technical writing issues, just not the creative aspect so much).

I’m the same way with music. When I was taking voice lessons, my awesome teacher never hesitated to tell me when something was good and when it needed work. Occasionally by banging her head on the piano keys, but hey, it got the message across (there was also the threat of  “if you sing like you’ve swallowed your tongue ONE MORE TIME I’m reaching in your mouth myself and pulling your tongue,” which was remarkably effective). Since stopping lessons, I’m kind of adrift – not sure anymore of my strengths as a singer and my weaknesses.

I don’t need to be the next JK Rowling. Nor do I need to be a concert vocalist or the next American Idol (or whatever current singing-related show is popular now – I can’t keep up). What I do need is to be the very best Louise I can be at whatever it is I do. Somehow.

Objectivity. It’s a beautiful thing. And it can be so hard to gain when you don’t have someone outside of yourself assisting you. My husband is always happy to help me where he can, but he’s my husband, he has to be nice to me. I’m pretty sure that was in our vows.

Naturally, realizing all this doesn’t help me actually gain that needed objectivity to my own skills, but it does at least help me from feeling generally “I suck”-ish about said skills. Which is good.

So. Knowledge gained. Good thing. Next step, finding those objective observers. Which will take more work, but hey. I’m never scared of lofty goals so long as they are defined. It’s the vague ones that scare me.

fiction, writing

Encouragement

elouisebates

Many, many thanks for all your encouraging words on Monday’s post. I was talking with my sister yesterday, and we got discussing the difficulties in finding that proper balance with any artistic vision (she is a silversmith and jeweler) – do you lower your standards to create what’s cheap and popular, or what’s going to be popular in five months, or do you create what you love even knowing that means nobody else might ever see it? How long can you keep working at something if it’s only a private passion, when can you stop justifying the time spent on it? If you are working at something only for your own enjoyment, does that mean you lose some drive to make it as close to perfect as possible, do you need that hope of outside consumers to force you to keep polishing until it’s practically perfect?

Not a lot of cut-and-dried answers in this world of artistic creativity. But mostly, it’s nice to know I’m not alone. Support systems are great.

And last night I took a break from editing to brainstorm ideas for characters and plots for short stories – given my tendency to ramble without ever giving much information, I think short stories might be a good way for me to practice writing concisely, and keeping a plot tight.

This opening is my favorite out of all the ideas I got down last night (admittedly, there weren’t many. NCIS was a good one, hence it was very distracting. Usually it’s more just in the background on Tuesdays):

At first, Darcy was more interested in the book she was reading than in all the other people in the park. That was why, after the muttered warning breathed almost in her ear, she couldn’t have told who had said it—the mom in yoga pants and a ponytail pushing the stroller down the path? The slender man in the long brown duster, looking at the tree leaves with a magnifying glass? The teenage skateboarding menaces flashing by, causing the baby in the stroller to shriek in indignation? The kindly old grandmotherly type shaking her head and knitting needles at the skateboarders? 

None of them seemed likely. Then again, the message itself was utterly bizarre. 

“Your life is in danger. Leave at once. Tell no one.” 

What could it mean? Was it even serious? It had to be some crazy joke. Darcy brushed her bangs out of her eyes and bent her head back to the book. 

It wasn’t a very funny joke. What if she was the nervous type? She’d be paranoid now, afraid that some unknown peril was lurking behind every bush and trash can. Good thing she was more sensible than that. 

She glanced up again and scanned the area. Nothing seemed out of place. 

Of course, if she was the too-serious type, she would report this to the nearest police officer. That would teach the would-be prankster! 

The police would probably just dismiss her anyway. Once again, Darcy tried to focus on the words on the page, but they blurred and danced away out of her understanding. She slapped the book shut, dropped it in her bag, and stood up, slinging the bag’s handle over her shoulder. Stupid fake warning. She wasn’t scared, but she was annoyed, and she just couldn’t pay attention to reading now. She’d have to go back to her apartment, and actually take care of that house-cleaning she’d been postponing ever since the warm weather had started a week ago. 

Maybe that was the warning’s purpose. Maybe it was her subconscious reminding her that if she didn’t clean soon, she’d run out of clean dishes and clothes, and the dust bunnies would take over her life, hold her captive. That was danger enough for anyone. 

Cheered by that thought, Darcy went on down the path with the bounce back in her step.

I’m not even sure where to go from here – who it was who warned her, or why she’s in danger, or if it’s all a big mix-up, but I’m gotten rather fond of Darcy, just from the short time we spent together last night, and I’m looking forward to figuring out what happens to her. In a short story, Louise, not a novel! Too many novels in the works already. (I have to keep reminding myself of that, or else I get carried away. Rambly writer, rambly plots!)

I am mostly posting this snippet to prove conclusively that even though I have my times of discouragement and overwhelmedness, I do, in fact, always pop back up with pen (or computer) in hand, and keep working at it.

I can’t seem to do anything else, and I wouldn’t want to anyway.

philosophy, writing

Destiny … Or Not

elouisebates

Do you believe in destiny?

Not necessary “twoo, twoo wuv” destiny, but fate, the idea that your path is already laid for you, all you can do is walk it.

Depressingly, I sometimes wonder if I’m destined to be the “less-than” all my life. Or maybe rather, the “almost-good.” Almost a good skater, but never quite made it to good. Almost a good singer, but not really there. DEFINITELY quite a bit less than a good pianist (but hey, all those years of piano lessons at least taught me how to read music, so there is that. Even if I do struggle with the bass clef still). Almost a good actress, but not wholly convincing.

When I start to add up all the things I’m not quite good at, it gets really depressing. In fact, I don’t recommend doing it. At all. Because then, as I said, I start to think “Gee, maybe that’s just my destiny, to always be halfway there, but never quite fully successful at anything.” And THAT leads to –

“MAYBE I’M NOT EVEN VERY GOOD AT WRITING.”

And then I panic. Because what if this one thing I love so well is just like everything else, something that I do okay at, but will never be able to excel at?

And then I panic some more.

And then I read all these quotes that are supposed to be inspirational, about how if you love something you’ll succeed at it, and that everyone is a genius if they just find what they’re suited for, or that JUST WORK HARD and you’ll eventually gain your heart’s desire! And all that sort of thing, and then I get all cynical and sarcastic, because honestly, when has life ever worked that way? Some people are going to work their whole lives at something they love, and they will never be very good at it, and that’s just life, and what if I’m one of those people? Destined to be mediocre at everything? There’s no reason why I SHOULDN’T be the other type, the type who can achieve dreams and glory through hard work and perseverance.

And then I finally turn off my brain and just sit down and WRITE, because doggone it, even if I’m not ever going to write anything worth anyone else reading, I love this, and I’m going to keep pouring my heart into it, and keep trying, and I will be writing until the day I die, even if it’s all crap, even if it’s destined to be useless.

So there, fate.

What do you do to turn off those negative voices that tell you your writing is no good?

critiquing, editing, goals, writing

A Bird’s-Eye Look at Editing

elouisebates

Easter is over, the eggs are hunted, the family has gone back to their respective houses, the fridge is chock full of ham and sundries, the coffee/tea stash is seriously depleted, and it’s time to start thinking about editing again.

I have adopted a methodical practice for editing this particular MS. First, I printed out the rough draft, and went through it with a pencil, marking specific changes as well as leaving just general comments like “awkward phrasing; fix it,” or “this whole passage sucks; change it,” or if I was feeling kindly toward myself “insert more about specific reasons here.”

Next stage is the one I’m in now, putting the suggested changes into the document.

The next stage is the one I’m dreading, and the reason I read Line by Line: copy-editing. This is the mind-numbing part where I go through and look critically at each line, pulling it apart to see if it is as concise (in case you haven’t gathered as much from my blog posts, I’m a rambly writer), understandable, and lovely as possible.

Then will come one final look-through, and then I will send it out to my beta readers. Assuming I have beta readers at that point, that is. Anyone want to volunteer for that? I’m always happy to read others’ work in exchange. (and yes, I know it’s not considered etiquette to beg for betas in this way. What can I say, I’ve been looking for a critique group for over a year now with no luck, and I’m desperate. Also, my tongue is rather in my cheek, though that doesn’t mean I’d refuse if anyone offered to become a critique partner with me!)

After the betas tear it apart and send it back and I stop sobbing into my pillow over all their suggested improvements, I’ll go through it again, fixing the problems they saw in it. Then I send it back to them, and then we decide if it’s good to go out for submission, or if it needs yet more work.

It’s a fairly exhaustive (and exhausting) process, and it’s more intensive than I’ve ever attempted with any of my other finished MSS. However, of those, one was never meant for publication, but was simply finished as “my first finished novel;” one is languishing in a closed file; and one I’ve ended up tearing apart, breaking down, and starting it again from scratch. So I’m thinking that a more severe editing process might, in fact, be helpful for me. And after reading on Shannon Hale’s blog that some of her works go through nine drafts, I really don’t feel this is too over-the-top.

I’m planning on this taking a long time. I’d been feeling an almost panicked need to get this MS done, to get it out there as quickly as possible so that by the time Carl was ready to go back to school I could maybe, possibly, be helping the family finances. However, by working so hard and feeling so rushed, I was losing a lot of the joy that characterized the first writing of this story in the first place, and more importantly, was finding it harder and harder to enjoy being with my family, because every moment spent with them was a moment I wasn’t writing.

Um, bad priorities.

So I’ve accepted that for right now, my role is not to assist in bringing in any extra money when Carl is in school, at least not through my writing. Depending on his schedule, I can always go back to retail – after eight years before my marriage, I’m pretty comfortable there – once he’s in school, and help out that way. Right now, I’m going to slow down the frenetic pace I’d been applying to the writing, enjoy it, enjoy my family, enjoy life as it is right now, and take as long as I need to in order to make this story as close to perfect as I can, while still savoring being mumsie to my two little chickadees.

What does your editing process look like?

figure skating, God, Life Talk, philosophy, writing

Sacred Joy

elouisebates

On the second-to-last night of 2011, I unexpectedly got the best gift of the year – two free tickets to see Stars on Ice, my favorite show in the world, in Lake Placid, my favorite village in the world. My mother-in-law, already planning on visiting for the holiday, came out a day early so she could baby-sit the littles; the friend who gave us the free tickets had two others she gave to my mother and sister, so Carl and I met Mom and Lis in the village, had dinner together (served by the Slavic version of Basil Fawlty, though he was more harried than rude, but still – Carl was the first to come up with the comparison and it was so apt), and then went to the SHOW.
It was to flip over.
(I know, groan, but come on, you don’t expect me to get a picture of Ryan Bradley mid-back-flip and not come up with an excuse to use it and make a lame pun with.)

Our seats were in the bleachers, but when they did the retakes for tv after the show we were able to sneak down and take the seats of four people who had left. I pulled my camera out of my bag and just started clicking. Kurt Browning was gracious enough to do the majority of his retakes right in front of where we were sitting. My sister and I might have fan-girl squee-ed just a little.

It was a two+ hour drive back to Albany after the show – the weather was hovering between rain and ice through most of the Adirondacks, which meant we had to drive slowly. So what do two people do to keep each other awake on a late-night long drive back home? Well, my sister and I might have done more squee-ing over the likes of Kurt, Ryan, Todd Eldredge, etc, but since it was Carl and I, of course we started talking philosophy.
Philosophy of figure skating? Why, of course! 

Way back in college, I wrote a paper on the debate as to whether figure skating was sport or art. My stupid, stupid English professor gave me a C, not because it was poorly written, but because he didn’t think it was a real issue (note: at the beginning of the semester he told us anything was acceptable as a topic, and cited one of his favorite papers from the previous year, on “Why Blondes Have More Fun). I looked at him and said, “I am a figure skater: trust me, it is an issue.”

He refused to believe me; that is the one and only C I have ever received on any assignment in an English class. And yes, it was close to ten years ago, but IT STILL RANKLES.

Anyway. Carl was asking me about my thoughts on it, and being wiser now, I wasn’t so quick to jump to the defense of figure skating as sport. I told him that I couldn’t really be objective on the matter, because figure skating was so much more to me than anything I could describe.

You see, when I am on the ice, just as when I am writing, I feel I am coming closer to the me I am meant to be (I know this all sounds a little “woo-woo.” Sorry about that), back to the core of who I am, the Louise God intended me to be with all the baggage stripped away. Only skating and writing do that for me – nothing else. It is too close to my heart; I cannot speak objectively about it. Even when I am not skating myself, watching pure, good skating gives me an echo of that. It satisfies me in a way nothing else does, the same way that reading a brilliantly-written book satisfies me even when I am not writing myself.

And I am not a great skater, but when I am on the ice I feel like I am great. I am always pretty sure I look like this:

Joannie Rochette and Sasha Cohen)

Or this:
I want to be Katia Gordeeva when I grow up

And I really look like this:
True story – I got done with this spiral and told my friend who was holding the camera “That was great! My leg was really up there, my head was high, it was an awesome spiral!” She said, “uh-huh,” and handed me the camera. I was shocked to see I had only achieved a straight line – but I suppose I should be thankful at least my head was up and my leg was straight. I don’t always even accomplish that.

Or this:
SELL that final pose, girl!

But that doesn’t matter. Not really. I do my best skating when I am all alone in a rink, with no one around to make me self-conscious. It’s not a solitary act for most, but like writing, it is for me.
And that – because it is almost sacred to me – is why it brings me such joy to watch it done well. Oh sure, the eye candy is nice, too, but skating is unique and special and wondrous simply because, for me, it is an act of worship.
As is writing.
It’s kind of a nice way to end the year, isn’t it, making those connections and getting an unexpected chance to experience that again?
It makes me want to write more, too, and to remember more of what my writing is – not just a hobby or career, but an essential part of me, one of those elements that makes me me, and something that brings me closer to my best, my purest version of myself.
And that is the last bit of philosophizing you will hear from me until next year. 
Happy New Year’s, friends!