What I Need as a Writer
>Nothing like the pressure of the social networks to get a writer going. Once I posted my daily word count on Facebook, I nailed the lid of my excuse coffin shut. I exposed my desire to produce daily to the world. Is anyone watching? Most likely not at this point of my career. I’m about the only one all worked up about it. I have been unwilling to produce much in the way of new material for quite some time. Now I must produce daily.
Why?
Because I have pride and I desire to succeed. To succeed as a writer, get this – you must write! What is the one thing a writer struggles to do on a daily basis? Write. Crazy, isn’t it? We are a strange lot. I haven’t received any input on my “Cold Bite of Autumn” that I’m creating here and only here on my blog.
I’m sure that doesn’t necessarily means it’s shit, but writers can psyche themselves out and believe all kinds of nonsense like that. Or is it nonsense? I find it interesting that writers slave away at their (our) words with no real hope of anyone really taking them to any high level. I personally don’t write to be shallow. I’m definitely not writing for market or I’d be making more money, so what is in this gig for us?
My reward is accomplishment. I may never be considered a brilliant writer. I’ve read brilliant writers and I’m here to tell you most are not published. That is the unpublicized aspect of writing. Those writers who can wrench your gut out most often squirrel their manuscripts away in a closet and hide behind a low self-esteem or a fear of failure/success mindset.
I’ve listened to people’s writing that ripped my soul and I’ve watched sadly as they convince themselves in every way possible that they could never make it as a writer. They become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Sure, even thought their writing is pristine and powerful is no guarantee of success, but they have material most of us would die for!
I’ve attempted to encourage them to step out and make their writing public. To take that chance and put themselves out there for the world to see, but I’ve also seen years of negativity having beaten them down. Years of people saying both verbally and non-verbally that they will never amount to anything significant.
What really kills me is that the people who often become “significant” have no real claim to fame or intelligence other than the fact that they are willing to expose their creativity to a world that has a voracious appetite for creative material. There is so much weak writing in the world today that I am positive I fall in the upper half of the crap pile. I could be way up there. I may never be able to gauge where I stand in the avalanche of writing in this world, but at least I know I’m in there giving it the ol’ college try.
This little blog is brought to you by: “Buck up! YOU could be the next Rowlings, Grisham, Hemmingway! Don’t let the world beat you down. Grow some balls! Get off your ass! Get out there and make something happen! One day you’ll be dead.”
Why do I write THIS day? Because one day I’ll be dead. I hope to continue my little story, “The Cold Bite of Autumn”. I sincerely hope I’ll develop a following. If it’s only you, that is all I need.
The Cold Bite of Autumn (pt.4)
>Daniel sat inside her room like a pensive husband. Most of the staff thought they were married and he didn’t correct them. Not a single soul came to visit.
He checked up on whether anyone had notified next of kin and found that she had none. In fact, the hospital had been unable to trace anything through her driver’s license. This woman had no job, no family and no history. The hospital personnel were unconcerned, especially since he stuck around, but Daniel knew trouble coursed through people with no histories.
Daniel felt a half-smile creep onto his face. A month’s leave from police work lay ahead of him and the first day a near-dead chick crawls up into his yard and pique’s his interest. Big Joe would be pretty pissed off if he knew Daniel paced this woman’s hospital room instead of kicking back a few cold ones on the beach.
He crossed his arms and patted his waist on both sides of his body. The reassuring resistance of his non-issue hardware met his light touches. Daniel repositioned the chair for a strong surveillance view of the parking lot and the door to the room. Instinct told him to expect visitor. That same expectation screamed visitors to her room meant trouble.
If this woman proved to be another rotten peach, Daniel might need more than a month of R&R. The last woman he hooked up with put him on leave in the first place. Her death and his involvement forced Big Joe’s hand. This chick might end up squelching his career.
The Cold Bite of Autumn (pt.3)
>The woman’s driver’s license said her name was Cheryl Ann Autumn. Thirty years old and blue-eyed, the picture did not do her justice, of course. From what Daniel Thorgrave could tell, she worked out, took care of herself and did not use or need make-up. The license said she was five foot six, but her fetal position on the ground made height impossible to see.
“Her friends are all dead,” the ambulance driver told him as he helped load her in the back. “Their car’s wrapped around a tree about a half mile down the road from here. She’s tough.”
He slammed the door shut and sprinted around to the driver’s side door and took off. Daniel hesitated, then grabbed the keys in his pocket. If her friends were all dead, maybe he could help her. Something in her eyes when they had their brief conversation disturbed him.
As he pulled out of the driveway, he shook his head and decided he had no sense whatsoever. Chasing after a near-dead woman he didn’t know because of a gut feeling reminded him of numerous other mistakes he’d made in his life. Hopefully this woman would turn out to be normal.
Writing Enemies
>Yes, writers have enemies. Our most formidable foe is ourselves. We run from our work like children from daily chores. Any excuse is acceptable if it relieves us of the duty that writing brings to us each and every day.
Idiocy, if you think about it. What do most all writers claim? “I LOVE to write.” Yet we avoid doing it with distractions apparent and subtle. We play Spider Solitaire or War Craft. We decide the hedges we loathed trimming are now our most important priority.
Why? Why can’t we simply sit down and do that which we know we love? I believe this fundamental question is what separates the Wannabe writers from the Gonnabe’s and I Am’s. I’m writing a paper called Wannabe’s, Gonnabe’s and I Am’s.
Wannabe’s talk about writing. They have great ideas for that blockbuster novel, the one that will sell millions of copies and land them on Oprah. They dog writers groups and established writers looking for that magic formula that will translate their words into gold. There’s a home run waiting on them if they just swing that bat hard and true enough.
What Wannabe’s don’t know and often never get past is the fact that they are the PITCHER not the batter. Nothing happens, no ball gets put into play until they throw out that first pitch. Without a product, the Wannabe is going to die on the vine.
Let’s not be too hard on the Wannabe though. All writers were Wannabe’s at one time in their life. It’s a stage that must be traversed. A writer must listen and learn and transition from the Wannabe stage into a Gonnabe.
The Gonnabe is a writer who actually begins to get it. This writer starts to get serious and sits down and puts words to paper (or electrons to screen). This writer still doesn’t know quite what is involved, necessarily, but he/she pushes on, hopefully with a clear cut goal in sight.
It’s critical that the Gonnabe completes a book. Too often the Gonnabe bogs down and switches to another “great idea” because the one being worked on has fizzled. Often, the Gonnabe deserts a project that is very close to a completed manuscript. In any case, it is a heck of a lot closer to complete than beginning from scratch.
The Gonnabe has to pursue writing with a more rabid mentality. The Gonnabe has to establish a “hell or high water” approach to completing projects. How the Gonnabe achieves this is not so important as simply attaining a draft manuscript. THEN, the Gonnabe has to weather the fact that he/she must go through many revisions, edits and rewrites to tighten up the original work.
This process, if approached from the right mindset, is very rewarding. As the Gonnabe works and works and works the manuscript, it becomes a living entity no longer needing life to be breathed into it by the writer’s hands. Often, the Gonnabe gets sick and totally disgusted with the manuscript and just wants to move on to the next project. Here is where the Gonnabe must stick it out and polish the manuscript to its greatest potential.
Once that is completed, the opportunity presents itself for the Gonnabe to realize the transition to I am. I am is a tenuous pinnacle. It is far to easy to slide back into that Gonnabe stage where many projects make him/her feel like they are progressing but actually they’ve become stagnant. Or worse, the slide can go all the way back to Wannabe where all they are doing is talking writing.
I am is defined by confidence and a writing regimen of some sort. Without consistent writing in some way, shape or form, the I am is doomed to slip back. One advantage the I Am has over the other two is the knowledge that they were once there and can get back again.
I’ve run this gauntlet and I’m ready to get back to that point where I am producing once again. I slipped back to Wannabe for a while. I let the excuses build – I’m working so hard on Toastmasters, Publishing, running two other businesses in addition to working, taking care of four children, leading two writers’ groups, chair a board of deacons at church and actually paying attention to the woman I love.
A near death experience (very, very near death) catapulted me to pursuing my writing dream. Michael Jackson’s untimely death is another moment to contemplate. Forget whether we like him or loath him, he was my age. MY AGE. We were born the same year. He is dead. I have not achieved what I desire to accomplish in the writing world.
Therefore, I must pick myself up from my Wannabe ass, kick it into a Gonnabe gear so that once again I can realize I AM AN AUTHOR! The great writers get here and stay here, at least from my perspective. Once a writer defeats himself (his own worst enemy), he then has the opportunity to do great things. This is my rant, and you have heard me!
DarkThorn
Fiction's Footsteps 