Well it's been a week since my last post, and to my delight people have actually been asking when I'd be back! You know who you are. Thank you for that. When it comes to writing, I really am a whore for encouragement.
As you might imagine, even my non-work on this project has re-confirmed something I already knew about myself: I like to procrastinate. Really, I shouldn't say I "like to" do it -- in reality it's a period of intense internal struggle with myself that goes something like this:
Me: You've been reading articles about Whitney Houston (rest in peace) for two hours. You should maybe, um, write instead?
Me: But I don't really know what to say. This is good for me. Sometimes writers need breaks, right?
Me: Okay, but you've only been at this for like a week, so.... maybe not break time yet?
Me: No it's cool. Writers do this. I'm more of a writer for not writing. I'm getting really good.
And so on until I start giving myself the cold shoulder:
Me: You know, you had a really good thing going and you've screwed it up again.
Me: GAH! Why are you always on my BACK about things? I'll get to it!
Me: When? When will you get to it? Before or after checking your bank account for the sixth time today? Do you consider all of that facebooking "research"? And for God's sake, stop updating your timesheet! This is getting ridiculous!
Self lesson #2: I'm bad about getting really into things and then getting so proud of myself for getting really into them that I let myself get really out of them.
Example: exercise. If I, say, take a brisk 45-minute walk one day, I will feel spectacular. I will feel like it is very evident in the mirror that I have lost at least five pounds. I am a champion of being in shape and I can obviously do anything I want to in life, ever.
Then the next day will happen. I'll remember that great endorphin high from the day before and say -- yeah! I walked 45 minutes yesteday! I'm AMAZING! I've done my part for fitness and am in excellent shape again, so today I can watch Seinfeld and eat cheese after work instead of getting out in the cold again. As long as I walk again tomorrow, I'll keep up this incredible pattern of awesomeness that I started yesterday.
And then the day after that happens, and I'm more tired and distant from that endorphin high, because it's now been two days and approximately 16 hours of desk-sitting. Comfort me, Tina Fey! I blame Comedy Central for sabotaging my fitness routine by airing two episodes of 30 Rock at 6 and 6:30. Give me a BREAK!
So ends the exercise.
And so it goes with writing. But I am here to tell you it ENDS TODAY. I have written more novel and I am blogging like a champ. Right? RIGHT?
On a more serious note, I have come to another important conclusion about myself and it is this: I would make a much better personal essayist than novelist. I've known this, but I've been in denial. Rescue me, Sedaris!
I fell in love with the personal essay way back in Fred Ashe's intermediate writing class at BSC, when Jonathan Franzen's "Caught" inspired me to write my own tale of adolescent mischief. It flowed easily -- I think I met the five-page minimum in under 45 minutes -- and I laughed along at the memories while my fingers could barely keep up. It felt GREAT. I got a 96.
I've recently started reading Sloane Crosley at the suggestion of a friend (again, you know who you are -- thank you) and her work has reminded me that I want to be doing that.
Slight problem: I have no idea what to write about. I have stories, right? About things that have happened to me? Things have happened to me, right? What are they? Seriously, I'm asking. I need suggestions.
In the meantime, I'm making myself finish what I've started. I'm considering letting the project implode into a melodramatic mess, though, just for the fun of it. I'm thinking someone will get tied to some train tracks at some point, and maybe I'll insert some "ghosts," just to have them turn out to be criminals trying to scare those meddling kids away from their trove of stolen treasure?
Yes, exactly. I'm considering turning this into a cross between Rocky & Bullwinkle and Scooby Doo.
I've found that the personal essays/creative non-fiction I enjoy the most is usually about something very small. An every day occurrence that is slightly twisted. The funniest thing I've ever read by David Sedaris was about someone in his family using brown hand towels as toilet paper. Just take something from your life that was small but unique and really dive into it. Also, P. Don really stressed that you shouldn't write about meaningful experiences when you're too close to them. For instance, wait a while to really write a story about your apartment break-in. It happened too recently for you to have a full perspective on the matter.
ReplyDeleteYou could write about working at Outback.
Or focus on a person or place that has some significance for you.
The list of things you want to do before you die and why.
I'll keep thinking.
I want at least 20 pages on your experience at Outback. 1 page per minute. Seriously, Ulysses that shit up. I truly think reading the first few chapters would be good inspiration for focusing on the little things. It's free-indirect discourse central, too.
ReplyDeleteOr, you could just write my thesis for me. I've been playing Rogers&Parton's "Islands in the Stream" almost daily -- I think you could relate.