Writing Fears

Jessica Page Morrell is one of my favorite authors of books on writing. Three of her books that I return to often are Between the Lines, Writing Out the Storm, and Bullies, Bastards, and Bitches.

In Writing Out the Storm, there is a chapter called Beyond Fear where she lists out common negative thoughts of writers and notes that the root cause of all of them is fear. It’s a great chapter. Are the negative thoughts I carry around relating to writing truly from fear? I’m not sure.

To answer that question I have to be very honest here, in a public forum. That’s fear in itself. But here goes.

I’m an awful writer. I’ll never be a good writer. People compliment my writing just to be kind. I’m wasting my time. These authors are so much better than me. I can’t get what I feel onto paper. My characters are all alike. My characters are cardboard. My words are cliches and corny. Why bother? Why not just give up and quit trying to write? I’m too old. I’ve found some typos in my books – proof I’m awful. If I was any good, wouldn’t I be selling books?

Maybe I need to stop. I’m realizing I could go on and on in the same vein and it’s getting depressing.

Jessica is correct that it all comes from fear. It also all comes from lack of confidence and a willingness to believe that awful inner critic.

If any fellow writer told me those things, I’d list many reasons they were wrong. For example, the bit about basing how good you are as a writer on how many books you sell on Amazon – well, go look at the millions of books for sale. Trying to become visible in that deep, dark ocean is practically impossible. It has nothing to do with talent. But do I believe that when it is applied to me? Of course not.

So why do we let those writing fears cling to us when we try to wipe them off the shoulders of fellow writers? Why do we hang on to them almost as a form of self-torture? These fears don’t necessarily push me to try harder. If I dwell on the fears it’s the opposite effect – they become a weight bearing me down that I can’t rise up from.

What does, then, push me to try harder? What allows me to bunch up my shoulders and turn my back on those fears?

Other writers, for one thing. Being able to talk about writing – not necessarily the fears, but the craft, is always uplifting. Whenever I’m around other writers I leave full of excitement that I can go forward, jump in, try again, and get better.

It’s when I’m alone that the negativity creeps in. Or, as Jessica Page Morrell says, the fear.

Writing is a solitary endeavor. The creating part of it. But entering that solitary environment of writing, I believe, requires a healthy dose of life. To be able to bury those fears during the solitary moments of creating, writers need to first pull them out into light and air and community. I don’t mean that when I’m with other writers all I want to talk about is these negative things. Those fears are never expressed so openly.

What I mean is that being with other writers, talking about the challenges of a current work in progress, brainstorming plot ideas, editing each other’s work – in other words, the actual work of writing – that’s what buries fears for me.

At least for a short while.

To quote Jessica, ‘Fear is merely a bad habit’.

We all know how hard bad habits are to break. But they can be broken. A first step for me involves figuring out how to apply the words I give others to myself. And letting go of fear.

To Rewrite

I’m struggling with rewriting a story.

Editing I can do. Revising I can do (after all, revising is a lot like editing, right?)

But rewriting is a whole different game.

I’ve spent a couple months with some health issues which meant I didn’t get any work done on the new story. I know it’s going to be easy to pick that thread up again but right now the energy I have for writing isn’t streaming toward creating. So I pulled out an old story I wrote almost twenty years ago.

I love that story but there are serious structural issues with it. Not enough characters, so that the antagonist is glaringly obvious. Not enough conflict. And not enough subplots. Well, let’s be honest. There’s basically one subplot and that’s it. Which, as any writer of fiction knows, won’t support a novel-length story.

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Symbolic of structural issues, wouldn’t you agree?

So I decided to use this time of healing to rewrite that story. And I’ve discovered it’s actually hard. I’ve been trying to come up with something to compare the process to. And the closest I can get is baking.

Have you ever baked a cake, finished the batter, poured it into the pan, and then realized that you forgot something vital, like the eggs? So you dump it back into the mixing bowl and try to add what you forgot, but it just doesn’t mix up quite the same. And doesn’t bake quite right.

Rewriting is like trying to add those darn eggs after the cake is baked.

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Guess this is the only photo I have of a cake. Obviously not one I baked!

So much energy is invested in creating and editing and polishing. And then there’s the process of letting go so the story can go out into the world. Rewriting is also like trying to pick up that energy after it’s long dissipated. Trying to find the mood that story was written in.

It’s challenging to find spots to slip in new characters or new dialog. That seems much harder than adding in bits of internalizations. Then there’s trying to figure out conflicts and subplots for secondary characters that I’ve now realized I never knew.

There’s too much in the story that’s good to just toss and start all over. I’m not even sure I could start over and end up with the same spirit that’s in this version. I definitely don’t want to lose this version.

So I’m plugging along – literally – plugging in bits and pieces as I go. I still like this old story. But my writing has changed since back then.

The process of rewriting is more challenging than I expected. Luckily I like a challenge when it comes to writing.

We’ll see what happens.

One For All

Forgive me a lapse into teeny-bopper crush mode.

BBC’s The Musketeers is coming back for a third season. All I have to say about that is…PORTHOS!!!

Okay, I’m back to ‘adulting’ now.

I read Alexandre Dumas’ books in junior high, with my favorite being The Three Musketeers.

(An aside – does anyone say ‘teeny-bopper’ or ‘junior high’ anymore, or am I dating myself?)

As a result, the character of Porthos caused me to dump my first crush, Huckleberry Finn, leaving him behind on that raft so I could run off wielding a sword.

I’ve watched all the incarnations of Musketeer movies over the years. My favorite was the version with Oliver Reed as Porthos. Other female hearts pitter-patted for Michael York as D’Artagnan. Not me.

One thing the movies have in common is an underlying theme of humor – of almost slapstick humor. Again, think of Michael York and Raquel Welch. And in some versions that slapstick humor was done with such a heavy hand that the original characters and story lines were barely visible.

What I love about the current incarnation from BBC is that the slapstick humor is gone. This show is not a comedy. From Peter Capaldi (loved him in Local Hero) who is amazing as Cardinal Richelieu, to Season Two’s Marc Warren as an excellent, villainous Rochefort. Scary bad guy with a tortured past. And Howard Charles as Porthos…well, as I’ve said, I do like that character. Even Constance becomes a strong young woman, especially in season two, and not just the female prop to D’Artagnan.

Okay, season one was a bit rough, as new seasons can be, but wow, season two. More fully developed characters, great story lines, multiple layers of conflict everywhere. I should add a caveat here that my husband says what I consider to be excellent, award winning television, most people consider ‘B’ shows at best.

Alexandre Dumas (assumed, by the way, to have had at least forty mistresses) wrote The Three Musketeers in 1844. In well over a hundred years, that story is still with us. Just like countless others written by countless authors, over hundreds of years that pull us in with the timeless hero’s journey. Even today books on writing dissect the hero’s journey for us struggling writers. People have spent their lives writing essays and books on why these stories still resonate so strongly in our psyches.

Not me. I’m going to return to Porthos.

What has been the appeal of that one particular character? I mean, D’Artagnan is always popular. Aramis with his love of women certainly attracts his fair share. As does Athos with his doomed love for Milady D’Winter.

It’s that strong silent type. You know what I mean. The character in the background, with the mysterious past, the gruff exterior, and that hidden sweet soul that only a few chosen ones get to see.

Hmmm. Just realized I married someone who very closely resembles that description, minus the mysterious past. I guess the character of Porthos left a lasting impression on my teeny-bopper, junior high heart.

I’m not sure yet when season three will be released but I’m going to see if I can pre-order it. I mean, after all, ‘adulting’ just isn’t as much fun.

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BBC’s ‘The Musketeers’ from www.express.co.uk