I have just finished the first draft of my Pride and Prejudice novel, a retelling of the story from the point of view of Caroline Bingley. I feel drained, utterly and completely, even though I apparently have the energy to sit here and type, instead of collapsing on the couch and playing a role-playing game on my Gameboy.
I don't know if I can describe how driven I feel when a book is growing, both inside of me and on the page. I never have the whole manuscript inside my head, it grows as I write, even if I do know the plot in outline form and have a good sense of the characters as individuals. Up until the end of the first drat I never know for sure what will happen, what the characters will do in reaction to plot events, and what events their reactions will cause. And at the end of the first draft, I still don't know for sure what form the final draft will take.
A first draft is only a beginning, but it's an important one. I now have something tangible to work with.
When a story grows in my head, it comes in bits and pieces. Sometimes the bits jostle each other in their rush to be born, at other times they are few, or even nonexistent, so that I worry I'll never write another word in my life.
I trust my sub-conscious, though, for it is my source. It works on my ideas, wrestles with plot problems, shows me the path when the one I wanted to take is blocked. My sub-conscious is me, I know, obviously the book still comes from me, but I have to be open to the process in order for it to work. I have to trust, to give up some control, or the words won't come.
I do have to urge it sometimes, and I have learned techniques to keep myself productive when the words don't come. No writer can write only when she feels inspired. Writing requires regular practice, just as music does, just as athletes need training. I do have times, though, when I don't write at all, sometimes for months.
That's my confession, I guess. I started this book last November, fourteen months ago. I hadn't written at all since Carl, my husband of 30 years, left me for a younger woman with whom he now lives in Ontario. All I could do during those first months was live moment by moment and survive. I understand why I didn't write then, and forgive myself.
I got the idea for this book eight months later, and for the first time in a long time, felt excited about writing. I was in the middle of a fantasy novel when Carl left, but somehow I didn't want to go back to it, even though I still was, and am, excited by it. I decided it didn't matter what I wrote. I'd been reading a lot of the retellings of Austen's novels. Pride and Prejudice is the most popular, and there are many which retell the story from Darcy's perspective, and several sequels. There obviously is a market for these books, but that was only a small part of why I decided to begin something new. It was the excitement, the push inside me, the almost physical need to put the story events and people who were growing inside my mind, onto paper.
I made good progress, and then in early January left to teach creative writing and run the book club on Holland America's round-the-world cruise. (If you want to know more about that time, I have another blog on this site, called Writing Around the World, at judymccrosy..blogspot,com.)
During the four-month cruise I learned that I could write in short spurts, instead of the longer undisturbed periods of time I thought I needed. New scenes would come to me, and I would write a few paragraphs in ten minutes while my writing students were all engrossed in an exercise I'd given them, or in the half hour until it was time to eat. I wrote sitting in the library, even when it was noisy there, learning that I actually could write with distractions all around me. I wrote late at night, when the library was quiet. I wrote even more after I broke my ankle, and I was sitting in the library looking out at foreign places like Shanhai and Singapore.
Then, when I came home, I lost my way. I'd hoped that the cruise would be a transition time between the pain of my husband's betrayal and a new, better life, with a stronger me. Instead, being back at home, in the house we'd shared, brought back much of the pain and I realized I wasn't as far along in my recovery as I wanted. I learned I wouldn't be going back on this year's world cruise. I learned I wasn't wanted back at my quilt store job. Needless to say I was, and still am, extremely sensitive to rejections, and these two hit me hard. A little while later my basement flooded yet again, and I called in help. While finally getting the necessary work done was good, I discovered how serious the problems with my house were, and so began what was a six month disruption. At first it was kind of fun having all these young, fit guys running around my house, but I soon lost the ability I'd gained to work with distractions around. I felt beseiged and instead of doing the smart thing, and taking my laptop and other things to do and leaving the hosue, going to the library or McNally bookstore, I started hiding in my bedroom, sleeping a lot to make the time pass faster. I grew more and more stressed, and this added to a deep depression, brought out by the three huge rejections I'd experienced.
I'm not proud of this, but it happens, and I've learned that I can't always fight it. I am not good, though, at forgiving myself. I keep thinking I should have handled situations differently. should have been stronger, should have stood up for myself more. But I didn't.
I got no writing done during the six months, but I did survive it. I went back to the book a couple of weeks ago and have been writing up a storm. Who knows, sometimes the gaps might be beneficial, providing my sub-conscious with more time to build what is to come.
And now the first draft is done and the rest of the process begins. Now I take what I have and shape it, build it, sculpt it. The end of the first draft is only a beginning.
Isn't life like that, though? I remember that old saying that was seen so often on posters back in the seventies - Today is the first day of the rest of your life. I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but during the dark times of the past many months, I have often said that to myself. And sometimes it helped.
I can't go back. I can only go forward. That's the case for all of us, as creative people, and as human beings living a life.
And for me, right now, going forward involves my Gameboy.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Am I Creative?
A couple of years ago I was talking with a woman about ten years older than me, and I don't remember how it came up, but she told me that if she had to use one word to describe herself it would be "Independent." And I knew, without even having to think, that my word would be "Creative."
But am I creative? What does it mean? I've met several quilters who show me their beautiful work and in the same breath tell me they are not creative. Can someone who makes something be uncreative?
I haven't looked in a dictionary yet, because I've actually never really thought about this before and I want to play with my own ideas before looking at those of others. (Does this mean I want to be creative in my definition of creativity?)
In the Old Testament, the word Creation refers to the beginning of the world - light, dark, plants, animals, and so forth. The fact that the individual things were seen as important enough to list implies that they did not exist before. Does this mean that to be creative one has to create something out of nothing?
If I consider this definition as valid, I'd have to say that out of the different artistic endeavours I dabble in, writing is the most purely creative. When I quilt, I often follow someone else's pattern, and even if I design my own, I am still using fabric and tools, such as scissors and needles, that other people have made. When I play my viola, while I am interpreting the music, I am playing notes that someone else wrote. With writing, I take a blank screen and cover it with words, I build a piece of fiction that has shape and heft.
Does this mean that the only truly creative quilter is someone who shears sheep and picks cotton, and spins and weaves her own fabric? But no, she is using animals and plants that already exist.
The composer writes music that he hears only in his head. Still, the forms of music, while they have evolved over time, contain traditional forms and scales that were created by those composers who came before.
And as a writer, I use words that I didn't create. They all exist already. There have been many jokes about how all the world's greatest literature exists inside of the common dictionary - all the writer has to do is pick out the right words and put them in the right order.
Clearly, I am not creative enough to believe that creativity exists only when someone creates something out of nothing. The next step, then, is to think of creativity as the production of something that did not exist before, at least not as it exists at this moment.
One of the fun things about quilting is seeing what people who have used the same pattern and sometimes also the same fabrics, have made. Rarely are two quilts ever identical. We all put something of ourselves into our work.
This is obvious when you look at writing and at music. If you spend much time at all listening to music, whether it is classical or pop, you develop of sense of who wrote the piece, or who is singing it, from how it sounds. Vivaldi sounds nothing like Beethoven. Lady Gaga is distinct from Karen Carpenter.
Writing is similar. When I teach, I see one of my primary jobs as helping my students each find their unique voice. The definition of 'voice,' when it refers to writing, is another nebulous area, but basically I see voice as something that reflects an individual personality, often of the narrator, but also of the writer herself. Even though I rarely write about myself or about events in my life, my work must have me in it, since it comes from me. I don't really know where it comes from, that's another nebulous topic for another day, but it undeniably comes out of my head. And hands, if you want to be picky, because they press keys or move the pen across paper to place the words.
And so, does this mean a quilter who uses a kit, and so follows someone else's choice of pattern and fabric is not creative? I think that the need to create is deeply ingrained in us, it's a human thing, one aspect, perhaps, that separates us from the animals from whom we evolved. How can anyone say that a person who cuts and arranges fabric, who sews stiches and builds something lovely is not creative?
Enough from me for now. What do you think creativity is? Are you creative? Please post comments, because I truly can't do this exploration without you.
But am I creative? What does it mean? I've met several quilters who show me their beautiful work and in the same breath tell me they are not creative. Can someone who makes something be uncreative?
I haven't looked in a dictionary yet, because I've actually never really thought about this before and I want to play with my own ideas before looking at those of others. (Does this mean I want to be creative in my definition of creativity?)
In the Old Testament, the word Creation refers to the beginning of the world - light, dark, plants, animals, and so forth. The fact that the individual things were seen as important enough to list implies that they did not exist before. Does this mean that to be creative one has to create something out of nothing?
If I consider this definition as valid, I'd have to say that out of the different artistic endeavours I dabble in, writing is the most purely creative. When I quilt, I often follow someone else's pattern, and even if I design my own, I am still using fabric and tools, such as scissors and needles, that other people have made. When I play my viola, while I am interpreting the music, I am playing notes that someone else wrote. With writing, I take a blank screen and cover it with words, I build a piece of fiction that has shape and heft.
Does this mean that the only truly creative quilter is someone who shears sheep and picks cotton, and spins and weaves her own fabric? But no, she is using animals and plants that already exist.
The composer writes music that he hears only in his head. Still, the forms of music, while they have evolved over time, contain traditional forms and scales that were created by those composers who came before.
And as a writer, I use words that I didn't create. They all exist already. There have been many jokes about how all the world's greatest literature exists inside of the common dictionary - all the writer has to do is pick out the right words and put them in the right order.
Clearly, I am not creative enough to believe that creativity exists only when someone creates something out of nothing. The next step, then, is to think of creativity as the production of something that did not exist before, at least not as it exists at this moment.
One of the fun things about quilting is seeing what people who have used the same pattern and sometimes also the same fabrics, have made. Rarely are two quilts ever identical. We all put something of ourselves into our work.
This is obvious when you look at writing and at music. If you spend much time at all listening to music, whether it is classical or pop, you develop of sense of who wrote the piece, or who is singing it, from how it sounds. Vivaldi sounds nothing like Beethoven. Lady Gaga is distinct from Karen Carpenter.
Writing is similar. When I teach, I see one of my primary jobs as helping my students each find their unique voice. The definition of 'voice,' when it refers to writing, is another nebulous area, but basically I see voice as something that reflects an individual personality, often of the narrator, but also of the writer herself. Even though I rarely write about myself or about events in my life, my work must have me in it, since it comes from me. I don't really know where it comes from, that's another nebulous topic for another day, but it undeniably comes out of my head. And hands, if you want to be picky, because they press keys or move the pen across paper to place the words.
And so, does this mean a quilter who uses a kit, and so follows someone else's choice of pattern and fabric is not creative? I think that the need to create is deeply ingrained in us, it's a human thing, one aspect, perhaps, that separates us from the animals from whom we evolved. How can anyone say that a person who cuts and arranges fabric, who sews stiches and builds something lovely is not creative?
Enough from me for now. What do you think creativity is? Are you creative? Please post comments, because I truly can't do this exploration without you.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
What Is Creativity?
It seems appropriate to begin a new blog just as a long renovation of my house is nearing completion. I saw a poster, recently, that said "Life is not about finding yourself, it's about creating yourself." Just as my house has been taken apart and rebuilt, so too have I.
I'm a fiction writer, with four books out so far, and so I've always thought of myself as a creative person. After all, I create characters and worlds and events. I've come to realize, though, that I want to be creative in my life, in the ways I see the world, view people and relationships, and in the way I live.
For most of my life, I didn't feel I was truly living, I was simply drifting down a stream, dodging boulders and reeds that other people set in my path. Now, though, like my house, I have been taken apart and so I have the opportunity to rebuild.
Here's a very brief summary. I tell you this not to whine but because the beginning of my creative renovation is only now beginning. My thirty-year marriage ended almost two years ago, and it was the source of many of the boulders and weeds in my stream. The next several months were awful, and all I could do was survive and hope that time passed. It's interesting, but the only things I could do were play role-playing games on my Gameboy and watch medical shows on TV. But that's an aside to be perhaps considered another time. Then I got the job on the cruise ship, living aboard for four months while it went around the world. This was an amazing experience, and I have another blog, Writing Around the World, that describes it. I broke my ankle half way through, and since getting home at the end of April, 2010, I've dealt with the aftermath of that. It hasn't healed well, and I'm waiting to learn if I'll have an ankle replacement. This surgery is great image for my renovation metaphor, but it too will be considered at another time. Plus, shortly after I got home, I learned my basement was constantly flooded and that there was a lot of mould.
And so I haven't been living my real life. Yes, I know it was real life, it happened. But I feel free now, for the first time in, well, maybe ever. I can finally shape my own course.
I've always written to become people I'm not and to have experiences I wouldn't otherwise. Unlike some who write to explore their own lives, I've preferred this course. Maybe I've never thought my own life was interesting enough to write about. Or, there were things too painful to examine. I'm not really sure. But for right now I want to explore, not who I have been, but who I can become.
There's a Cirque de Soleil song, sung by Josh Groban, called Let Me Fall. It's a beautiful piece of music, but I love it also for what it says. Here are the lyrics: (property of Josh Groban lyrics)
Let me fall
Let me climb
There’s a moment when fear
And dreams must collide
Someone I am
Is waiting for courage
The one I want
The one I will become
Will catch me
So let me fall
If I must fall
I won’t heed your warnings
I won’t hear them
Let me fall
If I fall
Though the phoenix may
Or may not rise
I will dance so freely
Holding on to no one
You can hold me only
If you too will fall
Away from all these
Useless fears and chains
Someone I am
Is waiting for my courage
The one I want
The one I will become
Will catch me
So let me fall
If I must fall
I won’t heed your warnings
I won’t hear
Let me fall
If I fall
There’s no reason
To miss this one chance
This perfect moment
Just let me fall
It's the second stanza, which is repeated again later in the song, that hits me the hardest. Sometimes it fills me with the courage to let myself fall towards the one I will become.
Okay, this is getting maudlin. And probably too long a post. So I will close by saying that charting the path of one's life is one form of creativity. More answers to the above question will follow.
I'm a fiction writer, with four books out so far, and so I've always thought of myself as a creative person. After all, I create characters and worlds and events. I've come to realize, though, that I want to be creative in my life, in the ways I see the world, view people and relationships, and in the way I live.
For most of my life, I didn't feel I was truly living, I was simply drifting down a stream, dodging boulders and reeds that other people set in my path. Now, though, like my house, I have been taken apart and so I have the opportunity to rebuild.
Here's a very brief summary. I tell you this not to whine but because the beginning of my creative renovation is only now beginning. My thirty-year marriage ended almost two years ago, and it was the source of many of the boulders and weeds in my stream. The next several months were awful, and all I could do was survive and hope that time passed. It's interesting, but the only things I could do were play role-playing games on my Gameboy and watch medical shows on TV. But that's an aside to be perhaps considered another time. Then I got the job on the cruise ship, living aboard for four months while it went around the world. This was an amazing experience, and I have another blog, Writing Around the World, that describes it. I broke my ankle half way through, and since getting home at the end of April, 2010, I've dealt with the aftermath of that. It hasn't healed well, and I'm waiting to learn if I'll have an ankle replacement. This surgery is great image for my renovation metaphor, but it too will be considered at another time. Plus, shortly after I got home, I learned my basement was constantly flooded and that there was a lot of mould.
And so I haven't been living my real life. Yes, I know it was real life, it happened. But I feel free now, for the first time in, well, maybe ever. I can finally shape my own course.
I've always written to become people I'm not and to have experiences I wouldn't otherwise. Unlike some who write to explore their own lives, I've preferred this course. Maybe I've never thought my own life was interesting enough to write about. Or, there were things too painful to examine. I'm not really sure. But for right now I want to explore, not who I have been, but who I can become.
There's a Cirque de Soleil song, sung by Josh Groban, called Let Me Fall. It's a beautiful piece of music, but I love it also for what it says. Here are the lyrics: (property of Josh Groban lyrics)
Let me fall
Let me climb
There’s a moment when fear
And dreams must collide
Someone I am
Is waiting for courage
The one I want
The one I will become
Will catch me
So let me fall
If I must fall
I won’t heed your warnings
I won’t hear them
Let me fall
If I fall
Though the phoenix may
Or may not rise
I will dance so freely
Holding on to no one
You can hold me only
If you too will fall
Away from all these
Useless fears and chains
Someone I am
Is waiting for my courage
The one I want
The one I will become
Will catch me
So let me fall
If I must fall
I won’t heed your warnings
I won’t hear
Let me fall
If I fall
There’s no reason
To miss this one chance
This perfect moment
Just let me fall
It's the second stanza, which is repeated again later in the song, that hits me the hardest. Sometimes it fills me with the courage to let myself fall towards the one I will become.
Okay, this is getting maudlin. And probably too long a post. So I will close by saying that charting the path of one's life is one form of creativity. More answers to the above question will follow.
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