Considerations from My First Novel, Part 1
I. So, Go Ahead. Pitch It to Me: What’s This Series of Blog Posts About?
Wait, how do you know it’s a series?
Hello, Mr. Scatterbrain? It’s in the title. “Part 1.”
Oh! Oh, yes. Yeah. Right.
…
O.K., here it is.
I’ve been working on a post for the “Musings” section of the site, a review of the video game Rayman: Origins. It’s an attempt to make a review, about a game no one probably cares about anymore, enjoyable, public and personal relevance notwithstanding. It’s taking me a long time, partly because I want it to be good and partly because I don’t work on it nearly often enough because I’m also working on my to-be-published novel, Lash Exiguous.
Speaking of, that’s my segue into this very post you are reading. I figure that if one has an interesting enough topic, or a topic about which he knows a sufficient amount, he can fire off at least somewhat interesting posts with relative ease. So this is that.
I’ll use this series to document my struggles and adventures with writing this novel.
In my mind’s version of this blog post, I see the topic as inherently intriguing, a fascinating look into the mind, lifestyle and work ethic of a man on the verge of publishing a piece of thoroughly developed and refined art, something that, years later, readers of this very blog will be able to look back on with fondness and pride, saying to their friends and family, “I was there when this author was a simple pauper, writing blog posts on a dingy little website while he slaved away behind the scenes on what would become the first of many beloved adventure stories.”
I suspect the reality is that, years from now, I’ll wonder why I’m still paying the monthly $10 fee to retain a website that has no traffic and hasn’t been updated in months. I guess I won’t really know unless I do it, will I?
II. Sounds Mildly Curious. I’m Game. Hit Me.
So I’ll start with my process. Not the program I use (Scrivener) or the method I use to write (heavy outlining), but the process of actually going from waking in the morning and working my day job for 8 hours, to actually mustering the willpower to get behind the keyboard and put down the words.
It’s a carefully designed strategy that I gradually developed over months and months of trial and error, mindful planning and many failed attempts.
I go eat at a diner.
If you draw or write or work on some kind of creative project, you’ve probably already heard this one. You develop a routine that gets you in a psychologically different place, so all of the normal distractions aren’t as easily accessible, both physically and metaphorically.
I go to the closest Waffle House, order a hash-brown with onions, tomatoes and ham—and occasionally jalapenos if I’m feeling dangerous—with a side of lightly cooked, fatty bacon, and a glass of water, which is brought in a plastic cup that’s tall and cylindrical with no handle, so I call it a “glass” even though it’s plastic. I’m not sure if this is a Southern thing, an American thing or a “my family” thing.
I put ketchup on the hash-brown and eat the hash-brown and eat the bacon with the hash-brown and the waitress cleans the table and I drink the water and look up and thank her.
After I finish the meal, I order a cup of coffee (mug, really, but at this point I doubt anyone has faith in my ability to appropriately identify the various drinking vessels) with creamer and three teaspoons of sugar. Mix it up, sip to test the flavor—good enough. Then I pull out my laptop, unfold it, power it on and get to work, assuming I don’t spend another thirty minutes chatting on Discord or reading This Itch of Writing, Emma Darwin’s wonderful writing blog, the success of which I dream of one day replicating.
So that’s the beginning of the story, I reckon, but the reason for it is the real point. Why do I go through this process? Well, you may have heard this before, but doing things isn’t usually a problem. It’s starting things that’s the problem. Once you start, barring any extenuating issues, you can usually keep going for a goodly amount; but words are cheap, and actually starting is worth sparkling gold. You’ve probably also heard that forming habits is very important, whether it be for sleep, eating properly or brushing your teeth. You do it enough times and eventually not doing it becomes the things that’s alien, rather than the other way around. You develop a sort of shortcut in your brain. It associates one thing with another and soon it all sorts itself out. My admittedly expensive ritual of going to Waffle House is my habit, my shortcut to actually writing. Having typed all that out, I begin to think the habit is as bad as it is good.
I’ll say one more thing: It’s not writing, as such, that I struggle to do, but creating ideas. You tell me to start writing a story about a TV repairman and I can start throwing out prose. Ask me to describe a frigid day in February and I’ll give you ice fractals and painfully numbed noses and a uselessly burning sun, I mean, what is the point of the sun if it can’t even keep the planet warmer than 55 degrees Fahrenheit? but now make me write a 100,000 word story with characters, plot, setting, technology, history, cultures and internally consistent logic? Minimal plot holes? Are you putting me on?
I think it’s all an extension of my writing neuroses.
Above: Artist’s depiction of my writing process.
III. For Example
I have this weird issue where if I don’t immediately have the solution to a problem that comes up, and I’m not confident of how to get the solution, or if I think I can solve the issue but that it will take a long time, I proceed to do two things, which combined are a beautifully designed system of self-destruction:
1. I put it off.
2. I agonize thenceforth that I’ve put it off.
This agonized agonizing proceeds even unto the next day, and forever thereafter until I finally surrender, usually in great frustration, and develop the thing that needs developing. I usually feel better after that and have some variation of the thought, “Why didn’t I do this sooner?”
Pictured: A different artist’s depiction of my writing process.
Because you are neurotic! That’s why. You have issues. You have no business being near a keyboard, let alone an entire food service facility. I know my issue, yet refuse to resolve it, always instead hoping that this time it just goes away and leaves me alone. It never does, on either count, and then I yield and then I proceed to make the same mistake, again and again. It’s a disease. It’s chronic.
There you go. Our first foray into my ridiculous mind, as it pertains to writing.
Join me next time for another riveting journey.
