And so here we are again… meaning here I am again. Writing fiction. OK, not right here, exactly; this is more of a reflective semi-public journal. But I’m at it again, the fiction, these days.
It’s been a long time, I have to admit, since I have written fiction in any meaningful way. I’ve abandoned two manuscripts in the past two years, and it was painful to do so, but there came those points at which I had to accept that the sunk money fallacy was at play and simply stop spending my time and effort on stories and characters in which I found no passion. The reader would have seen right through it. Actually, the reader might simply have stopped reading. As I recently looked over some the pages I’d written over those years, I found plenty of fine paragraphs, some engaging dialogue, and even a few sentences and phrases that were just gems. But overall, there was something missing, something akin to what Stephen Pirsig was searching for in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Or rather what the late Pirsig was looking for in life: quality. When it’s there, you can feel it. Ditto the dearth.
And maybe I’m in the forest and only seeing trees, sure, but right now, the work I’m doing feels, finally, after many years, not like work at all. It’s a pleasure again. And I think that might damn well mean there’s quality. Averaging 900 to 1,000 words a session, and I’m writing at least five nights a week. It’s like old times, I’m glad to say.
What changed? What is it that helps a writer finally get his or her hands out from under his or her ass and get them back on the keys (or wrapped around a pen, if freehand is your thing)? For me, it involved a lot of changes and progress in life, sure, but also the removal of excuses (AKA bullshit) and a concerted plan. First I read a book and plenty of articles and essays about writing. Read more