smelling the imaginary roses

[storyrainthejournal]

 I really appreciate this post from nballingrud, which I came to via a post from Jeff Vandermeer. (not the first bits about the con, but the rest, about writing, and engagement and quality vs. speed and word count—or, flogging the horse, as I like to think of it)

 

It’s not so much that one way or the other is better, or right, or whatever—good writers who write first drafts fast spend a lot of time in revision—it’s the underlying consideration in the post that is embodied in these words, for me:

 

No one's keeping score, folks. Really. Stop writing so goddamned much. Take your time. Play with the language a little bit. Flesh out a character or two. That paragraph right there? ... come on, you know that's cliche. Think a little harder. Write less. Write better. 

 

He also says he doesn’t mind having a day job because it allows him to be a little more protective of his writing. Now, I rail against my day job wildly—and I mean it—but it isn’t so much that I just want to be a professional writer—if that was it, I’d take the risk, quit, and make myself crazy trying to flog up enough freelance to eat and pay the mortgage. My problems with the day job are all about quality of life:  the rigid daily schedule, the cubicle, the florescent lighting and lack of windows. (The first day of first grade I came home sobbing because the light in the class room, and the room itself, were so dim and grim; it physiologically depressed and demoralized me. It still does.) There’s no place to take a little power nap during the day—and thanks to the auto immune stuff, I get freaking tired. Etc.

 

But the fact is, I wouldn’t want to write full time unless I had enough money not to worry about money. Or a partner to share the worry with, I guess.

 

I very much get what nbalingrud is saying and I’m glad he said it.

 

In related news, I didn’t get the story done for my online workshop; worked on it, in moments between and around what has been a very busy time at the day job, but it’s a fact, I write slowly. Steadily, but slowly. I need the right words, I need to feel my way and have the way feel right and worth following, the tale worth telling. And plot comes to me from the language, the characters, and the world itself, it’s almost never clear cut and it takes me a while to find it. And that’s okay. It’s fun getting there.