Don't...Just...Just Don't!

Now and again, I come against this problem-- both in terms of writing and art.

Mark Slouka writes "Don't Ask What I'm Writing," a witty and rather poignant opinion sketch on the suffering artist and their inability to express the brilliance going on inside our heads. Maybe.

Because really, writers are a timid lot. We're also incredibly self-conscious. Every fantastic, inspiring novel we read causes us to rejoice at the power of imagination and language while at the same time languish in our utter decrepitude and how terrible our own writing is, or how immature, or how plain, or how unable-to-live-up-to-this-other-author's-standards it is.

Logic has nothing to do with it. Of course our writing isn't like so-and-so's. You're not so-and-so. And yet, the languishing continues.

To Slouka (and to just about every other writer out there) the beginning of a story is always the same:

"those first few months of uncertainty: that miserable time when we think, believe, know with absolute assurance that we’ve found the key to the novel in our heads, though maybe, probably, definitely not."

I couldn't have put it any better, myself. The beginning writing process is incredibly fragile. There are so many thoughts going at once, and all it takes is a critique or a suggestion in the wrong tone or expression to make us question everything about life, the universe, and all that is good in the world. Try to describe what you're writing before even you know? Slouka again pinpoints the feeling by describing it as "listening to the magic leaking out of the balloon."

 "If writers agree on anything — which is unlikely — it’s that nothing can damage a novel in embryo as quickly and effectively as trying to describe it before it’s ready."

 

In a way, it's incredibly unfair to our readers-- whether they be 1,000 miles across the country or your next door neighbor. They are curious about the most recent project. They want to be supportive. They want to know when they're going to get their hands on your work. They lack insight into the writer's muse, not being writers. They want to know what their fellow is doing, being writers. Any large variations of reasons can lead to someone else asking about your writing, or what it's about, etc. It's a trap! Because the only thing that's going to happen, at the beginning stage of writing, is defensive insecurity on the part of the writer and confusion and tears and a massive need for chocolate. And Doritos.

 

Slouka writes:

"If the well-meaning colleague doesn’t ask, she risks seeming unsupportive; ask, and she suffers the consequences: every syllable of her response will be studied and sifted with forensic care, every attempt at encouragement grimly accepted or politely dismissed, every stab at honesty received like a lance through the heart. Within minutes the writer will be conjuring subtexts out of thin air, divining intention, whipping up context; he’ll misread, unerringly. This will be entertaining in its own way, but it won’t be pretty."

 

Ever seen a mental melt down? When it's with a creative author in the pursuit of some story, they tend to talk in about ten different characters' attitudes all at once. There may be tears. There may be frustration. There may even be violence, though usually of a literary kind, which can be just as alarming. It may lead to an epiphany, and then by Jove you've done it! 9 times out of 10 it won't. It will only cause frustration on the sides of both parties and a deflated balloon feeling of ineptitude on the part of the writer. I've felt this many a time when trying to write query letters. Sum up my book? In a paragraph?! Of course, that was before I knew how to write a query letter (see the best guide out there, if you need help). Now it's much easier, because I know that I don't have to give everything away. I can sum up-- not elaborate.

 

Writers, that is your best defense if someone asks you how your writing is going or what you're writing about. Sum up. Say it's not ready yet. Say you don't know, even. Mention only the genre. Evade, evade, evade, unless you really have something to go on. It will save everyone a lot of angst.

"These reminders should be on the wall above my desk: 1. Trust a few, necessary voices. 2. Try, as much as possible, to avoid torturing these brave souls with your own insecurities. 3. Shut up and write."