So you sit down to write, and that’s when you hear it. (Okay, maybe you stand to write, but…really? Are you one of those standing desk people? I’ll bet you have great calves and a resting pulse under 60, but you’re making those of us who would rather write from the horizontal office* look bad. So stop it. At the very least, sit down. At a desk.)
The noise.
No, not your character’s voices. Well, they’re in the mix somewhere, but it’s hard to hear them above the literary agent screaming about why it’s critically important to make your first page shine and the writing expert who keeps repeating the mysterious phrase “economy of words” and the blogger who is whispering something about the evils of adverbs.
All that noise leaves you paralyzed. Frozen. Stuck. And other similar words you can find in a thesaurus. But not because you don’t have good ideas for your novel. You have a bunch of ’em. And you thought you were ready to lay down a few thousand words.
Well, maybe you were and maybe you weren’t.
If you sat down because you were truly inspired or determined to write, write, write, tell the voices to shut up. Be blunt. Be decisive. They’re good voices (mostly) and they want you to be a better writer, but inspired or determined writing moments are rare and you should really obey this one. Right now it’s not time to listen to writing advice. Put away the how-to books, close the web browser and focus on your novel. Write as well or as badly as you naturally write until you run out of words.
But if you sat down because you were ready to improve your novel, because you wanted to become a better writer, then open your ears to the noisy writing advice. And…give yourself permission not to write thousands of words during this session.
It’s craft time.
Here’s an important tip: When you sort through writing advice, it’s important to measure each bit of apparent wisdom against what you know instinctively (and from experience) about your writer’s voice. Maybe your voice is adverb-friendly. If so, go ahead and use your adverbs, but not before first understanding why writing teachers and experts preach against it. Or consider your wordiness. It could be that you have a verbose voice. That doesn’t mean you’re a terrible writer. There are plenty of successful writers who use a hundred words to say what might have been said in twenty. But again, examine the reason behind the advice.
Consider all advice this same way, always looking for the core truth that sits under the wisdom, then measuring it against your evolving writer’s voice.
Use your craft time to discover what needs improvement and to work on revisions, but also to be reminded what you already do well. Then walk away from the computer and do something else.
The next time you’re ready to write – I mean really write, write, write – all that craft time will pay dividends as the wisdom you gleaned quietly and organically begins to inform your natural writing style.
Or you could just do what I do and ping-pong back and forth between craft time and write, write, write time until you get so frustrated you put aside your novel and choose to write a blogpost instead.
Yeah.
Comments
11 responses to “Sorting Through the Noise”
Self editing is for me, the best part of the process. Once the book is done and you walk away for a little while.
It feels good to slash and dash through some unneeded bullshit. When you can seriously murder a few phrases to make a killer seem even crazier with less words or a sunset that much more vital with one word that creates a landscape in someone’s head vs. a million overused phrases, that’s serious writing skill.
Yes. [This is an example of saying a lot with less. Well, not this part. This part is practically unnecessary, apart from the limited appeal it might bring to those hoping for something approximating “humor” in my response to your original comment. And did you see what I did there? I put “humor” in quotes. Not because it needs them, but because doing so affords me the opportunity to illustrate just how annoying it can be when you put “quotes” around words. It’s “almost” as annoying as abusing adverbs. See? I did it “again.” Wait, what was your comment?]
It seems the only voices we can trust are the ones that encourage us to trust our own. There is so much information available to writers now, via Twitter, blogs, agents, etc; which is great—but also overwhelming. Then you toss in writer ADD—the rabbit trails our minds wander down with each new person and scenario, (what is this person’s motive in writing this blog? Is this writer really as good as everyone says? Is the novel doctor really an annoyingly cheerful person who has only created a melancholic persona in order to attract creative types to his blog?). So many trails, so little time. And really, I think that’s what it boils down to for me: if I want to produce any writing at all, I don’t have time to listen to all of the voices. I can never make all of them happy anyway—might as well try to amuse myself.
I’ve been outed. Yes, it’s true. I’m an annoyingly cheerful person who has only created a melancholic persona in order to attract creative types to my blog.
Well, since the word is finally out, I can now reveal the truth: My office is actually a bouncy castle and I live on an island made out of bacon and I skip wherever I go while humming Abba songs and I believe hugs are magic.
Yesh. Great advice. I must say I’m a bit disappointed that there were no monkeys in this post, however.
The monkeys were busy writing the next blog post. It’s supposed to be about crappy writing, but I saw an early draft and apparently it’s just going to be about crap. I think they’re trying to be ironic.
First time here and I really appreciate your candid advice–sometimes I get so caught up in the rules that I’ve seen my voice disappear and want it back. Thanks for saying it’s ok as long as I know the rules:)
Yes, the rules can steal a writer’s voice. But they can also help to define it. Ultimately, it’s all about writing, writing, writing until the voice takes shape in and around and outside the “rules” of good writing.
I think.
And thanks for visiting. Be sure to pick up a “First-Time Visitor’s Packet” on the way out. There’s a coupon in there for free writerly wisdom and nonsense. Okay, it’s not a coupon. It’s just a mention about my Twitter account. But sometimes I Tweet about bacon. That’s almost as good as a coupon.
ah, finally — someone who will enable my adverb habit.
but yes, there is much wisdom in the sorting through of *helpful* advice…and there is no shortage of people who will tell you how to do things. I think the trick is in having confidence in your voice and being able to apply the wisdom of various sages in a way that enhances, rather than stifles that voice.
For me, too much listening to the helpful people is quite paralyzing and interferes with my embracing of the ever-important shitty first draft.
I mean, my ongoing albatross is the voice of a teenage girl and teenage girls *speak* in run-on sentences ferchrissakes and the next person that tells me that’s a run-on sentence may find me drop-kicking them and their smug opinions in the teeth….
nope, no frustration there at all.
seriously though — brilliant advice and very timely.
I’m nothing if not an enabler. Glad to support your adverbial habit. You should probably eat more bacon, too. And M&Ms.
I love run-on sentences. I’m taking a master’s class in run-on sentences over at http://www.thebloggess.com. Okay, it’s not an actual class. But I am learning a lot from Jenny’s insane&profane wordish brilliance.
and i really need to take this off my home page — any distraction available to stop me from googling submission guidelines…ack.
i shall happily eat more bacon and M&M’s — i’m nothing if not dedicated to honing my craft and if clogged arteries and gargantuan thighs is the price then let me forge bravely onward…
wow…i aspire to the run-on-edness of her sentences. i shall direct any and all future anti-run-on zealots in her direction…