No Ideas, No Problem

So my last post I talked about how it felt like my idea well had gone dry. After I wrote that post, I got to work and discovered an idea I’m jazzed about. So I’m back to work on another story.

Two days after that I was sorting through some clutter and I came across the July/August 2018 issue of Writer’s Digest that featured an interview with George Saunders. I couldn't remember if I’d read that interview or not. So I took the time to read it. (This is why I never get any cleaning done.)

In the interview he talked about being wary of outlines and how he tried to know as little as possible (about the story) at every step, so you’re open to the actual energy coming off the page.

Well, gee, where was this advice two weeks ago when I needed it? I mean seriously, here is a guy who’s won a Man Booker Prize, and he starts out knowing as little as possible. Here I am, a producer of smut, trying to brainstorm as much as I can before I start.

Yes, yes, I noticed the difference too.

I’m not out to win awards, or anything like that. I know for a fact my stories are not as well written as George Saunders, or as deep and meaningful as his might be. I’m just doing what I love to do. Still, I pondered about my process, or lack of, or that I’m still trying to find it. I wondered if I’d have sat down, opened a new document, and started typing away what would happen?

But then I sort of know what would happen. I’d produce what they call in the literary world — a hot mess. I know this because I have many hot messes lingering on the hard drive and usb sticks. Still, I experienced pure joy while writing most of them. Some of them are salvageable. . . well, maybe they are. Others. . . yeah, not so sure about the others.

I think writing fiction is a strange and mysterious process. You’re creating something from nothing. Yet, you have to approach it with mundane workman like approach — you sit down and get the work done. Whether you plan everything in intricate detail, or you type whatever kind of words flow out of you in the moment, the work has to get done.

And maybe it’s not supposed to be shoved into a neat production process. It’s supposed to come out a hot mess, you know, to cause the writer pain and grief so it feels like hard work. Maybe that’s the secret, who knows.

But writing is a constant learning process. I accept that. I think what worries me most is forgetting that. I try to push myself further along with each new story. I know I’m still lacking; I know my stories aren’t perfect. I know there are many areas I need to improve in, and I am trying.

The other day I was talking to a friend of mine who’s been writing longer than me and had some measure of success in traditional publishing. He said, “The more you write, the better you’ll get.” I know this, because I’ve uncovered some of my earlier efforts, and marvel at how far I have come.

Then again, I’ve uncovered some early efforts and think, “Wow! I wrote that? This isn’t half bad. Did I really write this? I don’t remember writing this. Was I drunk? In possession of aliens? Who the heck wrote this? Hmm. . . That is my handwriting. Why the hell can’t I write this good now?” Oh well.

Well, sexy readers, that’s my ramblings for the day. Another steamy story is taking shape. So I better get back to work on it. In the mean time, stay sexy!