The Pace of Nature

The scene is set… an utterly desolate, shapeless, monotone landscape spread out before you in all directions; its heat baking the very oil from your hair, burning your eyes from its glare as it buries your feet a foot deep in its loose and powdery sand.

This was the beginning. This was the setting that inspired me to cast my lot in a new creative arena, into a new foray of artistic imposition. I decided, roughly a year ago, to write a novel.

I had long desired such a thing. I have been reading books since before I can remember, and I certainly have my fair share of words on paper in other creative endeavors (not including this blog). I have friends who are published; heck, my grandfather was even a published author! I own a dozen books on the subject, and read at least four blogs a day on the art and business of creative writing. I am famous for daydreaming of being able to do nothing but live with my family and write books for a living. But for some reason, the sudden, undeniable shock of being thrust into this barren waste was the impetus for me to take the plunge and begin the actual act of writing.

For three solid months, during the most unforgiving heat and miserable conditions I ever care to remember, I wrote like a mad man. In that short amount of time I amassed 36,000 words in 17 chapters, sometimes to the tune of more than 6,000 words a day (when I had that kind of time). My daily work schedule consisted of an early morning hour and a half gym/run (before it got too hot), 8-10 hours in the sun training Iraqis how not to shoot themselves in the feet, a cigar under the stars talking about the day’s ridiculous stories of near-death experiences, and then I’d hit the laptop for a good three or four hours until I collapsed in my hammock for the night, only to do it again the next day. On exceptionally good days (like when sand storms hit), I would have all day to do nothing bit hunker down and woodshed.

Although I knew that the somewhat artificial war-induced focus was likely to wear off as soon as I came home and would be replaced with real life with a wife and kids and bills, etc., I still expected to be able to continue on somewhat of a schedule toward the eventual end of this pièce de résistance. As I got ready to leave the country and come back home, I began leaving myself notes to remind myself of ideas that I had floating around that I didn’t want to lose. I plotted out several scenes for future chapters, and generally made sure to tidy up as much as possible, figuring that, at worst, I’d have a month or so of inactivity on my draft before getting back to it…

I arrived back in the United States 152 days ago.

That’s almost five months exactly! In that time I have written a smidge over 3,000 words that seem to hang on the page in complete apathy, mocking me with their tepid descriptions and feeble attempts at dialogue.

In short, I seem to have lost all momentum on this project.

Of course, I have tried to manufacture that same kind of focus I had in Iraq by sanitizing my office, organizing the “perfect” writer’s area, locking myself in said office and turning off all distracting interferences. The only problems with that are 1. I cannot turn off my son, who’s cute little polite knocks followed by whispers of “pappa?” through the crack of the door could cause me to drop any project in a heart beat- especially after being away from him for almost a full year. 2. No matter how hard I try, rekindling my own interest in this story is the biggest hurdle I have yet to clear.

Part of this problem is caused by the fact that when I started to write this book I was reading a book that was particularly interesting to me. It was one that someone I did not know too well suggested to me. Usually in circumstances such as these I tend to smile and nod, and never intend to pick up the book they suggest. Past experience has shown this as appropriate- and this book suggestion was unfortunately no exception. For whatever reason I picked this book up and began to read it, and I have to say in its defense that I did find it difficult to put the book down. Every single chapter was wrought with suspense and almost always ended in a twist. I loved the effect the author had. I would take the book with me everywhere, just to read it for a few minutes at a time. Even a half-page glimpse would bring me satisfaction until I could get to it later.

It was somewhere in the second chapter of this book that I decided to emulate this style of writing as best I could. I dissected the author’s strategy and tried to incorporate many of his tricks in my own writing. Instantly I found myself more interested in my own writing, and the chapters were flowing forth as quickly as I could type them out. Everything was coming along swimmingly, until it happened… I finished the book- and the ending was HORRIBLE!

What had worked to keep the reader hooked into reading the next chapter throughout the book turned into the most jumbled and flimsy ending I have ever experienced. The melodrama was laughable. It was almost as if the author was trying to win a bet on how many plot twists he could incorporate, but still had 11 or so to go by the last chapter so he threw them all in between about four pages of text. I was thoroughly disappointed.

It also just so happened that I finished the book on the flight home to the United States. So, along with my planned hiatus from writing in preparation for the wonderful reunion with my family, this book on which I had based a lot of my writing had left a bitter taste in my mouth. Together, I think the two just detracted me enough from even considering trying to revisit this project.

So why am I writing about it now? You mean other than the obvious answer? Because writing about having writer’s block is a sure way to get over it, right?

Heaven help me if I actually heeded the advice of countless published authors that parrot the same advice to every wannabe writer to ask them “so, what’s your secret to writing a great book?”

Duh! YOU HAVE GOT TO WRITE.

I really have no excuse either. My life has settled fairly well into a comfortable routine. I have by far the best writing platform anyone could ever hope for. I have ample access to advice from accomplished writers who continuously remind me that when it all comes down to it, no matter how many GTD programs or fancy notebooks you have, you’ve just got to get the words on the paper. I certainly cannot claim complete writer’s block (hello, I am writing this blog, aren’t I?). My inspirational setting might have changed from desolate desert to coastal cottages, but I still have thousands of pictures and plenty of memories. Heck, this laptop still has at least an ounce of sand floating around in its chassis. Its shake and rattle is a constant reminder of what I had to endure to make those 36,000 words that are now sitting idly in nicely organized chapters, waiting to be joined by another 64,000 or so by November.

Can I remember why I loved my characters so much? Can I remember who the bad guy really was and why he was so bad? Does the plot still seem plausible and interesting to me… or anyone else? I suppose I could do the typical Eric thing and plan an extensive review of the entire rough draft, complete with red pen. That would tack on another several months of self-depreciating behavior, and would be sure to tank my story for sure. If there is one thing I have learned about my creative self it is that the same filter for “genius” on day one interprets into “crap” on day 30. It’s a weird perfectionist artist thing.

No. I will not do a massive rewrite- at least not until an editor (with a signed contract) suggests it. I will not waste more time procrastinating some master plan to make it all come together perfectly. And I will not write another blog post in a feeble attempt to coax myself into inspiration. (Shame on me)

I will, however, write. Even if I have to describe every character head to toe until I can get them to start talking to one another again, I will write. And come November, I will remind myself of just how close I came to dismissing this work of mine to a simple “desert hobby”, and will be thankful, if for nothing else, that I compiled enough words on paper to be considered a novel.

Published or not, I will consider that a great accomplishment.

Writer’s block has always amused and interested me. I’ll sit down sometimes intent on writing and my brain will say something like, “Um. No. We’re not interested in doing that right now. Come back some other time.” I usually try to argue, but seeing as it controls my organs essential to life, I usually let it win. Instead of writing something meaningful, I usually end up doodling or trying my hand at some other creative venture to at least tickle my aesthetic side.

The problem with this is that I was starting to think that my brain had just downright revolted against the idea of writing a novel this year because the last several times that I have dedicated time to sit down and write, I’ve gotten nothing. No inspiration, no story line, no dialogue. Nothing. So, yesterday, for whatever reason, I decided that I had to beat this industrial-strength writer’s block, so I sat down and started doing some research. I started by reading (and subsequently subscribing to) a whole bunch of writer’s blogs. Reading their current struggles to put words on a page somehow helped me feel better about myself. Then I moved on to some workshop-like training sites that had several different “how to write a novel in just 30 days” kinds of advice. I quickly moved beyond those and navigated toward the more reputable (and less used-car salesman-like) sites that had several functional steps to help organize my thoughts and begin the process of planning a novel. My problem was not simply writer’s block, you see. My entire story line was almost completely absent. I didn’t know if my main character was a farmer in the 30′s or a space captain from another planet! I needed more than just a little help.

Amazingly enough, this process took me almost the entire day. That’s not the amazing part. What’s amazing is that I was able to sit here, almost completely interrupted, without having any casualties, or helicopters landing, or people asking me about marriage advice (somehow I’ve become everyone’s marriage and family therapist out here) for literally the entire day! Before I knew it the sun was setting and I had barely moved from my chair all day long.

By sundown I had started to catch glimpses of possible plot lines and story ideas. I was intent on doing only one thing before going to sleep; I wanted to write a one-sentence summary of my story. That’s it. By 7:00pm I was starting to think I could do it by the end of the night. I decided to take a walk around the camp and watch the sunset. I hadn’t barely been outside my tent all day, and the weather is to die for during dusk right now. As I walked around, watching the colors in the sky change over the stark desert floor, I let my mind wander and relaxed about pushing myself any more for the day. I had been focussing on trying to write something creative literally all day long after all. Taking a seat by my favorite landmark out here (the monolith), I just sort of relaxed and enjoyed the moment.

And then it happened. I started daydreaming.

Before I even realized what I was doing my mind was ablaze with scenes and story lines. I was imaging my character in a hundred different scenarios, and within minutes I had come up with a great story! I walked back to my tent, pulled up my mind-map program, mind node, my brainstorming program, voodoo pad, and my writing program, the ever-impressive Scrivener and got to work. My one-sentence summary? Yeah, that was done before my butt even hit the chair. Then I went on to write a detailed paragraph summary, a summary for Acts I, II, and III including plot lines for each of them, and even came up with seven or eight ideas for a good title! The next thing I knew, it was 1:30am… Ouch!

That’s just the weirdest thing. It’s feast or famine with me sometimes. What had been a month-long writer’s block turned into a creative stream of consciousness that I couldn’t pry myself away from until it had been satisfied. I called it the anti-writer’s block this morning; when you can’t stop writing, no matter how hard you try! I sort of scolded myself for staying up so late. I couldn’t believe that time had rushed by so quickly. I knew I was going to feel it in the morning.

The worst thing about staying up so late is that my job doesn’t adhere to conventional working hours like it would back in the US. In fact, “working hours” out here means whatever hours we are working. We pretty much let the sun decide when we work out here. As soon as we can see, we work. When we start having trouble seeing, we consider it a day and wait for the sun to come back around again. So, needless to say, I can’t often afford to stay up that late. (of course, I just got done telling you how I had sat in my tent with my computer on my lap literally all day long, so I guess I can’t convince you that I work that hard every day… just most days)

Thankfully the work we had scheduled for this morning was pushed back and I was able to sleep until 7:00am. If not, I’d be a walking zombie, cursing my creative genes and seeking only to find a quiet corner of shade somewhere and close my eyes. Now that I’m up and about again, I’m SOOOOooo excited to get started that it’s eating me alive. I fell behind on a few of my goals for this year, especially in creative writing, so I’m hoping to pick up the pace a bit and get back on track soon. Look for 50,000 or so words by the end of November. That’s my goal. ~ESV

I’ve been really enjoying working on my novel these past few weeks. I’ve managed to keep up with the schedule I set in my Goals for 2009, and have even managed to abstain from erasing whole paragraphs this time. I’ve been following a great book called “The Writer’s Way” by Sara Maitland, and it has really helped organize my thoughts and energy into writing something worth reading… or at least I hope it has.

I’m running into a frequent problem though, and that is that I feel the need to constantly research something before I write it. For instance, one of the settings for my book is the interior of Alaska. I chose this because the idea I had for this book took place in a very remote wilderness area, and because I have always been in love with Alaska. However, Alaska is the ONLY state that I have not been to yet, and so I have very little knowledge of it. So, while I’m writing and describing the scene as my main character walks around, I’m constantly picturing readers who live in that part of the country saying to themselves, “yeah, right. That (insert plant name) doesn’t grow there. What was this author thinking?”

I’m not supposed to do this, according to Sara Maitland, but I haven’t conqured that inner critic yet. So, I keep flipping back and forth between my project and the internet, keeping tabs all over the place for plants, animals, mushrooms, trees, bushes… and so on and so forth. I suppose I should probably just focus on getting more words on the page than on being accurate at this stage. I can always revise later, hopefully at the request of an editor who has agreed to publish me!

On the off chance that anyone out there knows much about Alaska, or chemical analysis of soil and water, or what that little machine that technicians in labs use to suck up fluid, eight pipets at a time, and drop it into little tubes to be analyzed is called- that would be great! As awesome as the internet is, it’s really easy to get lost on “rabbit trails” and waste 45 minutes looking for some obscure tool’s name.

So far my goals have been working out nicely. I feel like I paced myself fairly evenly so that I’m able to do everything I want to do, and so far nothing has felt like a chore, which was my whole plan. I’m on pace to have my first three chapters done by the end of February- assuming I can figure out whether or not I just gave my main character food posioning for eating a wild Deer Mushroom…

Man, writing is dangerous business! ~ESV

Creativity is a strange thing, is it not? I mean, feeling the compulsion to create can simultaneously be exhilarating and frightening; in one moment satisfying, and in the next, frustrating. I have been creating since I was a small child. Drawing, singing, piano, photography, writing… and so on and so forth. I have been rewarded with accolades for mediocre performances, and I’ve been ignored completely for projects that I’ve poured my heart into. And yet, my heart continues to say- “Create!” But why?

In the past few days I’ve felt like I’ve hit a wall. I don’t know if it is just too much free time on my hands, or fear of the unknown of this coming year and deployment, but I have been virtually unable to put two words together to form a simple sentence all week, which was supposed to be my week used for getting a head start on some of my creative goals for 2009. Considering the impressive amount of anxiety I’ve been feeling over what is essentially nothing more than writer’s block, I think I’ve stumbled upon one of those paradoxical enigmas of the creative mind.

To set the scene, I have had six days of absolutely no responsibility whatsoever. My wife and child are in another state. Everyone at work is out until Monday. School is over for the semester. Aside from running and other exercises, I have had zero pressure. One would naturally think that I would be able to capitalize on this freedom and make some moves on my writing. I mean, it wasn’t but a little over a month ago that I was neck deep in final exams, papers, projects, packing for war, packing for vacation, and packing everything else into storage. I would have given my left Kidney for a few hours of free time to relax and jot down a few ideas for my novel. Instead, I’ve been wandering around restlessly, feeling this mild sense of anxiety and procrastination, almost like I was on a deadline. And that’s just the funniest thing considering I’M ON VACATION!

Can you believe it? My own creative mind is giving me a hard time for not creating. And let me tell you something: you think bosses can be demanding? If I don’t manage this little voice in my head, it can be downright debilitating. And that’s really the crux of it all; I’m not managing myself very well. I don’t know if it’s because I’m uncomfortable with the idea of flying off and leaving my family for 13 months, or if I live such a simple existence now that it’s difficult to be inspired about anything? But it seems to me, ironically enough, that free time is actually my biggest distraction right now. It’s like the freedom of it all is paralyzing me. I’m reminded of a paraphrased quote from a famous author who once said, “there is nothing so terrifying as a blank piece of paper.” It’s like the opportunity to create, the sheer expanse of possibility is overwhelming my desire to create. After all, that desire usually has to vie for my attention and gets only a few minutes a day, fit in somewhere between work and sleep.

Or perhaps it’s my focus that has really been causing this lack of inspiration and motivation? I mean, I’ll freely admit that most of what I’ve been trying to write these days is tailored to sound good to this large, imaginary reading audience. The reality is that the more I write for everyone else, the less I’m writing for myself. My creativity is not limitless- it needs refueling now and then. In fact, my own inspiration does not come from writing something that someone else will enjoy reading enough to comment on and link to and spread around the www. My inspiration is renewed by putting to words images that pop into my head as I’m falling asleep at night, or by bringing a character to life so well that you begin to forget that they only exist on paper and in your mind. I think striving for that top-post or “digg-it” recognition is useless and futile. As the very wise Viktor Frankl once said,  “Don’t aim at success- the more you aim at it and make it a target, the more you are going to miss it. For success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue, and it only does so as the unintended side-effect of one’s personal dedication to a cause greater than oneself, or as the by-product of one’s surrender to a person other than oneself. Happiness must happen, and the same holds for success: you have to let it happen by not caring about it.” (Frankl, V. 1983, Man’s search for meaning: An introduction to Logotherapy. New York: Simon & Shuster.)

So maybe it’s less of a writer’s block, and more of a rebellion against a misallocation of creative energy? Maybe it’s a little bit of both? I don’t know if there’s such a thing as too much vacation or not. I’d like to think that I could sit on a private beach somewhere for the rest of my life, just me and my MacBook Pro, and create, create, create to my heart’s content. Maybe that’s just not the case? Maybe time and work are not the great enemies of creativity that I once thought they were? Maybe they are a necessary fuel to my own creativity? Maybe I’m only feeling anxiety about creating something of value because I’ve put the value in the wrong place? Whatever the case may be, this holiday vacation of mine is coming to an end, whether I like it or not. And as I return to the business of preparing to go to war, and my free time once again becomes scarce, I only hope that I can forgive myself for the free time I had but didn’t use.