Some Personal Theory

So, you want to write a book (a story) that means something.  You want those deep, thought-provoking themes to reveal to the reader something about their own lives and hopefully encourage them to change for the better.

Then you get to writing class, and they tell you can't write toward theme because you will have a bad story.  They say you have to let the story to the leading and let the characters speak for themselves.

You are stubborn and try to write toward theme anyway.  You fail.  You realize that you have to listen to your teacher.

You try writing for yourself, but you are a theme person.  That is just how you are as a writer.  And you are trying as hard as you can to silence the part of your writerly self that wants to inject theme into every emotional conversation between two characters.  Symbolism!  Metaphor!  They are all dying to smear their faces on the page.  You do your best to hold them off, but bits of them creep in and get into the writing anyway.

Now, you're faced with your horribly written draft that is half a weak story that got shoved around by metaphors and themes and ideas and absolutes and ideals and half a poor soap box speech that has these weird characters with their own ideas (that probably and somehow conflict with the person that created them) getting in the way.

What do you do?

My first idea: Embed your ideals into the plot points.  Sure, let your characters do their own thing and hold the theme down.  But during the drafting part, you have to go through your draft and see what themes are popping out from the characters themselves.  If you don't like them, well, you're the author.  Get rid of them.  But the ones you do like, work with them.  They are there already.  But make sure that you make realizations or ideals presented or something like that a plot point.  They have to be integral to the plot.  If you could take them out and the plot would not have to change a bit, that won't work.  Your theme has to be so integral to the plot that it is a part of the characters lives.

Thats just an idea.  I don't have any experience really to back it up.  Ron Carlson, whom I studied story writing under for a year, would probably laugh at this blog post.  Either for my stupidity or for my simplification of something that he has been trying to teach me all along.

Day 373

In 373 days or 53 weeks and 2 days, I was able to write 59,992 words in some semi-understandable pattern to create sentences, put those sentences next to each other to make paragraphs, and those paragraphs to make a story.  From March 21, 2010 to March 29, 2011, I labored to write the first draft of my first novel after college.   But I can officially say that I completed the first draft of my novel.

To some, this may seem like an egotistical post, boasting about my accomplishment.  Please know that I am in no way am I proud of what I have written.  Its a mess.  Its not well-written, and I have a lot of work today.  What I am proud of is the dedication that went into completing the project, even if it did take me much longer than it probably should have at roughly 1,000 words a week (which isn't much).

After completing the draft, I stopped and realized that I did not need to write "one more page" so that I would have a place to pick up later.  I anticipated feeling more excited, but at 1am, I was tired and excitement didn't seem the natural response at the moment.  I felt much like I did after I got engaged.  I felt a warm sense of contentment, not a bubbly excitement.  Instead of a scream, it was a sighing moment.

Now, on to the edits!  Going to try and keep an eye on the bigger picture while I edit, but that is so much easier said than done.  Onward, ho!

Experience Wins

This post may contain 50% rant, so please understand it in that context.

I am the youngest employee at my work.  Therefore, I lack a vital thing that everyone else has and I cannot attain.  Experience.   And even though I pride myself in having some brains to put two and two together, experience seems to trump everything.  Even if I think of something, someone else can say, "Well, I've done it before this way..." and my idea is no longer valid because someone else's past experience consistently yields better results than under-developed ideas.

I've never planned a wedding before.  Therefore, I lack the vital thing that everyone else has and I cannot attain. Experience.  And even though I pride myself in having organizational skills, experience seems to trump everything.  Even if I think of something, another woman can say, "Well, it's always done this way..." and my idea is no longer valid because someone else's past experiences yield more traditional results than my under-developed ideas.

Okay, the tone may be a bit much, but I guess I'm a little discouraged.  What is the point of going to school if experience is really the only thing that makes or breaks it?  It seems like my schooling only gave me tools to seem like I have something to offer to the company, when really companies want people who are experienced.  My knowledge only makes me an efficient gopher.

On the other hand, my wedding is slightly different.  While I have very much relied on the past experiences of others and others' recommendations, there are some things I just feel like I don't want to do.  But others are telling me that that is not how it is done.  Do I defer to their ideas because they know and how can I know?  I haven't done this before.

I am a very stubborn person.  Even now, I put on my little kid pouty face when someone tries to do something for me that I know I can do myself and say, "No. I do!"  Yes, childish, but I think that if I think I can do it, let me try until I know I can't.  I don't like to read directions.  I fumble around first so I can figure it out.  This often leads to mistakes and picking up after the mistakes but ultimately understanding.  Companies don't like that.  Weddings don't like that.  There is no room for trial and error.

I'm also a little frustrated because why I understand the value of experience, there is no way for me to get it without waiting.  And I hate waiting.  (Sorry, more childlike impatience going on.)  I have to sit and wait in my gopher hole before I can watch enough people exhibit the wealth of their knowledge and experience for me to have experienced enough to step into the light.  Is that how it works?

At this point in my life, being the "youth" that I am, I am at the start of my adult life and wondering where the adult part kicks in.  As far as I'm concerned, there should be a phase for "young adult" when you are an adult but not quite.  I guess years take the fun away from everything anyway, so its a trade off.  Fun or experience?

Okay, never mind.  I take the whole thing back.  I want the fun.  ;)

Sickness & House Moms

I have been taken captive by the influenza virus.  I am not a normal captive to this hideous tyrant who demands control of every part of your body that can ache, but this year I fell victim.  Sick for four days, going on five.  I slept for 15 hours the first day I was sick.  Only today have I felt well enough to even pull my laptop downstairs and sit on the couch (lying down, because sitting up takes too much energy) and write this.

Figuring that this is the last time I will be deathly ill and still under the cares of my attentive mother, I relished in the ability to have water delivered to my bedside, meals made for me, and movies put into the DVD player for me (complete with the remote handed to me while I lounged with my 101 degree fever).  I will be probably be very sad the first time I'm sick at home alone, my husband having gone to work for the day, and I'm having to drag myself to the kitchen to force myself to cook something to eat because otherwise I'll just lie in bed all day.

And I keep saying this, but it is true: I had forgotten how boring being sick was.  Perhaps it was the nature of this flu, which the doctor says is one of the worse strains she's seen over the seasons.  Between the muscle aches, the joint aches, the nasal congestion, drowning in my own phlegm (too much information?), the head aches, and the sweating fevers, I had little space between the fatigue and the lack of brain function to do much of anything except stare at the television.  Reading has become something like writing to me: part work and part enjoyment.  Therefore, reading would require too much energy while I was sick.  So, there I was, watching movie after movie because I had nothing else to occupy my time until I got better.

Quite depressing.  All this time...five days of it...wasted because I have no energy to do anything.  I was and am quite frustrated that all this time has passed and I accomplished nothing except to stay in my pajamas for probably the longest continuous time in my life.  I guess, that is a feat for some.

Meanwhile, I've been watching my mother do her thing around the house.  Its interesting watching a house mom.  Little decisions can consume their entire day.  Suddenly feeling bothered by the dust on the floor can cause a flurry of cleaning, putting every thing else that was on the to-do list somewhere else.  Desires like cooking that chicken or finding that dress are now job tasks, not wishes.  They are things that have to get done, otherwise the paycheck doesn't come.  Not really, but they have more magnitude.  You wonder what they do from the hours of 8am to 3pm when their children are in school.  Sure, my mom also has her business, but most of that I see her doing in the evening.  So what DOES she do?

I guess when I become a house mom, I'll understand, since that is the plan.  I want to stay at home with my children.  I guess the job becomes a little more looney when the children start moving out and growing up.  I guess what I was observing these past 5 days was an empty-nester syndrome attaching itself to a once-busy house mom who used to have at least one toddler toddling around the house.  That would mean at least one eye was busy watching the kid.  Now, there are no toddlers, only teenagers and young adults, leaving the eyes with nothing to watch in the corner of them and only worries.

Being sick and quite bored, perhaps I am babbling on about nothing that is true since I've never been there before or perhaps the medicines are getting to my head.  Either way, its been interesting, and while I don't mind being able to sleep in, I will very much like to stop being held physically captive by all of this fatigue.  I can't wait to get something done.

Being Clay

I've been engaged almost three months, and this period of time has yielded a lot of struggle and learning.  I feel like the clay in the Potter's hands, being molded and pushed and smashed and turned.  It's been a frustrating sort of pain.  You know that you are going to come out better, bolder, smarter, but you feel your insides turn at the thought of going through another round on that potter's wheel.  It hurts.  And even though the goal of a "better me" and a "better marriage" and a "better relationship" dangles above like a carrot, you can't help but focus on the pain at present and wish you could just skip to the end.

My sister took a pottery class in college.  She told us around the dinner table the first time she saw her professor work the clay on the spinning wheel.  She said the clay looked like water in his hands.  He moved it up and down, using his hands to mold and move the clay into various shapes.  He would knead the clay, stretching it and then putting it back into a lump and then stretching it again.  My sister is more show than tell, so she moved her hands, mimicking his movements and telling us how she remembered thinking, "I can do that."  It looked so easy, of course.

Her professor impressed on his students that just the right amount of water is needed.  Too much and the clay slides off the wheel when it spins.  Too little and it won't move when you press your hands to it.  He said the moisture of the clay is important to a good pot.

My sister then proceeded to her own wheel and naturally, she did not move the clay as easily as he did.  Some of her peers had flying balls of mush spinning off their wheels, but her clay was a rock.  She sprinkled more water, and it still didn't move.  How had her professor made it look so easy?  She pushed and pressed and punched and her clay remained a rock.

This turned into a discussion of how our Potter feels when He tries to mold us.  I can imagine that I'm much like the clay without enough water.  I'm stubborn and prideful, and those things make me immobile.  Not to mention I don't like change.  God patiently tries to mold me with His hands, and I resist, screaming, "No!  I don't want to change!"  I imagine others are like the ones with too much water.  They just spin off the wheel and run away.

These past few months have been full of spending time on the Potter's wheel.  Premarital counseling has opened up a lot of opportunities for change and growth, and while in my head I understand that I need to reform myself, I find that I am resistant to climbing out of my cozy little hole.  And I can't admit that I even dug myself this hole.

As I've spent time in this period of my life, I've begun to see insight into character.  We can't understand character unless we get to know someone other than ourselves.  Understand is a heavy word.  Its not just understanding; its understanding.  Sorry, poor English means having to use italics to make a point.  Let's put it this way.  One way the verb "to understand" is defined is "to be thoroughly familiar with; apprehend clearly the character, nature, or subtleties of".  That is a definition with of "to understand" with an object.  Without an object, "to understand" is defined as "to perceive what is meant; grasp the information conveyed, to accept tolerantly or sympathetically".   

To understand my husband-to-be is to be both thoroughly familiar with him and his character and to also know him so well that I can interpret what he says, grasp the meaning he tries to convey in the words he says.    I've been dating this man for 6+ years and this is still difficult.  More difficult now as we try to blend our lives together. 

Everyone tells everyone else that communication is the key to a relationship.  True, of course.  However, I do not think it is as much the communication that is as difficult but the development of understanding.  Understanding has a lot of things built into it: sympathy, empathy at times, humility, and an ability to put one's self into a third person perspective.  

As I've attempted (and failed) to understand my fiancé, I've begun to see how character is intricately more difficult than any other thing in a story.  To accurately convey a person in the confines of words, allowing for this complexity and reality.  Its something next to impossible to truly achieve.  People try.  And a lot of writers get quite close.  To truly accomplish it is something extra-ordinary.  

As I've spent time on my Potter's wheel, I begin to see the intricacy of His creation, my own stubborn flaws, and opportunity to hold a richness of life that I have yet to tap into.  

Storytelling

There is something beautiful about the craft of storytelling.  Using history, back-story, instances, moments to create a montage that says something to our hearts.  Whatever form it may take, be it in a book or a movie or a speech, storytelling speaks to all of us.

I was watching Randall Wallace's speech for the National Prayer Breakfast today and wondered, while he was amusing and his speech was humorous, what all of these little vignettes were for.  Then as he spoke, you start to see all of his pieces come together and what their purpose was.

In realizations like that, I always think of author and professor Ron Carlson, who I had the extreme privileged of studying under for over a year in college as an undergraduate.  He would always teach that when writing, you pull from the inventory you created.  In a room, describe what is on the fridge or the bulletin board or the desk or the love seat.  Put items in the room, and you will find them to be useful later.

It was the same thing here.  Randall Wallace told bits and pieces of his life, his past, his childhood and pulled them together by association to create depth and meaning to his story about the one prayer that helped to inspire Braveheart.

Watch this beautiful speech.  It holds positive qualities not only in the art of storytelling but also in the desires of mankind.  May God bless America.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I've been seriously considering teaching.  Or quitting my job, finding a nice part-time position, and writing my novel.  One of the two.  Both would require mountains of work, but different types of work.  The second would require a lot more self-discipline.  The first would require a lot more money.

It has been a difficult time for me.  Never before have I not had a reason to get out of bed in the morning.  Life has been such a challenge for me when I have work to dread rather than look forward to.  I used to enjoy working, and while the commute was inconvenient, I would drive it because work was worth it.  Now, the commute is unbearable because I have no personal motivation to get to work on time.

My dad once told me that there are times in your life where you have to work places you don't like just because you need the money.  I guess I've never been in financial want before, so I don't know what that feels like.  But still, I think that might be more of a male mentality.  I feel like girls most often get to have a job they want more so than boys because boys have the pressure of bringing home the bacon.  Girls work almost for recreation and personal fulfillment.  So, its hard to consider the financial aspect of working.

As long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a writer.  It was the only serious occupation I ever "declared" when asked the age-old question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"  Figure skater, artist, teacher...those I never seriously considered.  They were just dreams.  But when I was eight and told people I wanted to become a writer, I meant it.  It wasn't something I dreamed of doing; it was something I planned on doing.  I don't know how I knew at such a young age, and I know it has been a blessing to have a consistent self-chosen direction in my life.  What I didn't realize was how complicated this dream would be.

I've discussed before about how much of your life do you surrender to writing, when there are plenty of other priorities that demand one's attention: work, school, family, church, friends.  How am I supposed to put writing above those things?  It is my desire to replace work with writing, make the two synonymous.  Yet, how do I accomplish that financially with a soon-to-be husband and a family to contribute to?  It seems selfish to drop everything and pursue a childhood "fantasy" and leave everyone else at the whim of such a dream.

Teaching is a compromise.  It involves writing and my passion for mentoring adolescents, yet again it involves time and schooling and money (more money...I really hate money at this point).  I hate how pursuing a dream requires the people around you who love and care for you to sacrifice so much.  Especially when my fiancée has sacrificed his dream so that I can have mind.  How am I supposed to go for it now?  I'll leave a trail of guilt behind me.

As every morning passes and the motivation to get out of bed diminishes, I feel more and more tempted to throw my hands up and start anew.  But I have a wedding in (less than) seven months to pay for and a life to maintain.  Who could get married and start a new job at the same time?

There is almost too many factors to consider.  Part of me wants to think this through, the other part of me wants to just go off of instinct.  The safe and logical part of me demands I stay put for the time being.  We shall see...

On Disappearance

Dear invisible, unknown, and probably non-existent readers,

I'm sorry to have disappeared for so long.  I am a Christmas person, and with that, I dive head first into the festivities.  Festivities leave little time for blogging.

Second, I got engaged.  Yes, I got engaged.  It's a pretty big announcement to make on the Internet, it feels like, on an inconsequential blog.  However, it must be stated.  Why?  Well, planning a wedding feels a bit more immediate than writing a novel, right?

But I'm almost done.  I can taste the end.  I don't know what it is yet, but I am so excited to find out.  I feel more like a writer attempting this novel than I ever have before.  Its amazing what putting words on virtual paper can do to your life.  My (now) fiancée doesn't understand, and I don't expect him to.  Dumbing it down to the "sense of accomplishment" is too simplistic, but its not as complex as what it sounds like.  It's just...I'm almost done.

I'm frantically trying to balance wedding planning and getting this first draft done before I get married.  Granted, if I were truly diligent, I would finish the last...say, eight chapters before I get married.  But who knows?  I have no idea how to plan a wedding.  Everyone says its stressful, and I'm sure it is.  Having just gotten started, I haven't really felt that stress yet, but I'm sure it'll blindside me like...well, something big.  Anyway, I'm setting my goal realistically.  I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

So, sparse postings will occur from here on out, and I've given up numbering my days.  I'll calculate it all at the end.  Until next time, have fun.

Sincerely,
Cheryl