writer – Tina Stewart Brakebill

November was NaNoWriMo. And many people in my sphere (be it virtual or irl) participated. Me? I went another route. I didn’t add a single word to my novel-in-progress. And as we enter December, I continue to not write. If this not-writing goes on much longer, it may necessitate a designation change from novel-in-progress to novel-not-in-progress. Seriously, how long can I say I’m working on it, if it’s sitting untouched in a drawer?

One week? One month? Six months? One year? Forever?

The most frustrating aspect of my current stall is that I’m not really sure what’s behind it. Am I having writer’s block? Did I just need a break? Or am I trying to tell myself it’s time to bail (or bale for my UK friends) on the project?

It (the stall) started innocently enough. I’m nearing the end of the first draft and I know it needs some work. Among other things, I’m not sure whether my original narrative structure is working. So in late October, I did two things to address these concerns. I asked my writing accountability partner (and published novelist) to read and comment on the entire manuscript. And I submitted some pages to a writer’s conference. In early-November, I was rejected by the conference, so no help from them. But that same week, I got an excellent critique from my accountability-partner reader. Her comments, criticisms, and suggestions were spot-on. But they also reaffirmed some of my concerns. Bottom line: it still needs a lot of work.

In my pre-fiction (and let’s be honest-my younger) writing days, I immediately would have been fired up by the feedback. I am (or was) one of those weird writers that really enjoys the process of editing and rewriting. Pulling apart, restructuring, fine-tuning—love(d) it all! But this time, the thought of all that ripping and rebuilding left me a bit exhausted. So I keep putting it off.

Thanksgiving. Magazine assignments. The weather is nice. Read blogs. Write haiku. All perfectly good reasons not to start back TODAY.

Tomorrow. I’ll start back tomorrow. I promise! (I said just last night.)

So this morning was going to be that tomorrow. I absolutely was going to open up my novel and get back to work. The timing was perfect. My magazine assignments were submitted. Today’s calendar was completely empty. It’s foggy and rainy outside. I was READY to go! Then I saw Teresa’s picture prompt. I am obsessed with monkeys. I LOVE them. They make me happy. And that fabulous photo was all my brain needed to “forget” my original plan. Monkey thoughts filled my mind. But even as the monkey endorphins pumped me up, I caught sight of the manuscript pile on my desk and guilt flooded out my happy monkey vibe.

Doubt returned. Seriously, was tomorrow ever going to come?

So I’m back to my questions.

BLOCK?

Am I just dealing with a bit of writer’s block? If so, I should just sit down and WRITE! Even if it’s crap and I delete it all, it will get my juices flowing. Just WRITE has always been a winning strategy.

BREAK?

Did I just need a break? That’s possible—I had been on an intense streak the prior few months. Lots of writing hours at the expense of other things. Maybe my brain and body are forcing me to reevaluate the notion of BALANCE. A lesson I’ve never been able to master. If so, I should stop beating myself up. Enjoy my leisure time. Write for my blog. Read for fun. Binge watch The Great British Baking Show. Happy ho ho ho and all that. And jump back into it in January.

BAIL?

Am I ready to bail? No! Or maybe yes. NO!!! I don’t know. Quit avoiding the question Tina! Which is it?

OK. OK. I’m such a pain in my own a$$. I’ll try to answer.

If I’m being honest (one of my fave Paul Hollywood phrases), I can’t claim to have writer’s block when I haven’t even tried to write. It’s not as if I’m staring at the screen with a blank mind. I haven’t even opened the document in over a month! But am I seriously thinking about bailing on the whole project? Do I really think that I could let it go? I don’t think so. (?) I’ve been working on it for over a year. I don’t think I’m ready to just dump a year’s worth of effort.

So?

I think (or maybe feel—not sure which is dominate at this point) that I’m committed to finishing it. I still like my basic idea. And I’m not afraid of hard work. But I have to be honest, I’m just not ready to jump back into right this minute. So maybe I’m just on a break?

I guess we’ll see in 2019.

Any words of wisdom or support from the blogosphere will be welcomed! Meanwhile enjoy these adorables.

Thanks to The Haunted Wordsmith for the wonderful monkeys. I don’t blame you for my continued procrastination 😉

And to FOWC prompt of leisure. Maybe it’s karma’s way of saying that taking a break is OK!

Living in a city provides a constant stream of interesting sights. A thirty-something white woman walks down the street wearing only an oversized t-shirt and a pair of Converse high tops. A possibly biracial teenager on a skateboard rolls past me and I hear him say (in a rather joyous tone) “fuck you” to whomever he’s talking to on his phone. At my gym, an African American man works out every morning by himself in khaki pants and work boots. An elderly white woman orders a coffee and a muffin and then spends the next hour reading a hardback copy of Stephen King’s “Misery” An Asian man in a cowboy hat stands at the bar drinking an IPA at the local pub. Two white girls (hair and make-up nearly identical in style and application) stride effortlessly down the sidewalk in their platform heeled sandals while they both stare directly at their phones.

I have a writing friend / accountability partner / bitch session buddy that thrives on sights like these. She sees them as a this kind of inspiration. I often find myself wishing that I saw the world more like her. In my mind, her perspective on the world is how a “real” writer looks at things. I know that most fiction writers see these random sightings as more than just “hey look at that” moments. They’ll take note in their mental (or actual) writing notebooks because they know these glimpses can be used as a muse on which to build characters and/or stories. I envy those writers and their ability to mine reality for fiction’s sake. In my prior life, I was a history professor and a writer of history. Historians don’t make stuff up. I’m still a writer and for some of my work, truth still reigns—personal essays and biographical sketches, for example. But I have also started writing fiction. So for the first time in my writing career, I’m grappling with the notion of seeing a person as a character in my story, rather than their own.

More than once, this struggle has led me to doubt whether I can make that leap from nonfiction to fiction. Some days it feels too far. As an historian, I see the woman in the t-shirt or the black man in the gym and my first thought is to understand their context. How did they get here? What events and experiences led them to this place and this moment? What role does their race, their class, and their gender play in how their story unfolded? How do they represent themselves as individuals while also serving to illuminate something bigger? In short, I want to understand THEIR story. Which is why I became an historian. I wanted to tell other people’s stories.

But now? Now, I also want to tell my own stories. But, can I be an authentic fiction writer if I don’t see people as potential fuel for MY stories. To succeed, does my perspective have to change? Must I extract the person from their own experience to serve mine? Must I look at that old woman in the coffee shop and see her impeccable style and horror-story tastes only as a perfect character in my latest manuscript? If the answer is yes, then I need to find a kaleidoscope in my mind. Just a little twist and I’ll see things differently. I will be able to separate a bit of fact for the sake of fiction. I’ll observe that old woman in the coffee shop and take what I want for my story. I won’t need to understand her story. I’ll have my own. Just a little twist.

But I’m still waiting.

I write, but I also wait. Wait for the kaleidoscope to twist. Wait for my brain to quit doubting. Waiting to quit wanting to understand.

Other days, I write but I also worry. Am I failing? Failing to think like a fiction writer? Failing as a fiction writer? Failing myself by concocting a clever procrastination ruse? Failing as an historian by making stuff up? Am I failing?

Maybe someday, I’ll quit waiting and worrying and just write?!

Tag: writer

Writing that Novel: Block, Break, or Bail?

Seeing Like a Writer: How Do I Separate Facts for Fiction?