Hold Fast, Young Fellows

Posted on January 31, 2013 by Pearson Sharp

Last day of January! That’s exciting, I think. I’ve become resolute in my determination to maintain better writing habits, and so far it’s been paying off. There’s seldom enough time in the day to do all the nothing I’d like to do, but mornings I wake up earlier and work on this site, five days a week, and evenings after work is novel writing time. The novel is a beast, but it’s always worse imagining working on it than it is actually working on it.

There’s something dreadful about sitting down in the chair and contemplating opening up that word document, scrolling down and having a staring contest with that blinking icon. What will the first word today be?

Well, there’s a trick I’ve found, and that’s going back and doing a little editing of the work you did yesterday. That way you’ve already started writing by the time you start writing. You’re already warmed up and you’ve found your place again. It seems to work pretty well.

I was reading an article about the daily routines of famous writers. You can find it here. It’s definitely worth looking at. Some people have some pretty strange habits, such as Jack Kerouac doing bizarre yoga positions before he wrote, or Hemingway‘s famous habit of standing up while he writes.

Yet there was a common theme among all of them that I found reassuring. The most important habit to cultivate as a writer is to write. Write first, last, and foremost. Nothing else is more important. You must write, and you must continue to write until you are done. Then you should probably keep writing some more.

Friends, family, dates, games, movies, social outings, lunch with colleagues—they must all take a back seat to your writing. This isn’t to say you must do nothing else besides write. But your writing must not be neglected or postponed for anything. Whether you’re in the mood or not, you must write.

Hemingway in Cuba

And it makes sense. If you were a professional in some occupation, and you may well be, you couldn’t call and tell your office you weren’t coming in because you found this awesome new website full of hilarious cats and you want to look at it for a while before you do work (I can’t be the only one for whom this is a problem). You wouldn’t tell them you’re going on a date with your girlfriend this afternoon so you won’t be able to make that deadline. No, work comes first.

I’m not sure why this is such a difficult task for us to grasp as writers. Or at least, it is for me. Deadlines as a self-motivated writer are such soft, fuzzy things. I’m reminded of Jack Sparrow, I like to set deadlines, I like to wave at them as they pass by.

In any case, it’s comforting knowing what you need to do to accomplish something. Writing a book is hard, extremely hard. But hearing all the best writers that have ever been say the same thing, well, you start to get an idea of what needs to be done. I leave you with a wonderful quote from Hemingway, and I feel like it sums up the romance, charm, and hard work necessary to be successful as a writer.

When I am working on a book or a story I write every morning as soon after first light as possible. There is no one to disturb you and it is cool or cold and you come to your work and warm as you write. You read what you have written and, as you always stop when you know what is going to happen next, you go on from there. You write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and know what will happen next and you stop and try to live through until the next day when you hit it again. You have started at six in the morning, say, and may go on until noon or be through before that. When you stop you are as empty, and at the same time never empty but filling, as when you have made love to someone you love. Nothing can hurt you, nothing can happen, nothing means anything until the next day when you do it again. It is the wait until the next day that is hard to get through.

Go, Create, Write (idlelore.com)
Writing habits (victoria-writes.com)
Why I don’t believe in writer’s block (wordservewatercooler.com)

John Steinbeck

Posted on January 29, 2013 by Pearson Sharp

Ever since I read East of Eden in like grade 11 it’s been one of my favourite books. I’ve never read anything else by Steinbeck, I’ve always meant to, but he’s remained someone to whom I ascribe brilliant writing to.

In any case, the other night I went to visit a relative just up the coast about half an hour and after dinner we got to talking books. Being a writer, I think I naturally have the instinct to steer all conversations in this direction—much as a boxer or engineer might direct the focus towards the latest matches or innovations in airframe technology or the sturdiest rivets or something. I don’t know. I’m not an engineer. In any case, they mentioned that my maternal grandfather was a friend of John Steinbeck.

Apparently the two of them used to go boating and fishing together, and had a good friendship that lasted many years. A trophy of this friendship happened to be a book, Sweet Thursday, that Steinbeck had autographed for my grandfather.

I was thrilled to hold such a valuable little artefact in my hands. Simply knowing that one of my favourite authors had been a friend of the family was thrilling enough, but to actually have a relic of those days was enormously exciting. It reminds me of the associations of Hemingway with Gertrude Stein and Picasso and F. Scott Fitzgerald and all the others.

I wonder if someday I’ll be friends with a famous author or artist and can simply call on them for tea or a drive up the coast to our favourite cafe. Or perhaps, better yet, people will speak with reverence as they hold a book by Pearson Sharp, autographed to their grandfather, and they try to imagine what it might have been like to know me. An author can dream.

Go, Create, Write

Posted on January 17, 2013 by Pearson Sharp

“There’s a natural human tendency to lean on and repeat that which we do well. This is okay if we’re cranking out donuts or widgets. But as self-anointed creative artists, our daily joy and progress rest on our ability to jump beyond our safety. Look steadily and imaginatively at the blah in front of you. Given time and contemplation, your new level will stealthily appear. When “So what?” strikes, we ask ourselves “What now?” ~ Robert Genn

Robert Genn strikes again. In this post he talks about how to overcome the “so what?” factor that plagues so many writers, including myself.

Hemingway at Pamplona, contemplating his passion

Often I get the feeling that what I’m writing is good, but, so what? Who cares? And it’s a big deal, because if you can’t answer “so what?”, then you’re usually stuck with “why bother?”

But that’s not the point. The “so what” factor isn’t relevant to us as writers. That’s not up to us. Sure, we should be aware of it, but like one of my old heroes Frank Herbert once said, “You don’t write for success. That takes part of your attention away from the writing. If you’re really doing it, that’s all you’re doing: writing.”

And he’s right! You aren’t writing for “so what”, you’re writing because you have to. Hemingway said you just sit down at the typewriter and bleed. That’s what you do. You’re doing this for you, not anyone else. So there is your “so what”, there is your raison d’etre, your meaning of life. Do it for you, because you must, because you love it. If you approach it from a business standpoint, then yeah, “so what” matters a lot more, and that passion and enthusiasm that ought to be filling your work will be cold and lifeless. No one ever read For Whom the Bell Tolls and said, “so what?” It’s passion, as all art must be. If not for passion, then why?

Breathe and write, all else comes second.

Green Isaac Special

Posted on January 16, 2013 by Pearson Sharp

I’m not much of a drinker, but I discovered a brilliant concoction when I was reading Islands in the Stream by Ernest Hemingway.

“Where Thomas Hudson lay on the mattress his head was in the shade cast by the platform at the forward end of the flying bridge where the controls were and when Eddy came aft with the tall cold drink made of gin, lime juice, green coconut water, and chipped ice with just enough Angostura bitters to give it a rusty, rose color, he held the drink in the shadow so the ice would not melt while he looked out over the sea.”

It’s called the “Green Isaac’s Special”, and it’s 2 ounces gin, 4 ounces green coconut water (Vita Coco, available at Whole Foods), 1 ounce of lime juice, and four drops of bitters (or “just enough Angostura bitters to give it a rusty, rose color”). It’s absolutely brilliant. It’s by far the best mixed drink I’ve ever had. If there’s no coconut water available, you can use coconut syrup as well, and I bet coconut milk might work too.

Milestones and Motivation

Posted on May 3, 2012 by Pearson Sharp

“Discipline, after all, is motivation when you’re not motivated.” ~ Kenji Crosland

I came across this quote after hitting a milestone in my writing a few weeks ago. Most science fiction novels are between 100-150,000 words. I recently knocked over the 50,000 word mark. Since it’s taken me five years and as many rewrites to get here, I was pretty proud of myself. I’ve been slowly coasting down from that peak ever since, and after mentally rewarding myself for my (not insignificant) achievement, I feel I’ve been a little too lenient in the relaxation portion of my reward. It’s time to get back to work, and I’m finding it as difficult as ever to produce those ever-so-elusive words.

So I’ve been doing a little reading on the side to help me find some motivation to write. Kenji Crosland runs a blog (http://jimijones.com/blogging/finding-motivation-to-write/) and has some pretty good advice for budding writers. My problem, specifically (don’t we all have one?) is that the world in my novel is so complicated that writing about it is often times an absolute chore. I have 51,000 words on my novel, and nearly as many just in notes I’ve taken. Keeping all those notes and ideas and plans organised in my mind is nothing short of a headache, and I find I’m often overwhelmed with the sheer amount of material that I have on hand. Yet there’s always the nagging voice that, even with all my foresight and careful planning, I’m still going to miss something crucial—that I’ll inadvertently create a plot hole, or that I’ll overburden the reader with details—and so I’m continually wading between my notes and my novel, struggling to see any real progress.

I have a lot of faith that, once I finish this novel, the groundwork will be mostly laid for future novels and I can breathe a bit. In a way, it’s the opposite of having writer’s block. There’s simply too much for me to compile and compress and deal with at one time. Which is why I’ve found if I wait, it generally strings itself out in my mind coherently and I’m able to manage sorting it out on the page. But without practise and caution, this can easily result in days, weeks, and sometimes even months away from the computer. But for now, it’s dirty work in the trenches and when I glance at my computer as I’m walking through the room, and see that beckoning keyboard, it’s difficult to suppress a shudder at the thought of the gruelling work ahead.

Don’t get me wrong. Writing this book has a lot of very tangible rewards. I can’t remember the last time I was so proud of myself as when I hit that 50k mark. And ordering the chapters and seeing the page count grow is a real exercise in promoting self worth. It’s just that it’s hard, hard work. I’m sure many of you who are writers can relate. We all have our projects that we nurse along and have such high hopes for. Seeing these projects fall short of our (often times) unrealistic expectations can be seriously demoralising. So far, the only solution to this I’ve come across is this: just keep going.

Jennifer Egan, author of A Visit From the Goon Squad, had some excellent advice I read a while back, and I think of it every single time I sit down to write: “Be willing to write really badly. It won’t hurt you to do that. I think there is this fear of writing badly, something primal about it, like: “This bad stuff is coming out of me…” Forget it! Let it float away and the good stuff follows. For me, the bad beginning is just something to build on. It’s no big deal. You have to give yourself permission to do that because you can’t expect to write regularly and always write well. That’s when people get into the habit of waiting for the good moments, and that is where I think writer’s block comes from. Like: It’s not happening. Well, maybe good writing isn’t happening, but let some bad writing happen…”

…field of streams of consciousness.

And that’s it. After years of digesting Emmerson and Whitman and Twain and Poe and Hemingway and London and Herbert, I’m afraid of writing badly. I’m afraid I won’t live up to my expectations, that I’ll fall short of my heroes. It definitely holds me back, more than anything else I’m finding. But what can you do about it? Well, like Jennifer said: Give yourself permission to write badly. Odds are, it’ll be better than you think it is, especially after you get away from it for a while and check in to see what you’ve written later. Another one of my go-to writing quotes is by Frank Herbert, and he said, “Coming back and reading what I have produced, I am unable to detect the difference between what came easily and when I had to sit down and say, “Well, now it’s writing time and now I’ll write.” There’s no difference on paper between the two.”

I’m not sure I’m thatconfident, but I still think most of it is in my own head. Getting past that is 9/10s of the battle. And God help me, I’m going to win. There are more articles on the subject of writing and motivation on the internet than you could possibly imagine, so I know this isn’t a unique problem. That alone is encouraging. I know I’m a great writer. I can do this. And though it often feels impossibly hard, there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.

Nobody Tells Beginners…

Posted on April 30, 2012 by Pearson Sharp

I recently came across a video by Ira Glass (this video: http://vimeo.com/24715531) and he talks briefly about what it’s like for creative types as beginners. It isn’t long, but as I sat listening to it, I realised that he was entirely correct. That feeling—that you have good taste, that you know what you’re trying to do is brilliant, but that what you’re actually seeing in front of you isn’t, well, your best work—I know that feeling. I’ve been living that feeling for the last several years as I’ve worked and sweated over my novel.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I’m trying to broaden my reading horizon and discover new talent to help inspire and instruct my own writing. In that search, there have been innumerable times when I’ve set the book I was reading down, and just said, “wow”. I’m sure you’ve had that feeling too, at some point. When you read something that just hits the right spot, touches you where nothing else has before, or finally puts words to that nameless feeling you’ve been carrying around inside you for years, possibly without even knowing it. It’s times like these, when I set that book down and audibly release a profound sigh, that I realise something: My work doesn’t measure up. How can I compete with this guy, who just blew my mind? I’ve never written anything half so meaningful or true. What, in my brief years on this earth, could I possibly have experienced or come to understand that would be worth anyone’s time to read? What could I know or understand that would change someone’s life? How presumptuous of me to even try!

...been there.

Well, I don’t know. But I’ve decided that’s not going to stop me from trying. I’m sure one of my favourite authors, Hemingway, didn’t set out to try and change the world when he wrote For Whom the Bell Tolls. He just had a story, had experienced something himself when he was in Spain during the war, and decided to share it. It turned out that what he set down there was something immortal, because it was true. The people there might not have been real, the words the spoke might have been fabricated. But the experience, the feeling, the ideas were true. There are probably only a handful of people alive today who were there in Spain during that time, fighting in those mountains against the fascists. But everyone who reads that book can relate to the emotions there. And that’s what makes it timeless.

So back to the video by Ira Glass. I don’t have to write something profound. In fact, the less you are conscious of what you’re writing, the less presence you as the author have in it, the more natural and compelling it’ll probably be. I have a few notes I keep to refer to when I’m working on my book, and at the top of the page are a few quotes from some authors I hold dear. One of them is Frank Herbert, and among the several quotes of his there is this one: “Looking back on it, I realize I did the right thing instinctively. You don’t write for success. That takes part of your attention away from the writing. If you’re really doing it, that’s all you’re doing: writing.” It’s simple, to the point, and explains the reasons behind why I usually have trouble when I’m writing. I’m too involved as the author.

So when we begin, we have this period, as Mr. Glass said. This period where we don’t really like what we’re doing. We can see that it has potential, but it misses the mark. As I read and re-read my novel, I’m right there. I’m in that place. There are parts that are good. Damn good, if I’m honest. But there are other parts that are grasping, weak, and fall far short of where I intended them to land. I have to re-write those places. But you know what? That’s good. I’m glad I found them. Because when I wrote them, I thought I was nailing it, that they were really good. With the power of my future vision, I can see now that they weren’t that great. But that means I’ve grown, and that what I’m writing now is better than anything I’ve ever written before. I’m going to get through this time of doubt and misgivings, and come out the other side a better author. Right now, I’d probably just settle for “published author”, but I’ll take what I can get. They’re all stones in the path to success, so I know that eventually everything will turn out alright. As Churchill said, ”never, never, never quit.”