Please Kill Me,
Greetings and Happy Tuesday, my manic keyboardists of literary affliction. How the hell are you? Should the days have gone by, in no short supply, (then I’m rhyming and I don’t know why. One sec…)
*drops to knees*
“Damn you, DISNEY!!!!!!”
Okay. That oughta do it. Anywho, we’re present for another revolution of this tiny blue ball that we call earth (and the aliens call #TurdGiggle7), which means that it’s time for this particular author (#SelfProclaimedLoverOfTheMillenium), to spew his brains onto an Acer, and desperately hope that it nudges the dial of sanity a smidgeon. (#SpoilerAlert #ItDoesn’t).
One of my favorite quotes, (or at least, how I remember it–because I’m lazy and #Google has too much power) is by acclaimed novelist, scare-doctor, (anal-probist?) Stephen King.
Now, don’t get me confused with any of those fair weather fan-boys who hated him a month ago (when The Dark Tower came out) and now (that #It is running amock) ride the tip of his ballpoint like he paid them to do it, (#ThatWasAggressive). I do it for free, and that’s because I genuinely love and respect the man’s contribution to the craft.
That being said…Back to my point. One of my favorite quotes of his is from his book On Writing, (or potentially an amalgam of things that he’s said), is that the writer is an archaeologist. Rather the alchemy that some of the more eccentric artists claim they’re capable of, Mr. King presses against the idea that “…the story is already there, we just have to do the digging to find it…” (or, something like that).
It’s an all-encompassing idea, whether or not you subscribe to it. It just sort of makes sense. It captures the delicacy of the process, the time and effort the work demands, and even manages to make just enough room (within itself) to fit the literary failures. You f-ck it up, then you F-CKED it up–start over or move on. I may be reading a bit too much into it, but I’d like to think that it’s something that was meant to be…DUG, into. (“Huh…Huh?”)
*sees your faces*
*walks to guillotine*
Anywho. It seems to capture the essence of what it is that we do. For me, (because I can never leave an idea alone), I’ve tacked on a little something (not saying that I’m on that, level, but I’d like to be. So, I practice at it). We wipe dirt from the gold.
I notice that a bunch of authors will b-tch and moan about writer’s block, creative flux, (that body they’ve got to bury), etc. But perhaps that’s just because they’re looking at it from the wrong angle.
You can’t build a skyscraper from the roof down. You can’t have a GRAND idea and think that you can build a story around it. You need foundation. You need structure. (You need to put on those THICK RUBBER BOOTS AND DIVE INTO THE FREAKING SEWERS OF THE STORY!!!!). Only then, will you be able to begin.
From there, you search. You find the story that lingers beneath that grand idea. You find the tiny, shiny, little nuggets. You wipe them off and observe them. You become taken by them. THEN, you build.
But there can be no structure, if you don’t take the time to dig. There is no point in digging, if you don’t cherish what you find. This whole thing that we do is a process. The trick, IS NOT trying to find a way around, under it, or over it.
The trick is to fall in love with it. Nuture it. Take pride in it.
Because when it’s done, you won’t matter anymore. Neither will what you’ve done to create it. When it’s done, it will present itself to the world–and sink or swim accordingly (it’s really none of your business at that point). All that you can do, is what the story deserves. Take care of it. Dust it off (toothbrush, not a jackhammer #SK)
And let it go.
Alright gang. That’s about all the passion that I’ve got for one day, (and yet…still single?). I’ll be back at some point in the future for more near-orgasmic rants about writing.
Glide Through Your Tuesday,