Image by Ryoji Iwata, free use on Unsplash
Unrealistic Expectations and Self-Inflicted Pressure
I wonder if other writers are influenced by unrealistic expectations and self-inflicted pressure when undertaking the task of revision. Do they also sit around, expecting ideas to land on their lap like so many butterflies on a spring day in a sunny meadow? Robins are nearby singing, not a cloud in the sky, and so on.
Asking Questions
Lately, I’ve been wading through my first draft of a book-length manuscript. With each chapter and the book as a whole, I’ve been asking the simplest question—what’s it about? No, really. This sounds obvious and yet it is anything but easy.
What I’m seeking isn’t so much a subject, although that can be helpful. I’m looking for sticky bits, the unmet yearnings and the uncomfortable questions that keep me writing and might also hopefully keep others reading.
When I’m writing fiction, I’ll ask—what’s this person’s deepest darkest secret? What’s the one thing they would never tell anyone, not even themselves? Oh my, would you believe, this is the first time I’ve considered the power of that question in my current revisions. You see, I’m working on a memoir, and the question of secrets becomes a whole lot touchier when directed at yourself.
Being Kind
I’ve been at this twenty-five years, the messing about with words and the trying to write stories, true or otherwise. Slowly, I’m beginning to learn that for me the greatest challenge is managing my attitude towards myself.
There’s no guarantee that when I ask a difficult question, I will immediately get an answer. But if I wait with curiosity and persistence, even the most unfathomable does eventually release clues as to what it’s about. And if I persist in the question long enough, a fuller answer is more likely to arrive.
And that, my friends, is the process I suspect. Mind boggling when you think about it. Could it be that the uncertainty of the undertaking is what gives creativity its inescapable pull? Maybe.
Accepting Mystery
Plus, to be honest, I think the best books seek answers they never fully grasp. What am I trying to say? That there is a miracle of enlightenment to be found in daring to ask hard questions and then waiting gently for the fragments of an answer to land in your imagination and accumulate there like pieces of a puzzle.
In other words, ideas are not fully formed beautiful butterflies. They are broken pieces of something needing further thought and construction. And if we’re not aware of this possibility, we might throw out those incomplete pieces and toss them aside and never glimpse the bigger picture they might one day become.
Practical Steps
I’m not fully sure how this is done, but it starts by easing off on the self-inflicted pressure and nurturing an attitude of trust. My trust in myself is shaky at the best of times, getting better, but nowhere near reliable.
The trust I’m talking about here is in something larger than myself, something wiser, something kinder. If I had to put it into words, I’d call it story. We all love them. We tell them the whole day long to family and coworkers and sometimes complete strangers. Stories are how we share ourselves and the world. I trust that.
The other practical step, a thing all of us can do although it’s not easy, is to be present. We can choose what we give our attention to and if we attend the unanswered questions and the unmet yearnings in our writing, as with the people in our life, a bond will form. I am a person who has carried deep loneliness her whole life, a sense of not belonging. But when I write, that feeling eases. Perhaps this is why.
If you’re in the middle of a messy revision, or even a straightforward butterfly moment, I’d love to hear from you. And if you enjoyed this blog, please subscribe. It’s free.
Debbie Bateman 