Jul

1

One-trick pony

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The most difficult thing for me about writing fiction (other than the time constraints, the interruptions, the laptop-induced carpal tunnel, the unfamiliar and horrifyingly pervasive sense of writer’s block, and the gaping black hole in my brain where things like “grammar” and “punctuation” are supposed to live, that is) is the realization that my memory isn’t just bad, it’s terrible. It seems to me that one of the key elements in being a really good writer is the ability to draw upon past experiences with clarity and intensity, that even if you’re writing pure fiction describing events that never actually happened it’s immensely helpful if you can remember certain aspects of life you’ve experienced firsthand in order to create a believable, solid framework for your story.

Take The Glass Castle, for instance. I mean, even if it turned out that Walls’ book was not based on fact, you’ve got to hand it to her for creating a fully authentic, exquisitely detailed account of someone’s childhood, and a lot of that has to come from remembering what it’s like to be young, right? And if it’s all true, well what the FUCK, how does a person have such a phenomenal memory that they can vividly describe conversations and emotions that happened thirty years ago or more?

I wonder if spending 7+ years writing online has had an effect on how I think about that stuff. When you’re so used to writing down things that are happening at the moment, maybe it becomes harder to dig deeper for the things that require a different access method, you know? It’s certainly affected my patience; I feel like I’m trying to switch from having short conversations to carrying out a terribly long-winded monologue where my voice just drones on and on and ON and oh my god, self, shut UP. Plus, there’s this entirely different concept of having to keep coming back to the story, whether I want to or not—I can’t just merrily toss it out to sea like all the little bobbing bottles saved on this website.

In short, this whole writing endeavor is about a thousand times harder than I had guessed it would be, and dude, I was already operating under the assumption that it would be really damn hard. As for a progress report, I completely scrapped the first 3000 or so words of the story I was starting to write and went back to the drawing board so now I have, like, four paragraphs of this so-called book and it starts with someone with a gun in their mouth. Yeah, I’m not sure either.

Anyway, I have some ideas for where I’d maybe like to take the story and I could use some help from you guys, if you’re willing. I’m looking to talk with people who have worked interesting jobs and wouldn’t mind describing them to me. Anything that’s a little out of the ordinary but recognizable—like, say, a dog groomer, floral arranger, bike mechanic, rafting guide . . . that kind of thing. If you’re so inclined, hit me up in the comments or via email, I’d love to hear from you.

In non-writing news, we’re heading back down to Oregon this weekend for a long holiday at the cabin. I predict lots of whining about the drive, a complete disregard for eating healthfully, and the familiar epiphany that no matter how good of a time you’re having, if the kids are there, it’s not really a vacation.

Whatever you’re up to this weekend, may your fingers be fireworks-injury-free, your crappy food be plentiful, and your family not drive you completely batshit. See you next week!

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