Be Practical When You Get Personal

When you use personal experiences to sketch out an initial draft, you get stuck dealing with your own issues. Writing is theraputic, but you’ve got a story to find and finish.

You can regain momentum. First, decide whether you need to listen to Tina Turner sing What’s Love Got to Do With It or deal with your story. Tina encourages practicality because she knows perms and feathered hair were not just cocaine mirages, they were life lessons for all of us.

I recently used some personal experiences to write a story from the perspective of J. Alfred Prufrock’s female love interest using a contemporary setting while retaining the convention of being in one’s head and being in the moment that runs through the poem.

Here are some things that were preventing me from finishing a draft as well as the methods I used for resolution:

  1. Main character changes everytime I work on a new draft
    Possible Solution: Lock down the character’s value system & use it to guide the story
  2. Wanting a specific ending
    Possible Solution: Define the boundaries of the story to magnify the important part, then write past them in subsequent drafts to steal sentences for use within original boundaries
  3. Forcing characters to do things that are out of character
    Possible Solution: Understand the emotional obstacle course you’ve constructed for the character. Maybe you need a different runner or a different course. 

When a story is written based on personal experiences and edited over a long period of time, these solutions become available.

Lies steal from life, drafts steal from each other

Fiction isn’t a lie, but it can act like one when it’s a draft.

Lies are constantly stealing information to prove their point. They gain momentum. Any details that might be valuable or useful to the goal of the lie is gathered and stored until the lie is over. And the lie never ends when and how you want or expect or plan or whatever.

Maybe short stories are similar to lies, but drafts are the worst form of liars known to writers. Okay, so I had this draft once . . .

When drafts start stealing from each other, it leaves you in an awkward position. What are you supposed to think? Which one should you edit? Are you going to allow it? Maybe you didn’t bother to set appropriate boundaries between the various realities you’re simultaneously working to create. It happens.

The cannibalistic draft begins to thrive on your previously edited sentences and paragraphs. Characters, who should not have met, come to life and talk to each other. They go where they please.

Lying becomes a form of freedom. You think, take whatever you want from those other drafts, but don’t lose momentum. Don’t die without some killer last words.

Getting locked-out of a draft when you need to do edits

My older sister and I were constantly getting locked out of the house when we got home from school. We had a core set of techniques to break in without damage, but mostly, we just needed to remember to put the spare key back in the hiding place after we used it.

Since then, I’ve been locked out of sentences, paragraphs, and short pieces of writing. In order to break into a locked-down piece of writing, I use some different techniques:

  • Sentences: I keep writing around them until I draw enough from the initial idea to break apart the sentence. It sometimes takes days and a very cold draft, but it’s definitely possible.
  • Paragraphs: Every good prison break requires a crew so I figure out which sentences I can trust, but I don’t make deals. Anything can happen when things start to fall apart. I use the sentence breaking technique to find the weak links.
  • Short Pieces: Identify the weak location. Then consider shifting some paragraphs to build your case. The new writing is going to stick out like the new kid in school so you’ll have to rebalance the rest. Sometimes the rebalancing is just changing paragraph breaks, but I generally have to fill out a few of the paragraphs with new sentences to account for the new stuff.

Editing is like the spare key. I haven’t created a good habit of editing throughout the writing process. I’m not even sure what draft I’m working on so I’m forced to come up with these juvenile delinquent tactics to get back in.

Line edits are for lovers

When you ask a friend for feedback, what do you ask? I usually preface the request with a note on where to focus, which means I complain about where I’m struggling.

Are these characters crap? Is this dead boring? Tell me if you make it to the end.

I’ve already written about when I ask friends to read drafts, but I’m starting to get requests to read other people’s drafts which is way more relaxing and interesting for me.

Given the way I think, I usually read through to get a sense of the characters and make suggestions on dialogue once I get the hang of their voice. Then, I start to think about why they were where they were and said what they said and did what they did. Rather than making a suggestion on what should change, I usually try to expose the opportunities the writer has created for themselves. Here is an example:

Relationships require intimacy, in order to invest, you have to take a risk. A risk is doing something without knowing everything. Intimacy can be established by secret knowledge told by someone else without other person’s knowledge. I think that’s what you’re doing here.

I’ve always gone right to line edits, which my friend said you only do for love or money. Sabra Wineteer is smarter than me. I love friends like that.

Author readings don’t get bootlegged

As far as I know, people don’t trade bootleg recordings from author readings like they do for Phish or Grateful Dead shows. We should. I’ve seen some amazing readings.

Writer and writing are usually kept separate. You can like one or the other or both or neither. We hear about writers who read their work outloud as the ultimate pre-publishing joie de vivre. It’s heroic. It’s oh-my-God.

Author readings make me nervous. Uncomfortable chairs. People not used to being around other people. The author walks to the front, maybe says something to confirm they’re not a robot, and starts reading.

Are they going to breathe life into the story with their deep understanding of how all the pieces fit together? Will we know a little more after the reading? Does the author still enjoy connecting with their story?

Or will it be this:

Da-ta-da da-da blah, blah, blah, thank you, I’ll sign your copy of my book.

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