I have decided to add another commitment to my routine.
It’s not as if I have the time. I have my paid job as an articling student, my writing, my publishing projects, and my attempts to put myself “out there” in social media. I’m also in a long form writers’ group. We read each other’s full novels and critique them.
That’s only part of the story. I also strive to make time to be with my wonderful husband. And then there are my amazing friendships. Also under “personal” comes my health issues–the management required to keep my arthritis and endometriosis from taking over everything else, with the pain they cause and the toll they take on my energy levels.
A final set of roles tie into a wider community. I am a licensed officiant, and perform weddings, child welcomings, and other rites of passage for people by working with them to create ceremonies that resonate with who they are. My volunteer commitments also include co-teaching a course on comparative religions to a wonderful group of 11 and 12-year-olds–which means research and preparation (so far we’ve covered Hinduism, Judaism and are working our way through Christianity).
Cumulatively, this makes for a jam-packed existence. Amid all these commitments, which I take seriously–I already find myself gasping for time. Any additional commitment means carving time out of one of the others (or cutting down on sleep).
And yet, I’ve had a growing concern. It’s too easy to fall into a triage situation–working through the tasks as they come up, rather than slotting them into a larger picture that encompasses the longer term. And so, I’ve forced myself to step back and to ask whether I can start approaching these tasks in a more effective way.
Part of this has involved strategic visioning–where am I going with these commitments? What are the likely long-term outcomes? Is that the direction I want to take, or do I need to adjust some of my actions so I’m moving in a more appropriate direction? This process has been immensely helpful.
I’ve also been consulting books and related resources. See, my other concern is that I’m just churning things out–aiming for word counts and productivity like some Soviet-era shock worker in a dysfunctional factory.
The old adage, “the best way to become a better writer is to write every day” has some truth to it, but I’ve begun to fear that in focusing on word goals, my writing is either stagnating or possibly even getting worse. Sure, I’m plotting the stories consciously and enjoying my journey with the characters, but the writing itself has become mechanical–which doesn’t give rise to conditions that lead to improvement.
And so, I’ve decided to make the commitment and carve out some time to do something that frankly is far from a favourite activity: deliberate practice. Deliberate practice is about focusing on making the mechanical un-mechanical, with the aim of improvement. I’m trying to reframe it of course–calling it “professional development” sounds much sexier. But ultimately, it is still the unpleasantness of the tedious discipline of concentrating on technique, form, style, mechanics. All stuff that I’d rather not work on because I find it dull and unappealing, particularly when it’s set beside the joy of losing myself in story and character and narrative.
I truly resist this. But, when I took a step back and looked at my direction, I realised that in the long term, I wanted to be a better writer. And for me, “better writer” means better from the ground up–from mechanics, to character, to plot, to… everything. So, it’s back to the basics. I’ve pulled out my copy of Strunk and White (which I actually enjoy reading, so that’s not a chore). I’ve brainstormed a variety of dismally self-improving exercises that will hone in on mechanics and style. I’m committing to a small chunk of my time, every day, carved out of my fiction writing time–not because I want to lose that precious time, but because this longer-term goal of being a better writer is also precious. And I know all too well that if I don’t start chipping away at it, a little at a time every day, then it will not become a reality.
Wish me luck!
I certainly do wish you luck. Kat! Do you follow Fel Wetzig? http://www.scotzig.com/author/fwetzig/ You and she really make a pair! Your goals may be different, but you’re both overcommitted, for sure, but determined to carry out way more than you have time for! I admire that but I can’t work that way! Maybe it’s my age, but I have to know my limits or I simply stop doing anything! I think I’ve always been that way. That’s why I will never take on beta reading or critiquing others’ writings. That could be a full time job and teaching others how to write isn’t one of my goals.
Also, for some reason I never do much technical thinking about what I write. It has to come out the way it comes out and once it’s done, it tends to solidify. That doesn’t mean I don’t revise, rewrite, rearrange, add (sadly) and even cut at times (amazingly) – it just means my writing is what it is. And I’ve always said, if writing stopped being fun and became a chore, I would stop doing it immediately.
I will check out her blog! Heh… believe it or not, I’ve actually pared down my activities. I guess at some level, I took to heart Browning’s adage, “ah but a [wo]man’s reach must exceed [her] grasp or what’s a heaven for?” But yes, I do often find myself wishing time would just stand still. The problem is that all these things are really important to me, and so I keep chipping away at each.
I’ve often felt that way about writing too, but I’m also realising that in order to improve in ways that (I’ve discovered) are important to me, I need to become more intentional. And that’s something that for me isn’t fun–I like to just jump in and let the words fall on the page as they will. I edit lots, yes, but I’m realising that I want to keep my pencil sharp by reinforcing and building on what skills I have. I think I’ve always feared becoming one of those writers whose work declines as they become more prolific (I can name more than a few whose work I’ve loved, and who have subsequently disappointed me in this way). It may still happen, but I’d like to resist it as best I can.
Thanks for the reviews! I put a comment on the Goodreads review! All the things you say about it are true, but I always feel that people miss the point a little bit on this book, which is exemplified in the title and in the final line. Is a monster something to accept with intellectual fascination but no fear, as Kaitrin does, or is it something to loathe and reject and destroy, or is it something to adore as part of all that lives? And what about the monster itself? How does it react to us “normal” creatures? And then of course there is Pross’s ironically ambiguous response. I can’t elaborate more on that without giving away the plot.
Related to what you say above … Yes, a lot of writers seem to decline as they continue to write. It doesn’t help if you have a publisher who expects you to churn out a book a year, all in the same genre. Fortunately, I haven’t gotten to that point yet, and I’ll bet you haven’t either. I’ll have to see how things go when I start writing again.
Have you tried Ursula Le Guin’s Steering the Craft? When I was writing short fiction I used her exercises as practice; they were both very helpful and fun to do (although I am biased when it comes to Le Guin). Good luck!
Thanks F! I will look into that. Fun writing exercises would be good. And I do like Le Guin! 😀
I am about to take on a writing task in an attempt to inspire Aoife and Maitilde. I will be entering a poem in the CBC competition this year. Deadline is May 1st. I haven’t written poetry in at least a decade, but I wrote decent poetry once. My “technique” was always to flood my mind with work that I admired by reading and reading and reading. Then the actual poetry usually trickled out of my mind in the middle of the night and had to be caught in a notebook beside the bed.
If you are interested, I’ll let you know how it goes this time. I’ve made the commitment to the girls, so a poem will be written. Sometimes I wish I could be disciplined like you, but ritual and consistency have never been the method to my madness.
Perhaps if I made the effort to produce something every day, it would make a better lesson.
I’ve been reading your blog(s) regularly for years, by the way. I get a lot out of them. Thank you so much for making the time to share!
Kimberly, I’m so happy to hear this. I love the sound of your process, and your description of the poems trickling out of your mind and getting caught in the notebook is lovely. I would definitely like to know how it goes this time, and how it turns out–and also what Aoife and Maitilde think of it all.
My approach to poetry is similar (though less nocturnal) in the sense of being about taking in amazing works/thoughts/imagery and then observing the gradual revealing that they end up inspiring in my mind over time. Because it is such a gradual revealing, and because my poems tend to be focussed/ angular and about an image or small idea as signifier/metonym for something larger that is hinted at, I write them rarely. I’m more prosaic, I suppose. 🙂 Have you seen the Elizabeth Gilbert TED talk? She talks about inspiration very evocatively, and about a poet she interviewed on one occasion.
Thanks also for your kind comments about the blog! I always appreciate your comments and thoughts about the posts (and other things too!).