As I write, Ukrainians are holding back the Russian army with their bare hands, Switzerland has abandoned its policy of neutrality and frozen Russian assets, and Andrew Cuomo is spending part of his $16.4 million war chest to create ads that cast him as a victim of sexual harassment. Is it any wonder my ability to create is at a low ebb?
Then there's the voice that whispers, your problem is trivial in the face of world events.
And that's when I remember—art bridges worlds. Common ground and understanding are found through random acts of creativity. Or, as Tennessee Williams wrote to James Grissom in 1982:
Oh, Jesus. I have to stop you right now. I love you dearly: You’re a smart and sweet man, but you are so wrong about what matters and where the eyes should visit. The things you find so important — the attention, the prizes, the approval – yes, they matter, and never so much than when they disappear. But, I’m old now, and I’ve walked a rocky road, and what really mattered, what should matter most to you, is the rare and gorgeous experience of reaching through your work and your actions and connecting to others. A message in the bottle thrown toward another frightened, loveless queer, a confused mother, a recently dejected man who can’t see his way home. We get people home; we let them know that we’re here for them. This is what art can do. Art should be the arm and the shoulder and the kind eyes — all of which let others know you deserve to live and to be loved. That is what matters, baby. Bringing people home.
Since when have we lazed about popping bonbons, waiting for the muse to strike? For us, creation is not a strategy but a natural response to life, and so a lack of inspiration is an uncomfortable problem.
Generating content means developing our "top-down" selves, fostering our ability to delay gratification and persist through the obstacles of rejection, ridicule, and terrifying failures of vision. For me, it means undertaking an exacting process I'm in a serious love/hate relationship with: editing.
When I finished the first draft of my historical fiction novel, Florida Girls, I had more than just typos and cliches to fix. As the story—about a touring group of swimsuit models who, near the end of World War II, decided that getting involved with the mob was a better bet than returning to their dull lives—evolved, some characters and plot lines grew while others faded. That meant going back to the start and rewriting.
As luck would have it, a publishing deal for my second memoir came through just as I finished that draft. I put the novel aside to focus on editing that work, Blissful Thinking, the story of the years I spent bouncing around ashrams, yoga communities, and cults, trying to heal from what went down in Qatar.
Part of that process included re-releasing my first memoir—available for pre-order now as American Lady Creature: A Feminist Reckoning in Qatar.
Though I don’t yet have a new deal for the second memoir, I’d already done the work to get this title re-issued as a “loss leader” (check out the sale price!). And the FIFA World Cup—announced the last time I lived there in 2010—will still be held in Qatar this year, a selection that has been generating controversy since it was first announced.
Plus a revamp of my website (which I’m not sharing because of some technical glitches yet to be ironed out… more opportunity… to develop… top-down… self… #$%$)
It’s all meant a lot of time away from the novel, first to do the work, then to recover from the fact that the publishing deal tanked, and then to deal with the illness and death of my father. Now I’m back in surgery on the manuscript.
In the past, I’ve spent years in this revision phase. And while ultimately I’ve been pleased with the results, there’s no way in hell I wanted to put myself through that kind of torture again. This book is, after all, a novel. I don’t have to worry about offending family members and friends, adhering to the facts of what happened, or to make meaning from life’s random mysteries. I’d created the whole universe.
Instead of trying to find my way alone in the dark to zip up the plot holes while keeping the action humming, I’ve hired a developmental editor to help me hone the structure.
What I didn’t bargain for? Working with her is like learning a new language. I’ve had to put in a lot of time I didn’t account for just to be able to talk about this process.
While I can see that this method will save time in the end, I’m not there yet. For now, I’m still outlining the revision. Oh, things were tidy enough at the start:
Then came the time to blow that draft up. Now I’m at the “see what sticks” phase.
Despite the growing pain of this process, I remind myself to be glad for it because I haven’t been feeling the jolt of new ideas. Some of it is, as described, situational. Beyond the nuts and bolts of handling death’s final blows—Did you know you have to file taxes for a dead person? I did not.—winter is often a time of less activity. Remembering the cycle is important, and doing this other kind of work is a way of leaning into the fallows.
Writing short pieces is another way to capture flashes of ideas, at least foster the feeling of creating something. Here are some recent articles you might enjoy (click to read):
But nothing new that’s long form.
In response, I’m doing what I always do—activating those creative juices wherever I can. Museums. Beach walks. Gathering with friends. (Yay, we can do that again!)
For more on my specific editing structure AND a sneak peak at the original trailer for my first memoir, join me behind the paywall.
More inspiration…
Seeing how other people approach problems is always good for jumpstarting the ideas. Here are some thought provokers I’ve come across recently that gave me a different way to look at things.
Writing the meet-cute.
4 Categories of meet-cute
Emma Thompson writes about being in the sandwich generation.
Was Mary Shelley writing horror or speculative fiction?
This essay by Professor Sharon Ruston considers how, at the time of publication, Shelley’s book was more believable than we find it now. She writes, “Far from the fantastic and improbable tale that Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein now seems to us, the novel was declared by one reviewer upon publication to have "an air of reality attached to it, by being connected with the favourite projects and passions of the times”.”
Like any good writer should do with a hot essay, Ruston has turned that premise into a new book, The Science of Life and Death in Frankenstein.
CRAFT: Creating a page turner
In this how-to on creating micro tensions that keep a reader glued to your pages, C.S. Lakin cites a passage from Gone Girl that demonstrates her point beautifully. While studying his wife on their anniversary, the husband casually notes he feels nothing toward her. Wait, what?
Exactly! Maybe you first realize his language was more scrutiny than adoration, but you’re gonna turn the page to learn how that happened.
“Tension is created by lack,” Lakin writes. “Lack of understanding, lack of closure, lack of equilibrium or peace. When your readers have questions, that creates tension. When they need to know what happens next, that is tension.”
Modern Love analysis:
If I can bear to break away from my process, I’ll try try again to break into the New York Times Modern Love column. But not before reading this, an analysis of a year’s worth of essays.
Eye Candy:
Poetry up in smoke. So worth the click.
To know more about the specific structural tools I’m using, instant access to a free audio sample of Florida Girls, and get a look at the original trailer for American Lady Creature, join me behind the paywall.
Otherwise, see you next month!
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