Photo: Flickr Commons, not a photo of the author
by Marie Vibbert
…somehow, over the years, I had gone from a helpless pile of unfinished projects to a compulsive finisher.
I had three-quarters of five novels in my closet, and twenty or so halves of short stories in my desk drawer. Let’s not mention the stuff in my sewing room… my life was full of unread books, unfinished mending, and knitting projects that were just a bag of yarn and a printed pattern.
Then one day, 70 published short stories and uncounted garments later, a friend asked me, “Wow, how do you finish everything you start?”
I began to correct her, and realized… somehow, over the years, I had gone from a helpless pile of unfinished projects to a compulsive finisher.
What happened? More importantly, what can I glean from my own experience to help another writer have a faster journey to the promised land of finishing stuff?
First, I had to understand what stops finishing. Over the years, various bits of advice and personal epiphanies taught me what was really happening in my brain when I felt I couldn’t go on, when the friction was just too much.
To remember what those epiphanies were, I had to think back and be brutally honest with myself. It helped that I am a compulsive diarist. I flipped back through my past diaries, skimming for projects fallen off the back burner and projects finished.
I found a lot of insecurity and self-loathing, but under all of that were four basic things that caused me to stop working on projects I genuinely wanted to finish:
Perfectionism
Uncertainty
Distraction
Boredom
For this blog post, let’s look at the first one.
Perfectionism is the source of most writer’s block. My friend Maureen McHugh says, “Writer’s block is not the inability to write. It is the belief that everything you write is shit.”
That staring at the blank page, that dread … no word you type will be as brilliant as the thought in your head, because thoughts are intangible, unobtainable. The reflected rose in a drop of dew that is better than all the roses around it in the garden, because you can’t touch it.
Mary Turzillo, my writing mom, told me when I was quite young that she had a sign taped over her computer that read, “It’s only a rough draft.”
It can be hard to remember, when we only see other people’s polished work, that every lovely work of art stands on a mountain of garbage drafts.
You can revise. You will revise. No one has to see your “behind the scenes.” It can be hard to remember, when we only see other people’s polished work, that every lovely work of art stands on a mountain of garbage drafts.
Don’t let perfect be the enemy of good enough! Creative work has no “right” way. As Bob Ross said, “There are no mistakes, only happy little accidents.”
The way I combat perfectionism is by letting myself write shitty first drafts. I let myself make bad clothes, bad knit garments, draw bad drawings. I tell myself, “This is the test project, it’s just for me.”
Here’s what one of my shitty first drafts looks like:
Ki created a distraction. Thane escaped and followed her. Amoreena was there too. They flew away to the lava caves for a chase scene with lava.
Here’s the second draft – still not the final:
The smoke bomb detonated, causing her drone to wobble, but it was enough to distract the guard. Ki wrenched the door open and kicked it to keep it that way, using the momentum to drive herself fist-first into the guard.
Thane stared at her in disbelief. “Come on,” Ki grabbed him.
[note to self: where is Amoreena?]
And here is the draft right before I deleted the scene because I found a better way to resolve the necessary plot steps:
Amoreena walked, careful and sure, to a position where she could see Margot, see the Royal Talons, see the beguilingly unoffensive peace officers. Maybe, though, if she threw the grenade right, if it caught the Talon and not the flyer, if Margot had already unlocked the canopy…
And then something exploded. Small, flying, a little disk that went “poof” like a bad effect in a child’s play and wobbled, helplessly teetering to its demise. It was more odd than shocking, but enough that everyone stopped to stare at it, including Amoreena.
And a small woman was running toward the peace officer’s ground vehicle. Like an idiot.
And Margot had suddenly leapt into action, sweeping the Royal Talon’s legs from under her.
Amoreena lowered her hand with the tangle grenade.
#
Ki’s plan wasn’t a plan so much as a series of hopes. She hoped the Talons didn’t want to hurt Thane. She hoped he’d get with the program when he saw her. She hoped the smoke bomb would be enough of a distraction. She hoped the car door wasn’t titanium.
Ki wrenched the door open and kicked it to keep it that way, using the momentum to drive herself fist-first into Stocky, who happened to be on this side.
Thane stared at her in disbelief. “Come on,” Ki grabbed him.
Thane joined her in stumbling over Stocky and falling out of the car. They didn’t make it to their feet before Amoreena, of all people, was standing in front of them. “Just duck,” she said, in a tired, annoyed voice, and threw something into the car.
To put it simply, it’s impossible to revise a blank page.
Could I have just written the third draft first? Technically, yes. I had the ability to write, to press keys or move a pen. But starting with the shitty draft made it feel like I was walking on a trod path, instead of pushing my legs through deep snow.
Even though that scene ended up not being in the final novel, writing the shitty version of it got me forward, got me moving to the next scene, and the next. It gave me a place to stand on.
To put it simply, it’s impossible to revise a blank page.
Go forth, and write that shitty draft.
