so_out_of_ideas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
so_out_of_ideas) wrote2008-05-12 12:41 pm
so_out_of_ideas) wrote2008-05-12 12:41 pm
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Story as baby
This is a popular analogy with writers and with some other artists as well. We call our stories babies, and we talk about the writing process as if we are giving birth. For me it comes from the cascade of emotion involved with actually reaching the end of a project. There is this tremendous sense of relief, accomplishment, elation, joy. At the same time, there is a deep feeling of emptiness, followed by depression. It all revolves around the thought of "Oh my GOD--it's done. What do I do now? I've thrown myself into this thing for so long and it's done!" My stories usually take years to complete and encompass more than one novel-length piece. The completion of each piece brings about some of those feelings, but the actual completion (or what passes for it, since they never really end) is a whole other ball of wax. If one is a light snack, the second is Thanksgiving dinner.
But, if stories are babies, the analogy needs to be adjusted. Writers don't give birth at the end of the story, we give birth to the idea when we start putting it on paper. The writing process is not labor, the writing process is what comes next. Raising the baby. Taking the screaming, crying, sometimes cute, and usually messy little bundle of...um, what is that anyway? Looks like lunch coming back up...and helping it become an indepent, relatively clean adult capable of communicating in something other than bursts of image and dialogue inside the brain of the poor unfortunate writer who had the mistaken idea that this story might be fun.
Sometimes, we have to drag the story kicking and screaming every step of the way. The difference between a writer and a hobbyist is that the writer will do that instead of giving up and letting the story sit in the mud for the rest of its life, incomplete and not knowing what to do with itself. Sometimes, we have to be willing to let the story have its way, do what it wants, grow where it's going to grow. We watch with a mixture of awe and fear, not sure what is happening to our precious idea, not sure where it is going or how we got somewhere so completely different from where we were supposed to be.
A writer learns when to guide the story and which subtle pressures are going to help it. Sometimes the worst thing an author can do to a story is try to reign it in. It suffocates, and if it survives at all, it won't do what the author wants anyway. A writer also learns when to discipline the story. (I hear the chorus starting now. Trust me, I've been there. "It has a mind of its own! I have to let it do whatever it wants, it won't listen to me anyway!) Two year olds have minds of their own. Bratty nine-year-olds have minds of their own. Teenagers have minds of their own. There are still times the writer has to tell the young, spoiled, willfull, disobedient story that no it cannot play with matches; no it cannot have cake for breakfast; and no it cannot go to the unchaperoned beach party it's been invited to, and it doesn't matter if that's what all it's story-friends are doing.
"Well," you ask, "which times are which? When do you discipline the story and when do you let it do what it wants?"
I have no idea. It's different for each story. Writers cultivate an instinct about these things, and we correct our mistakes mericlessly when we realize that we've made them. A prime case in point is when I almost killed Bloodkin last year by letting it kill Tom Cantling and then setting up this whole plot around a funeral that totally didn't work. That actually had a positive outcome. I fixed the mess and Tom got to live, which makes Steve a much happier man and me a much happier writer. Other times, I've had to do really awful things, like imprison poor Iblis for 9000 years.
I've read my fair share of "How To" books on writing, and as a general rule, I hate them. I avoid them like a plague unless they are written by a writer whose work I know, in which case I generally read them out of curiousity. Mostly I think they're overrated, pretentious, and they limit a writer's ability to find a method that actually works for them. There are a few exceptions. A few authors can write about their method of writing without talking down to a less experienced writer or setting absolute rules. Those writers remember that what may be an absolute for them will not work for everyone else because we all have different brains. (Big shock, yes, I know.)
One of the biggest things I hate about those books is when the author harangues the audience about not "sentimentalizing" the story by calling it a baby. "It's not a baby, it's a story. You don't coddle stories," etc. Well, fine. You don't always coddle stories. Sometimes you do, though. And babies? Well, they grow up, just like stories, and you don't always coddle children either.
My verdict is, if the analogy works for you, use it. Just remember that babies are loud, cranky, demanding, and messy. And they grow up.
But, if stories are babies, the analogy needs to be adjusted. Writers don't give birth at the end of the story, we give birth to the idea when we start putting it on paper. The writing process is not labor, the writing process is what comes next. Raising the baby. Taking the screaming, crying, sometimes cute, and usually messy little bundle of...um, what is that anyway? Looks like lunch coming back up...and helping it become an indepent, relatively clean adult capable of communicating in something other than bursts of image and dialogue inside the brain of the poor unfortunate writer who had the mistaken idea that this story might be fun.
Sometimes, we have to drag the story kicking and screaming every step of the way. The difference between a writer and a hobbyist is that the writer will do that instead of giving up and letting the story sit in the mud for the rest of its life, incomplete and not knowing what to do with itself. Sometimes, we have to be willing to let the story have its way, do what it wants, grow where it's going to grow. We watch with a mixture of awe and fear, not sure what is happening to our precious idea, not sure where it is going or how we got somewhere so completely different from where we were supposed to be.
A writer learns when to guide the story and which subtle pressures are going to help it. Sometimes the worst thing an author can do to a story is try to reign it in. It suffocates, and if it survives at all, it won't do what the author wants anyway. A writer also learns when to discipline the story. (I hear the chorus starting now. Trust me, I've been there. "It has a mind of its own! I have to let it do whatever it wants, it won't listen to me anyway!) Two year olds have minds of their own. Bratty nine-year-olds have minds of their own. Teenagers have minds of their own. There are still times the writer has to tell the young, spoiled, willfull, disobedient story that no it cannot play with matches; no it cannot have cake for breakfast; and no it cannot go to the unchaperoned beach party it's been invited to, and it doesn't matter if that's what all it's story-friends are doing.
"Well," you ask, "which times are which? When do you discipline the story and when do you let it do what it wants?"
I have no idea. It's different for each story. Writers cultivate an instinct about these things, and we correct our mistakes mericlessly when we realize that we've made them. A prime case in point is when I almost killed Bloodkin last year by letting it kill Tom Cantling and then setting up this whole plot around a funeral that totally didn't work. That actually had a positive outcome. I fixed the mess and Tom got to live, which makes Steve a much happier man and me a much happier writer. Other times, I've had to do really awful things, like imprison poor Iblis for 9000 years.
I've read my fair share of "How To" books on writing, and as a general rule, I hate them. I avoid them like a plague unless they are written by a writer whose work I know, in which case I generally read them out of curiousity. Mostly I think they're overrated, pretentious, and they limit a writer's ability to find a method that actually works for them. There are a few exceptions. A few authors can write about their method of writing without talking down to a less experienced writer or setting absolute rules. Those writers remember that what may be an absolute for them will not work for everyone else because we all have different brains. (Big shock, yes, I know.)
One of the biggest things I hate about those books is when the author harangues the audience about not "sentimentalizing" the story by calling it a baby. "It's not a baby, it's a story. You don't coddle stories," etc. Well, fine. You don't always coddle stories. Sometimes you do, though. And babies? Well, they grow up, just like stories, and you don't always coddle children either.
My verdict is, if the analogy works for you, use it. Just remember that babies are loud, cranky, demanding, and messy. And they grow up.
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And it also reminded me about how much I could love writing, even if it takes me ages to do so.
*hugs*
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