Let go - easier said than done?

So the somewhat arrogant, argumentative, obnoxious, challenging, annoying man that makes me want to punch him in the face told me I have to let this novel go. I should finish it, obviously, but know that this one isn't going to be perfect and probably not get published. Then I should move on to the next project. (Which is already at the planning stages and involves me getting a shiny 11 inch MacBook Air - business crucial.) And I hate when a somewhat arrogant, argumentative, obnoxious, challenging, annoying man that makes me want to punch him in the face makes a fair point.

To end it quickly, just to finish it, might be the right thing to do, to send it off out into the world and see if it can fly. 

This whole thing is really stressing me out. It's taking too long. I don't have time; I don't have energy. It depresses me that I don't have time and energy. It depresses me I've still not even managed to rewrite chapter one. I've tried, sat down despite being deadly tired, only to get as far as taking out the odd "that", tighten up a sentence, remove an "and", but ripping out the second part... Not so much. But, of course, working like I have these past weeks isn't really conducive conditions for productivity. Another four weeks off and I could easily finish it.

But I think what's most problematic is that the novel as it stands, even with the first five chapters rewritten, isn't doing what I set out for it to do when I started this project. The novel lacks some of the ideas I wanted to explore - or they are there but not developed enough, not tangible enough. This is partly due to the difficulties I've had writing Morgan. Her complexities turned in to my own emotionally retarded issues and that didn't work - I tried to write the stripped version of me without any walls of defense and sarcasm. Bad idea. Way too close. So I tried to make her nothing like me, but that didn't work either as I had no connection with her and she turned into a complete weirdo. I can see her clearer now, but she's still uneven. Maybe because I don't want her to be an antagonist as that was not my intention. My mentor kept saying the reader needs to know they can dislike her, but I never meant for her to be disliked. But I think, maybe, once I change her in the first chapter she'll be nailed. Just need time and energy to dig into the first chapter and the ability to just cut out stuff if it doesn't quite work with the new take, even if I think it's really good...  

The other thing that's holding me back from ending it quickly and move along is my unwillingness to waste Jack, Morgan, Ben and Eliza on a novel where they are not used to their full potential as they were intended, where the internal (and external) conflicts and psychological dysfunction haven't been fully explored and not created a big enough bang. At least Jack and Eliza are way too awesome to allow to end up going out with a tiny "poof". And there's the sunk cost fallacy - I don't want to have spent over a year (or we are really coming up to two) on a novel and then finish it up just so I can get it done when I'm not complete happy with the end result.

Someone else, also very annoying but who I less frequently want to punch in the face, told me to just finish it and then let someone read it. Brilliant idea of course. But I can't finish it unless I'm happy with it, unless I feel all my ideas have been fully incorporated and allowed to develop and be explored. My next novel is not about this and these are not necessarily topics I want to explore again.  

It is indeed a conundrum, but perhaps if I get my promised writing days in January I can solve it. But I'm not ready to let go just yet.


P.S. Note how clean my language is! Not a single expletive. Fuck.

Words

So, after being screamed at like I'm an 8-year-old - which means in less than a week I was compared to an 8-year-old because of the book I am currently reading, for dropping my new iPhone, for buying the Spooky Sticker Book and - for not backing up my work, I have now done so. It's all safely stored in a Dropbox, on a server that will no doubt collapse and break and every word I've laboured over and every sentence I've crafted with care - gone forever. And then I'll come after you guys - you know who you are...

Exciting! I've started rewriting chapter 1. I figured the time has come to get the beginning right, to tally up with the middle (which is right) so that I can get to the end. I know what I need to do: what needs to go where, what has to change, what ideas need to be pushed further and come through stronger. Only, there are so many sweet sentences in there I don't want to take out so I'm trying to make what I'm writing fit around what I want to keep. Not sure this is going to work... I might just have to rip it all out and sacrifice my words in order for the new ones to make sense. Very difficult indeed.

I'm thinking this especially after the disagreement I had recently about my love for some of my own sentences, in which I was told I have to stop marvel over my words. But it's difficult sometime to not look back and think, wow that's a great sentence, did I really write that? Or like yesterday when I had my ego stroked in a workshop where the stuff I love most about the chapter I had shared was indeed the things they picked up as being great. Which makes me wonder: shouldn't I like my own work? I don't mean in a self-satisfied, smug way, but why would I write what I do if I didn't like it? Shouldn't the words I choose, the way I put them together, say something that feels right in my mouth, that tastes honest and real? 

Because only I can write the words that I have. Maybe they don't fit you, but to me they are pretty tasty.   (And saved in a Dropbox!)

Our lives are not like most

So I've finally, after six weeks of nothing, dragged my ass into writing position, and am actually WRITING. But I wouldn't be me if I didn't partake in some procrastination in between bursts of genius. Hence this blog post and also starting to write my acknowledgements (yeah, I know...). I'm also trying to get myself out of a dicey spot I put myself in by engaging in conversation with a nutter. All in a day's work.

But I have a plan, a real plan, for how I'm going to finish this fucker by my deadline. And today is the first day. Ok, so admittedly, the plan kind of fell apart this morning when I woke up 10:30 instead of 7:30. But a little adversity is good for the soul.

I'm aware that for me to do this I'm going to have to be very disciplined and forsake all others. There can be no exceptions (not even for cocktails). It's going to take every ounce of stubborn in my body (which, thankfully, is a lot). It means giving up my social life. It means being exhausted from work and still getting up and do this. And when it's done, it means starting the next project and do it all over again.

Because it is who I am. And as my dear friend Alex reminded me of the other day, our lives are not like most. And to be honest, I wouldn't want any other life than this.

Scrap the novel - embrace the sunk cost fallacy

Another crap day, and no sleep. I'd like to say maggotcocks at this point but with all the flack I'm getting for being who I am I'd better stop swearing too. Which reminds me of a workshop where someone commented that on page 5 or 6 of my first chapter my protagonist says "fuck" and the comment was that they would have like to know a bit earlier that "it was going to be that kind of novel". I was that kind of novel but now I'm having to rewrite myself.

So no maggots of any sort anymore. But it was thinking about that very word and cockpossum that made me realize that I'm just not going to do this. Finish the novel that is. I thought it be awesome, Eliza walking into Abby's in the first chapter and saying that, that'd be just like her. But then I thought, if Eliza walks into Abby's in the first chapter I need to rewrite the second chapter (where she first appears) and realized I just can't be bothered. There's so much work to finish this piece of crap.

I can't do it working full-time (= 12 hour days). I can't take a month off next summer, and it can't wait that long anyway.

Ergo, stop wasting energy on something that's so unlikely to ever get finished, and just "enjoy" life. I have 37 bars on my must-go-to bar list; surely that's a way better way (bad writing, see...) to spend my life? I've turned down a few dates to write (or I used writing as  an excuse not to go on dates with people I don't want to go on said dates with. But as I proved earlier this year, I did them a favor as I only go on dates if I first have two profs plying with me with wine so I can show up an hour late, drunk and talk about another guy for the rest of the evening. I actually went on a second date with that guy, to which I showed up really tired, declared that we were not on a date, just having drinks, proceeded to get drunk, talked about another guy and got walked to the subway at 9:30pm. I'm such a bad date! Like the worst date ever.)

So, I'm shelving the novel (and dating). I admit defeat. Who needs to finally achieve the one thing they always wanted to achieve anyway?

Cheers.

Enough with the lazy & excuses already

So I haven't written a word since the end of my retreat, which today is a month. A whole month wasted and I haven’t even been drunk. Maybe that’s why I haven’t written anything.

50% of my energy has been put towards an upsetting event, 50% has gone into endless hours at work and 75% has been spent on telling my brain to "shut the fuck up or I will lobotomize you” because as usual it’s fucking annoying and obsessive. Yeah, I’m talking to you pigfuck! (Sorry, I picked this word up from a novel this morning. Haven’t quite decided how to use it yet – maybe “we were drunk like pigfuck”. Or “you’re such a pigfuck”. It also works very well in Swedish, especially if you add som fan after it. See, you can always learn new things by reading.) The remaining 50% I’m going to spend on learning how many percent goes into 100%. And, to add to my my defense, I've been travelling and I've had a life.

So, anyway, the inclination, mood and energy to sit down and write after having to cram 175% into 100% have really not been there. But I do realize the time has come to pick this up again or the project, i.e. my novel, might actually just slide into oblivion. 

So I’m thinking I need a new schedule. (Though first of all I need to stop starting all my paragraphs with “so” and also stop starting sentences with “so”. I do it way too often, even in my novel. So what? Pigfuck. I like starting my sentences with “so”.) And new routines. And new people. And I need a drink.

I’m now mentor-less so (progress, a “so” not at the start of the paragraph/sentence) I don’t have deadlines beside any I set myself. Which I never, or at least hardly ever, meet. I’m meant to see the guy I did some workshopping with before I left for NY in the next few weeks but that’s not enough of a kick up the backside to make me write. And he’s only seen two chapters – I can just hand him something I wrote ages ago, which means I don't even have to actually write to meet up with him. It was much easier when I had to hand over money every month. I almost miss having a mentor.

So (yep) I also need readers and editors. Apply within.

(This is a pigfuck post. I’m just rambling because I don’t have a clue how I’m going to go about this pigfuck.)

The last few days I’ve heard myself saying to people, confidently, that my new deadline is my birthday - i.e. the end of May. And I think it’s realistic. I reckon it will take me about 1-2 Sundays (my day set aside for writing, unless… actually I shouldn’t tell anyone what the exception is) to edit a chapter, and maybe I will have to sacrifice Saturdays too. Unless I'm going to move after Christmas. But maybe if I want this done I will have to give up all else. Apart from running. And cocktails. And Halloween. It will all be worth it when it’s there, on a shelf, in a bookstore. Sometimes you just have to choose what you want most in life.

And I can always comfort myself with the knowledge that the next one will be so much easier…

Tears

I realize this post isn't going to make much sense to most, as only a very few knows what has happened. 

I've had some very unsettling and upsetting weeks (which have included a lot of tears) since I returned back from my writing retreat, not helped today by having abuse shouted at me by a crazy person over the phone for like 25 minutes at work. To be honest, with everything else going on it almost made me cry - and I don't cry over work crap. And that's after already bursting into tears over lunch while telling a friend about what's been happening in my private life since my return.

I spent a large part of last weekend with a tissue in one hand and a whiskey in the other (note - not while driving). And Wednesday I burst into tears in my Hendricks and tonic and last night I burst into tears in my Kraken and diet (though that went unnoticed - phew!). So it seems since coming back my life is all about crying.

I have decided to use this constant teariness for some good. Because tears can be powerful and make you determined too. She said she knows I will finish my novel, that it will get picked up and published. And I want to make her proud; I want to do this for her.

So, after I've finished crying for this time and I've been for a run, I'm going to sit down and start editing Chapter 1. Maybe I am committing the fucking sunk cost fallacy, but I don't care - I going to finish this novel even if it kills me. Although, since I told her about my next project, I kinda have to stay alive long enough to complete that too.

Sunk Cost to the Bottom or Sunday Cocktails?

It I could just admit to myself that this entire novel writing bullshit is just me committing the sunk cost fallacy and it’s time to let the novel go and sink to the bottom of the Ocean of Crap I've Wasted My Time On. 

Because I have no energy and no motivation to finish this. 

Maybe a new laptop would motivate me? Maybe a 11 inch MacBook Air is the ticket? Though I've tried that. More than once. Last time I purchased this trusted laptop I'm currently typing on (which has been to New York on several writing retreats and has typed the entirety of my novel this far and a couple of short stories) was my incentive to write (oh but my laptop is now three years old, surely it's time to get a new one?) and look where that's taken me. Well, it's taken me almost to the end of my first draft and I've started redrafting so...Maybe I should stay with this one until I finish the fucker - superstitious.

But the will to write, the will has sunk and it feels like it will cost too much to reengage. I just want to sleep. It's like the only thing that's of interest to me right now (well, shoes and cocktails too). So I guess I know where I'm heading - into the maelstrom. And seriously, I don't care enough to stop it. (And that shit is for my other blog.) 

There's so much more work to do on the novel. People keep asking me if I was productive while away and I now it feels like I wasn't even though I WORKED EVERY FUCKING DAY APART FROM THREE. (And yes, I meant for that to be in caps; I didn't put on caps lock by mistake.) But it's shit. It's drafts. Nothing that I can say is done. In a way the month was almost a waste of time. At least back here when I produce a chapter a month it's a chapter that will go into the novel (subject to some editing).

I guess maybe I'm being a bit hard on myself. As usual. The chapters are done (subject to whatever happens in chapter 12, 13 and 14 before I can say chapter 15 and 16 (previously chapters 10 and 11) of course). But what with all the shit going on in my life right now it's not the best time to try to do this. But when is ever a good time? It shouldn't be this difficult; it shouldn't feel like such hard work. Why am I so lazy? 

Oh Mighty Sunk Cost Fallacy - am I going to let you win after all and admit that I'm committing you and sink this ship? Probably not. After all, I'm a stubborn bitch and what are Sundays for if not for writing and cocktails? And maybe sleeping...

My novel...

sucks ass.

That's what stepping away from it and thinking about it for ten days makes you realize.

Or maybe it's being sober for ten days.

So the answer, as always, is drink. Just drink.

Time's up

Yep. I’m out of time. (Or I have three hours left to write and tomorrow to hang out with my bestest friend and then Last Supper with other people I love.) 

Leaving, as always, breaks my little black heart. And my diseased liver. I love this city more than I love gin. More than I love captain and diet. On par with how much I love cocktails. And some of my friends here are the very best I have.

I hate going back to my mediocre (at best) life.

But anyway, never mind I will now be depressed, drunk and get really fat all through winter. Having been a bit ambivalent about spending this month in NY for a large part of this year, I am very happy that I did. It’s been very productive. The intention was to have between three and five chapters after this time, which logically would lead to four. And that I do. Well, 3 1/2. Still, not bad for someone who’s repeatedly stayed out drinking till 2-3am!

I had a meeting with my mentor this morning. (My mentor is in NYC to do some research for a couple of weeks so it worked out pretty well.) We talked about one of the chapters 10 (now chapter 11) and about what my plan is for going forward. All in all a productive meeting.

I have decided to take two weeks off from writing when I get back. Two weeks to reflect on what I need to think about in terms of making the psychological aspects of the characters more apparent. (I will need to add case notes from psychologists and columns/articles from magazines so a lot of fun to be had writing those.) This is not a banal little love story. And when the two weeks are up I’m getting back in there and I’m finishing the not banal little love story. That is the plan.

What I will not do is not finish this.

Anyway, I didn’t finish the novel by today, which was my intention a few months ago. So I didn’t get to write the last sentence. And yes, I know exactly what the last sentence is. But it's hust a matter of not too much time before I get to type it.  

Making stuff up

Being a fulltime writer (yes, it is what I am at the moment) is bloody hard work. I'm totally exhausted at the end of the day. Yes, I am also not getting in bed by 11 every night and yes, I do have a cocktail (or even two) sometimes so I guess my current lifestyle isn't helping with the exhaustion. But late nights and booze produces a different type of tired than the draining after writing an entire day. 

Who knew making stuff up could be such hard work?

This is not a complaint though. I love being able to write all day and the tired feeling at the end of it has a sense of accomplishment in it, and pride too. Nothing like the brain meltdown from boredom after spending the day responding to emails from needy, annoying academics and writing policy - quite different indeed. 

On Monday I'm seeing my mentor who happens to be in NY too right now. I thought it would be a good opportunity to take stock and evaluate how my retreat went and maybe talk about next steps. And talk about how I can stay motivated and not get all my energy sucked up by that pesky "real" fulltime job. 

Because despite having said that I would put writing on ice until December, I have realized I will just have to just push on. I need to finish this. This is more important than anything else. 

One week to go with Tuesday being my last day (NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!). I reckon I have maybe 4 1/2 more writing days left (I might actually allow myself to take the weekend off - I'm getting inked, drunk and who knows what else) so I should be able to write at least one more chapter. A new chapter 10 it turns out as the current chapter 10 is now going to be chapter 11... Don't get me started.

And on that note, I am going to get back to completing today's minimum word count and make stuff up.

Half time

So, I've reached the half way mark (STOP TIME GODDAMN IT!) of my writing retreat and so far pretty good. Two seriously bad days - one because something happened that knocked my equilibrium out of phase and the other one because someone stayed out drinking till 4am in the morning and then felt like shit the following day - it's difficult to be witty when you just want to sleep. Still, it ended up not being a bad thing as meant I had some thinking time and I needed that.

For instance, it made me realize the (now infamous) chapter 10 isn't chapter 10 at all, but more like chapter 14 or 15. And chapter 11 (half written) is chapter 15 or 16. Which means I am now writing chapter 10 again. However, this time it's so easy. Everything just flows and I've written over 2500 words today. I could quite easily finish the entire chapter today, but surprisingly enough I have to leave the library in an hour to buy shoes and then I have to drink cocktails. Priorities you know.

I've also had some days of wondering why I am writing this crap, days when I think the story is banal because on the surface it looks like some little love story. But it's not. And I just have to keep reminding myself that it's really got nothing to do with love as such. A lot of people have recently asked me what the novel is about and the reaction when I tell them is interest. Or maybe they're just being nice... Anyway, talking about it and telling people is making me more focused on the key aspects and the psychological issues the novel is exploring and the sense that what I'm writing is trite dissipates. At least temporarily. 

So all in all I think at the half way mark we can give the retreat a tick. I'm focused and showing up almost every day. And I accept I'm bound to have days when I'm less productive because I need to think. (Or because I've been out drinking till 4am...)

Just one more thing before I dive back down into my chapter for another hour, I would like to thank Max for providing me with the opportunity to using the word "cockpossum" in my novel. FINALLY! That has made me very happy and even if that had been the only section I'd written during my retreat I'd still think it a success.

Screw Chapter 10

Day 4 of battling with Chapter 10. 

It should be so easy. I know why I'm writing it, what the purpose is for the overall story, where it needs to go. I even know how it ends. But I'm having to work so hard for every sentence, every paragraph, every cleverism. 

I'm on take 2 of the chapter. Or not really - I scrapped the start of the first version because it was not necessary for the story. I just wanted to write it because it amused me. But then it didn't amuse me. 

In all fairness, I have almost hit my minimum daily word count and I have another 1 1/2 hours before I have to pack up and go meet a friend so it's likely I get there. And if I didn't blog instead I could go over it... Because I also wanted to make up for Monday and Tuesday's lack of hitting the target and the need to rewrite. Though of course some was salvageable,  

This is one of the chapters written from my female protagonists point of view, and I just can't get her to act and say what I want. My other two protagonists, both male, just fly through my fingers. I never have to stop and think. And the source of energy in the novel, I don't have a problem writing her either. Ever. I'm wondering if it's because this protagonist started off being so much like me, and even though I've complete changed her since, I still find it hard to make her the arrogant hussy she's supposed to be. She's very complex so in theory I really should enjoy pinning her down. 

Why do I find it so much easier to write from a male POV? 

Or maybe I've been finding it difficult to write because I'm tired and iffy from overindulging fine rum and waking up at 6am almost every morning after like 5 hours sleep not being able to go back to sleep. Which makes me too tired to be witty. I don't know.
  
All I know is I fucking hate Chapter 10. 

Unwanted

The cab door closes the night

Leaving footsteps of broken glass

And paper napkins

Soaked in tears from a bottle.

She is unwanted.

(Just found this little piece written last summer - I quite like the first four lines.)

Are you a character in my novel?

If I had a cocktail for every person who's asked me if they are in one of my stories I'd be in the gutter. Wait... I'm already in the gutter. Oh well.

But seriously, I find it interesting that so many people seem to want to be written about. It's not like I'm John Irving (sad face) and it would actually be cool to be someone he'd find interesting enough to want to write about. Because isn't it in a way a little bit flattering if someone were to turn you into one of their characters?

Someone asked me recently if he was in my novel, and I had to say yes, you kind of are. But luckily I didn't have to elaborate as I'd already gotten him drunk by then. I kid!

But it set me thinking about this.

It's interesting to me in particular because the main reason I got stuck two months or so ago when I decided to change my protagonists around is because I can't imaging a writer writing about someone they are really close to, writing as in stealing someone's entire personality, fictionalize them and sticking them in a novel. Quirks, mannerisms, likes, dislikes, dress-sense, jobs, names, even things people say (thanks Jason!) but not lifting a person from real life and base an entire character on that person.

I think most of my writing is to a large extent autobiographical. I discussed this with the cameo man who said he thought fiction was more autobiographical than autobiographies. I mean, how can I write if I don't draw on my own experiences and feelings to then imagine what someone else might feel or do? Which is why real people sometimes slip in - they are part of my life. And therefore also connected to that which I am thinking about. I think, for me at least, when I write I sink myself into my characters and their situations. Whereas in an autobiography you have to take a step back and look at your life and tell the story from the outside even though you were part of it, because it's based on fact. At least that's what I think - feel free to disagree.

I have a saying: don't piss me off or I'll put you in one of my stories. But this is something completely different, this is about slander (should I be careful?) or blowing off some steam and write bad things about someone you don't like or if someone's annoyed you (hey, maybe I should stick a molesting Unruly Prof in the novel). Not that I would ever do that of course.

So are you in my novel? Well, you'll just have to wait and buy a copy when it's published, won't you?

Edit Sober

So four days until I start my writing retreat. (Though in all honestly don’t think I’ll get any work done for the first three days.) Am I ready? Yes and no. Dying to continue the story and get close to the end of it – I’m actually probably over half way now so it’s not impossible I’ll be able to see the end when I return (eeeek!). But I’m not so keen on leaving my life here for a month. Though I guess nothing will go away – at least not my confusion or the distraction. Just hope I can leave it all behind. 

I had planned to do some editing today – I have four chapters that just need a little bit of tweaking and polishing. My excuse for not doing this is it feels premature to make even these small edits before I get to the end. More things will no doubt change before then so at this point it’s almost a waste of time. No? No, you're right - I'm so lazy. 

It's the sober thing. Because I dread it. Editing. And to edit sober. I’m following Hemingway’s advice on this. Because not only is it best done sober, but it is sobering too. In a way, if you think about the Hemingway quote, “write drunk” doesn't necessarily have to be about being drunk on alcohol; it could be about being drunk on your craft, your words, your story and where that’s taking you. The losing control and allowing yourself to be taken to places where you'd normally not dare to go without a little courage, to explore, adventure. And to dream. Whereas when you’re editing you have to cast a sobering eye on what you’ve created, dreamed, during the drunken episode. And what if your dreams don't measure up in the hard, cold light of day and reality? 

So right now I feel a bit guilty and lazy; I really could at least look at the chapter I discussed with my mentor on Wednesday. There’s not even much to do, just straighten out some sub clauses and parenthesis that not even I can follow as they twist across a couple of pages. 

It’s just… I prefer the drunk part.