stakebait: (buggerspike)
[personal profile] stakebait
So as a writer I have a serious problem. I don't write. More specifically, I don't finish. Not including fanfic, class assignments, co-writing, the non-fiction I do for work or by request, porn, or poems and other stuff short enough to finish in the first initial burst of enthusiasm, I've finished a grand total of three short stories and a children's manuscript.

I've deleted all the stuff about what I thought the problem was but turned out not to be because really, you don't care. I don't even care, and it's my problem. Suffice it to say it's not writer's block in the usual sense. it's not lack of time, it's not lack of ability to structure a story, or to wing one, or even fear that people will think that it's no good. I may have those things too, but that's not It right now.

I was reading The Forest For the Trees, An Editor's Advice to Writers, by Betsy Lerner. It's a good book because it's not how to write, it's how to handle everything else about being a writer, including why people who want to write don't. There's a line in there that says "are you waiting for your parents to die?" I teared up, put the book down, and didn't pick it up again for weeks.

So that was a clue.

Clue two was talking to [livejournal.com profile] dotsomething, and realizing that I'm not afraid of my writing being judged, I'm afraid of being judged for writing -- as if that were inherently presumptuous, regardless of the quality of the result. I'm not half as afraid that no one will notice as I am that someone might.

Clue three was that, what with turning 30, I started putting the pressure on myself to change this. You can't coast on your potential forever, Mer, I says to myself. So I decided to write a couple stories to anthology specifications and send them off. And lo and behold, it was easy. Not effortless, of course. But no harder than fanfic. Huh, says I. What do all these things have in common?

Somebody else asked for them. Explicitly, as with homework, regular work, Iron Author, ficathons, or anthologies: write this now. Or implicitly, 'cause there's a pre-existing demand for Buffy fanfic from people who like Buffy. Ditto porn.

Apparently in my brain, it's okay to write something if I'm fulfilling someone else's needs by doing so. But it's not okay to just write and assume (or even hope) that an audience will come.

I always knew I wasn't one of the "I write for myself" people -- I respect that, but I never got it emotionally. I have to have an audience, at least in my head, or why I am bothering to write it down at all? I already know what happens. But I didn't know this piece, about how it has to be something the audience already wants. It doesn't have to be a big audience. One person is plenty. They don't have to send feedback. It's not about getting a response. It's about whether I'm entitled to write, and in my head the answer is, only if it's for somebody else. Hell, I've been thinking about this for a couple of months now, but I'm only writing it out now because [livejournal.com profile] msagara said she wanted to read it.

So if it's not for someone else, I start out in a great burst of enthusiasm because I have the coolest idea... and as soon as it wears off it's supplanted by dread, and I never even open the file again.

Fucked up, no? It's not like we're rationing the alphabet. And this is where it gets all therapy speak, because now that I know this, I know exactly where it comes from. My father is a narcissist, I grew up believing that it was my job to take care of other people and not okay for me to have wants and needs. Even just the fact of having a point of view of my own was an offense, though one I never did figure out how to avoid.

I've been through this before. I've talked before (in a locked post, if you missed it that's why) about how I think this influenced my submissive sexuality. I don't particularly want to go there now. I know I've dealt with this re: not letting myself get drained by other people's crises. This is not a new dynamic for me. So how the HELL did I miss that it was what's been damming (I wrote damning first, it seems equally appropriate) up the writing all these years?

The one story I finished that WASN'T to anthology specs? Was a time travel piece about a guy who feels guilty all the time, lacks a single point of view of his own, and the story plays with changing point of view right in it. And that was over a year ago. Did I know what it was about? Of course not. But in retrospect it's so obvious I could cry. I hereby renounce any claim to being remotely intelligent.

So now what? Okay, I slog and slog and slog in therapy and give up my hopes that perhaps we were finally nearing the end. Got that piece, and lord knows I've had practice. But if at all possible I'd really like not to wait until I achieve sanity before I get anything on paper. If only because at that point I'll have so many story ideas it'll take me forever to dig out of the hole.

I discovered, thanks to [livejournal.com profile] buffybot, that if a particular person asks me to finish something because they want to read it, that's enough, at least for a short piece. (That's how I got The Middle Prince finished.) But only if they specifically want to read that specific story. A general desire for me to accomplish stuff? Deeply appreciated, but for justification purposes, useless. I suspect I can scare up enough people who really want to read Broken Glass Slippers to make the experiment as to whether this is enough to get me through a novel draft. But even if it is, it seems like a heavy burden to impose on my friends.

Help me out here, anyone? How do you get to a place where you can tell a story without knowing someone's listening?

Date: 2004-10-22 06:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] stakebait.livejournal.com
That makes a lot of sense. Good luck with it. Let me know how it goes?

Great analogy!

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