Sir, Yes Sir!

I know, now, why so many people who aspire to writing never actually manage to achieve their aims. It’s not necessarily down to a lack of talent, or a dearth of ambition, or a shortfall in the amount of effort they put into it, but perhaps – at least, if I’m anything to go by – it’s because they try too hard.

Image: ecocatlady.blogspot.com

I’ve been working very hard on ‘Tider’ over the past few days. Since I finished draft 1 last Friday, I’ve managed to get to the end of draft 2, which involved making major content changes; I’ve also gone through the text again fixing and tweaking as I go, which I wouldn’t consider a ‘draft’, as such, but it was still hard work. It has been a challenge, and I am tired.

Even as I write all this out, I’m telling myself that it’s silly to do so much so quickly. I know, however, that there’s no other way I can do it. It’s they way I work, and has always been the way I work, to tackle a job head-on and to throw myself into it right from the start. I also have a hard time taking a rest until the job is done. Even as a student at school, I used to push myself to reach a certain point in my studies before I could take a break; if I didn’t manage to reach a certain chapter, or write a particular number of pages worth of work, or whatever it was, I wouldn’t allow myself to have a snack or go to the loo.

Who needs a Drill Sergeant when you do this to yourself?

Image: newgrounds.com

This is all very well when you’re preparing for exams, or when you have a major project at work that needs to be done, or when you have a manager or a boss breathing down your neck. Of course, I’m not saying it’s wrong to have a work ethic, or to be motivated to do a job quickly and to the best of your ability. I’m just not so sure it’s always easily applicable to the job of writing a book, which is something that requires perfect balance between a person’s body and mind, and which you can’t do if you’re tired or burnt out, and which you’ll find challenging if you’re screaming at yourself inside your head, urging yourself on to the next goal. ‘Get the Job Done!’ doesn’t always help you to achieve a delicate thing like creating, sustaining and finishing a story.

I know all this, but it’s hard to switch your mind from one ‘mode’ of working to another. I haven’t been successful, as yet.

There’s a lot about ‘Tider’ that I’m not happy with. I don’t like the ending – I seem to have a problem with endings, no matter how long or short the piece I’m writing is! – and there’s not enough peril; the stakes aren’t high enough for our brave protagonist. I’m still working through the challenges that come with writing a story which is narrated in the first person, where your protagonist has deliberately been kept in the dark about a lot of issues which turn out to be very important ones for her; as she learns, the reader learns. For a writer, though, trying to get this across without ‘info-dumping,’ or telling the reader too much in too blunt a manner, is difficult.

I think, however, for the sake of the book’s future, and in an attempt to make sure I don’t end up flinging the whole thing in the bin in frustration, I’d better take a step back and try to rest today. I know my brain will yell at me, and I’ll probably feel an inexplicable urge to stand to attention (though hopefully not to shave my head), but I’ll have to cope with that as and when it happens.

Ten… Hut!

Have a good Thursday. Try to take it easy on yourself, if you can.

 

No Guts, No Glory

One of my weird little happinesses in life is watching TV coverage of certain sports, including swimming, diving, gymnastics and athletics. I’ve been in luck lately, then, as up until the weekend, when they came to a close, The Swimming World Championships were televised on BBC.  I tuned in and very much enjoyed the coverage provided, marvelling at the skill and dedication of the athletes, and the sheer beauty and power of their performances in the water. This is not because I am a swimmer (I’m about as streamlined as a potato, though I float very well) or because I’m particularly interested in sport, but – for whatever reason – I really enjoy watching elite athletes, at the peak of their powers, compete against one another for records and medals and glory. Occasionally I wonder why it’s these particular sports which interest me; normally, I conclude it’s because these are the sports which I have the least possible chance of ever attempting.

Take your mark… *Go!*
Image: uk.eurosport.yahoo.com

I’ve never been a sporty type; like all Irish kids, I’ve had my hands on a hurl at some point in my life, though I never played the game of hurling (or ‘camogie’, the version of hurling kept ‘for girls’) properly. I’ve also tried hockey, soccer, and basketball, all very briefly. The only thing these sports have in common, from my point of view, is how useless I’ve been at all of them. There are some sports that I wouldn’t watch on TV if I can possibly help it – football (which in Ireland means Gaelic football), soccer, snooker, golf, rugby (unless pressed to, out of national pride if Ireland are playing, and even then I normally only care whether we win or lose), because I either find them boring or brutal, or a strange combination of the two; there’s something about swimming, though, that I love. It’s graceful, it’s noble and it’s all about the individual; it’s one person against the water.

As I watched the coverage, I was struck by the commentary, and the commentators’ opinion that the only important thing is to keep improving, keep getting better, keep shaving seconds off your finishing time, keep striving for those medals. However, at least seven, if not eight, people competed in each race, and – of course – there were only ever three medals on offer. Three of those competitors were going to be the best from the second they dived into the pool, and – perhaps – the remaining swimmers knew which three they were. Nearly every time, the commentators could predict who would place first, second and third – and if the commentators could guess, so too could the athletes. I kept thinking about the other five swimmers in that pool, all of whom work hard, all of whom train and toil and sweat and travel to endless competitions and meets and qualifiers, possibly living apart from their families for months on end in order to pursue their goals, and for what? To end up eighth out of eight in a race that they knew they were never going to win?

What happens if you do as well as you can, if you work as hard as you can, if you train as long as you can, and you still come in eighth out of eight?

There will always be people better than you, at everything you try. Always. This is a hard thing to learn. Even if you pour out every shred of your soul into a piece of work, and even if you practice and practice until you can’t even think straight any more, and even if you shed actual literal blood over something you love and want to excel at, someone will always be able to do it better. Even if you do win a gold medal or break a world record, there will always be someone who’ll break that record, or win more medals, or get higher marks, or win more competitions, or earn more money, than you do. It was ever thus.

Not everyone can come in first, second or third. Not everyone can stand on the winners’ podium and weep as their flag is raised. Not everyone can sing along to their national anthem and listen to the cheers of their supporters as they nibble on their gold medal. Everyone who competes in any sport, or in anything in life, knows this. There are athletes who know they’ll never manage to come first, who’ll never hang a gold medal around their neck, yet they still compete. They still work hard. They still strive, and try, and get up and do it all again, despite loss after loss. They do it to be the best they can be, not to be the best in the world. They do it to test themselves, to sound out their own depths, to live their life as fully as they can, to know themselves and their limits. It takes a strong person to get into a pool with a champion, knowing that they will not win the race; sometimes, though, knowing you’ll swim the best race you’re capable of swimming has got to be a good enough reason to pull on your suit and goggles, and give it a try.

If a person loves to swim, but they can’t bear the thought of losing race after race, and they end up never getting in the water, that’s a recipe for a sad and wasted life. I’d rather be a perennial loser who tries her absolute best than a person who’s too afraid of losing to even give her passion a try. It takes a lot more courage to give something a go when you know winning is a long shot than it takes to compete when you know you’re the best.

And no, of course, we’re not talking about swimming any more.

Keep going, little doggie!
Image: sodahead.com

Publish or Perish

My goodness, it’s cold this morning.

Almost as bad as this…
Image: fireballwhisky.com

It almost doesn’t matter, from my point of view, because what I’ll be doing today is printing out a hard copy of ‘Eldritch’ and going through it – line by line, word by word, syllable by syllable – with a pen. And, of course, I can retire to the coffee shop for this. Full of steam, condensation, and – crucially – other people, I’ll be able to stave off hypothermia in its kind embrace. Yay, say I, for coffee shops. Bastions of culture since the 1700s, and still going strong.

I don’t really want to look too closely at it, but it’s true that I also have before me a handwritten list of things that need to be done before the end of May. Most of them are competitions that I must enter; some are publications whose closing date for submissions is also the end of May. Then, of course, I have ‘Eldritch’, which needs to be gone and out of my mind by the end of May, too. It’s times like this I wish I had three brains. It’s really hard to divide attention between two or three projects and feel like you’re giving all of them your full attention, but I guess this is my lot. Deadlines don’t wait because you’re busy. Life doesn’t wait until you’re ready!

On the upside, my story, ‘Lord of the Land’, was published last night in the most recent issue of ‘Synaesthesia‘ magazine, and I was very happy to see it spring into life. This is the story I was telling you all about the other day, the one which I feel has more of me in it than most of the others I’ve written. Also, there’s a photo of me included at the end (brace yourselves); if you’ve always wondered what sort of head I have on me, well, wonder no more. I actually am a real life person, and not a shiny chrome android randomly hitting a keyboard, which may come as a relief to some of you. ‘Lord of the Land’ also has the dubious honour of being the last piece in my current clutch of ‘forthcoming’ publications for adults. I have one more story forthcoming for children, which will be published in about a week and a half, and after that, I’ll be all out for a while. Unless, of course, I manage to get some more stuff submitted, accepted and thrown out into the world. The cycle begins again.

This is the challenge, and the beauty, of writing, of course. You need to keep up the momentum. You can’t afford to stop once you’ve managed to build up even a small head of steam, and you start feeling the pressure of it quite quickly. It’s not unwelcome pressure, but it’s pressure nonetheless, and self-imposed at that – sometimes, that’s the worst kind. There are no easy answers, either, and no short cuts. I know what needs to be done – my head needs to bend to the grindstone, and no mistake. It’s lucky that I enjoy writing as much as I do, then; a shame, though, that pressure is the death of inspiration.

Maybe I’ll just start churning these out instead…
Image: romanceuniversity.org

In any case, those are the challenges (at least, the creative ones!) facing me this week, and for the rest of the month. Seven competitions and/or submission opportunities to enter, one little book to introduce to the potentially unwelcoming world, a children’s book conference to attend (which will be great fun, I hope), and desperate prayers that the stream of ideas and enthusiasm won’t dry up just yet to be said.

If all else fails, I’ll just go out and buy a copy of Dan Brown’s latest potboiler, which is being published today (as anyone into books will surely know); if he can do it, anyone can.

Not, of course, that I’m being sour-grapey, or anything…