Good or Good Enough?

I had a conversation with a friend several days ago. We were discussing story critique and judgment about when a story is "good enough." The question came up (in my head) about the point of the whole endeavor. Each person has their own fantastic goal. Some strive for genius, beauty, meaning. Some want fame, cash, prizes, critical acclaim ...

Is it possible to publish stories which are both accessible to a large audience and artistically accomplished?

Here's my point: when do we decide our story is finished? How perfect does it need to be to deserve an audience? Is there equal value between working toward our version of perfection and stopping when we've reached a level of marketability? One road leads to insanity, but I'm honestly not sure which one.

This reminds me of those other folks: writers truly motivated by the desire to create. They toil, seek endlessly to improve on structure, character, dialogue, et cetera--intending to reach the pinnacle of each aspect. Is this purity laudable? Crippling? It seems it doesn't matter how accomplished a writer they are, they remain unsatisfied. They never let go completely, and perspective becomes a weak alternative to the highest standard. This could even be a custody issue. Boundaries, right? Who does the story belong to, ultimately? If we don't write with the intention to share, then why?

I admire anyone who can write a story of whatever length which draws an audience. My goals with writing fall somewhere closer to center along the spectrum. I want to write thought-provoking, well-crafted stories scads of people clamor to read. Do I want to get paid for them? Heck, yeah. Would I sell my soul for a multiple-project contract? Ask me when that becomes a remote possibility, and I might have an answer.*

As always, I have plenty of questions and no real answer. C'est la pee. ;)

*For another time, perhaps: the question of e-publishing in the new digital world of trade books. Is print and the associated old-world gauntlet even necessary anymore? Everyone has an opinion, right?

Constipation, Confidence and Cannibalization

I'm trying to approach my situation with a more objective eye, which will be a refreshing change from the hand-wringing I've been allowing myself the past (mrmphmm) number of months.

In case you're not familiar, my situation is one of blockage.

Creative constipation is a common issue, one with several potential solutions, but also dreaded. I see it as akin to sexual impotence. The power of suggestion creates the problem in most cases, and will intensify the degree to which the problem mainfests. When we can relax about it, it eases up, creating a Chinese fingertrap of the process. This helps me wrap my head around it with a clear image to visualize, and we all know the first step is to recognize the problem.

I'm stumbling back into writing. It's a herky-jerky experience: clumsy, embarrassing, frustrating, and exhilarating. Because at least I'm fricking trying. I haven't given up. I haven't killed the urge. What cracks me up is the image of the poor constipated soul straining over the toilet who makes tangible progress one morning and falls right off the toilet seat because he's out of practice.

I can feel I'm not where I was, both in confidence and ability. I'm beating at these stories with rusted clubs, when last year I would've used filament wire to shape them. The dents are noticeable, and those stories from last year feel like they were written by someone else. The realization confidence plays a larger role in the process and the end result is what's exhilarating. And terrifying. Learning how to use punctuation or grammar is concrete, black/white, right/wrong, and not considered exciting by most people. The difficult stuff, the aspects requiring judgment and subtlety, those need confidence from the writer. Confidence both in the ability but also in the story the writer's trying to tell. How many of us have enough control over our thinking to switch gears from hesitant to adventurous? To find that oomph and intrepid spirit again?

I don't know if I do, but I haven't given up. Part of me is watching this whole experience from a distance, stashing and cannibalizing it for future stories. That's a good sign, right?

It's been awhile.

I haven't posted for a while, and thought it was time I got back onto the mule. Heeyah.

Which is funny, because the writing's been off the mule, too. Sporadic bursts here and there, like milk from the nose and just as attractive. Even though I know what's behind my inability to surge forth and conquer, I haven't been able to get past this hobby horse of an obstacle. You'd think my fear of leaving nothing of consequence behind after my death would at least match my fear of not meeting my own expectations.

Has the well run dry? Is that it? All I've got has been spilt onto the page? I'm an empty vessel, tabula rasa?

Good question.

I hope you weren't expecting me to have an answer. If you're here for more questions, though, I've got those by the barrel, mister.

Here's one:
What's the point of stories? Why write? For that matter, why read? In the larger picture, I mean. We all have our personal reasons for why we do what we do. But on a societal level, what's the true value of fiction? I understand and wholly support finding a path to others' experience. But do you think it works? Are we becoming any more compassionate as a species after centuries of fine, evocative works to learn from? If not for finding compassion and mutual understanding, what's the why of literature?

I can't fool myself into thinking I need an answer laid out before I'll be productive again; even my hindbrain knows a flimsy excuse when one piffles about in front of it. But it's a question worth asking, no? Any thoughts?

Frank Darabont is directing this new AMC series based on Robert Kirkman's epic graphic novel.

I'm positively salivating over the potential of this show, and even more excited about how careful the people creating it seem to be. The production values appear immense, and the solid intention to follow the spirit of the original stories and character arcs is admirable. AMC has already brought two highly-regarded shows to cable television, so we know the folks in charge have the sensibilities to allow great writing and production to come from the artists and craftsmen.
Check out the website for Making Of documentaries and the official trailer. If you feel strongly about the integrity of zombie tales told with heart and well, organs (hanging out all over the place), I think we'll both be happy on premiere night. (It's Halloween!) Verrry exciting.

http://www.amctv.com/originals/The-Walking-Dead/

Fancy Pants.

I've mentioned a few times the writer's workshop site I belong to: http://www.scribophile.com.

Lovely people, lovely feedback. It's a well-run site that's managed to retain its focus on writing while incorporating some social aspects (forums, scratchpads, profiles, email) that allow members to become even more attached to each other--a dangerous thing. But wonderful, when you need reader reaction to your work. I may be easing off daily onsite lurking in an attempt to spend more time actually writing, but that's certainly no fault of the site. The place is damned addictive, but my desire for achieving a more professional writery existence prods me like a duck with a sharp beak.

From what I hear, I'm not alone. Most writers don't have an online portfolio, using their blog instead to represent their writing to editors/agents. This, apparently, is not always the best strategy--particularly if said writers tend to blog about embarrassing body hair and/or the ugly sex they had the night before. Might work for Paul Feig, but do you really want to take the chance?

The scribophile site admins have answered this call and created a new, related-but-separate site called: http://scribblefolio.com.

This site isn't designed for direct interaction, but the creation of professional-looking profiles for writers to use as virtual business cards. No programming know-how necessary. None. I speak as someone who has trouble finding documents once I save them and I found the initial setup a breeze.

The site asks for basic information, then allots space for your writerly bio/introduction/stream-of-consciousness rambling (whatever you feel like throwing on there, professional intentions or otherwise.)

The fun part is choosing a motif from a list of about a dozen options. Each one is attractive, streamlined, geared toward a professional presentation. I hope the site adds designs over time with a bit more range, and perhaps some customizable templates, but for a brand-new site the current options are plenty to choose from and feel happy about.

Here's mine: http://lauriepaulsen.scribblefolio.com.

Rates are reasonable ($10/month), and the site is running a grand-opening special through Sep 6th. Easy way to find yourself suddenly in the possession of a professional internet presence. Kinda frightening, actually. I'm a little tipsy with power and can't wait to give someone important my site address.

edit: P.S.--Hey, 100th post!

The Dark Side of Addiction

I've been a member of a few different writing workshop websites over the past several years. At first agog at the idea of online communities I related to, I soon melded with the stated site missions, committing to group activities and trading critiques with other members. The lure of near-constant attention paid to my writing was irresistable. I bought in. Have bought in.

Even though I can see the danger of giving myself up to the power of semi-anonymous acceptance (and sometimes admiration) based on my writing and site contributions, the instant audience for my stories and tremendously alluring feedback loop, reality is hazy by comparison. Flat. Gray. How I imagine the world looks to someone considering dropping their sexaholic lifestyle.

Reality: these sites are only tools, by themselves not the path to development as a writer. Feedback from a variety of readers is valuable at a certain stage in the work's progress, but allowing myself to assign emotional importance to what others say about my work leads me astray--my work is no longer completely mine if I give others veto power over it.

I've stagnated as a storyteller, let myself settle for immediate gratification when I should have been working on the mundane but steady path to improvement, to becoming closer to being the writer I hope to be. I've exposed fragile, incomplete efforts to outsiders when what they needed most was my undivided attention and the private freedom to make them magical. I see these works as carcasses, half-eaten and spoiled in the heat of the sun. I've sold out, and I haven't gotten any money for it. I'm a fairly shoddy whore, really.

I've decided to pull back from my online communities--to shift my focus back onto writing as a learning process. I have too much unfinished work to keep coasting, reveling in the easy camaraderie of others who may or may not be quietly finishing their own work in the shadows.

Writing is a solitary endeavor for a reason.

Creativity is Peeeoople!

I usually have more dry spells than wet, when it comes to writing. I don't ascribe to the idea of writer's block, really--at least, not as a diagnosis. It's a symptom of fear. Fear and writers go together, I think. We dwell as a practice on all kinds of stuff--character, plot, setting, etc--and when we're nervous, we dwell on that, too. Our brains are programmed that way. But I'm veering a little off track.

I wanted to talk about creative juice, where we get it, why it never runs out. This is a little like trying to talk about God, so keep your expectations low.

I read a blog entry recently about the question of renewable creativity: http://www.scribophile.com/blog/this-post-is-a-result-of-an-impassioned-argument/

I appreciated the question, although most of the comments posted focused on the setting argument instead (I did too, at first--Shyamalan's a compelling guy.) But it's a mystery, where our ideas come from. Some people are just born seeing the world differently, or maybe their childhood shapes it for them while their minds are malleable. I don't think creative thinking requires genius. Or knowledge. But the inclination to ask questions is crucial. Curiosity led to every advancement our species has made; that ability to imagine the impossible and find a way there climbed us to the top of the food chain. Of course, now we're doing our darnedest to extinct ourselves, but that's another topic. Veering again.

Creativity. The more we use it the easier it comes, the better we use it. Like any effort, we learn through doing. We can read about it, study others' techniques, watch biographies of great thinkers, but until we dive in and find our own way to creating, it's circumstantial. So, trying is essential--and that can be scary. Trying opens up the possibility of failing, and nobody likes that.

So, fear #1: failure. It's a universal fear, no matter what we're trying to accomplish.

Fear #2? Success. Silly, right? Why be afraid of doing something well? What could be disturbing about that? I think enough of us have been here, too, to understand. If we do something well once, we've gotta do it again. And again. The bar's been set, the expectation put out there (for everyone to see)--we've lost the freedom to fail. So we think.

Where was I going? Right. Fear stomps on creativity, and creative endeavors generate fear. It's a vicious cycle. We can lessen the intensity a bit by keeping perspective, by honing skills so every new attempt isn't as much of a crap shoot, but the uncertainty is always there to some degree. We're not creatures comfortable with uncertainty. Those of us who are (not me) accomplish greatness.

Creativity is people! Like Charleton Heston said in "Soylent Green". We do feed off of each other. Ideas, inspiration, motivation, hope, competition. Creativity can exist in a vacuum, but it gets musty in there. Plus, all the noise. We have already the ability to think openly, but I think we regenerate through interaction with the world around us. Stimulation. Maybe we don't literally eat other people, but if we did we could use that experience, too. It all goes in the pot to be swished around, processed, mutated into something useful for our purposes as writers. Or cannibals, I guess.

My remedy for fear? Stimulus.

If you sit down at the keyboard and nothing bubbles up, don't panic. Like impotence, this is the worst possible reaction. Relax. It happens to everyone. Back off for a few minutes and find something new to cram into your brain. Walk outside, listen to music, find thought-provoking articles on the internet (www.bigthink.com), watch an inspiring video presentation (www.TED.org), do something mindless and physical--whatever fires your synapses, gets you going. And if nothing comes, even then? Well, it's hopeless, I guess. (No, it's not. It will come. I promise. Our brains can't help themselves.)

That's my two cents on the subject. Anyone have more ideas to help with writing motivation? I'd love to hear them.