Lessons Learned: Writing as Performance Art

Last week, I heard a presentation that discussed performance anxiety, given by music professor John Masserini. As I listened, I realized the tips he gave could also be applied to writing. Because all creative pursuits, whether they be art, music, or theater, share the same anxieties.

Translating this...

       

...to this. 

And as artists, we can use these anxieties and translate them into bigger truths. Such as:


1. You are the vessel.

This was probably the most useful tip of all. When John coached his music students on performing, he reminded them they were just a vessel for the music--that the audience wouldn't be focused on them--but on the music itself. It was the the notes, instead of the person playing them, that truly mattered.

And it got me thinking about how nervous I've gotten when putting my writing out there, and worrying about what people will think of me. When all this time, I've only been a vessel for the words that choose to come through my fingers and onto the page. This helps takes the onus off me as a person, and puts it where it belongs--on the story.

Elizabeth Gilbert alluded to this sort of thing during this fabulous TED Talk (it's lengthy, but definitely worth watching):




It's worth mentioning that Elizabeth Gilbert's use of "vessel" (8:41) is different from what I'm implying. I'm treating vessel as a conduit, a way to sail somewhere, rather than the full vat of creativity, or, the boat itself. As writing vessels, we write the words, but they do not necessarily always come directly from us.


2. Establish a routine.

This seems pretty basic, and as writers we hear it a lot, but John took it a bit further in his talk. As in, when his students are preparing for a recital for 7 p.m. on a Friday, he advises that they run through the repertoire at the same time (7 p.m.) on the Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday before the performance. That way, by the time Friday rolls around, the student's brain will be attuned and accustomed to running through the repertoire by the time they have to do it in front of a crowd.

In writing, the equivalent of this is anything potentially big that could happen along the way (meeting with an agent, editor, or perhaps pitching at a conference). So, for example, if you have a pitch appointment with an agent at noon, run through your pitch at noon as many days as you can before that meeting. Then, it will seem like it's old hat.

One final note about routine: even though we often hear that we "should" establish some sort of routine, it can sometimes be easy to brush off as, "Well, that's not my process." I told myself that for years. "I'm not an early riser, so I'll write at night." But recently, one of my MFA writing instructors recommended writing with the "best brain"--which means first thing in the day. And after trying that for the past few weeks, I've realized how much of a positive difference it makes. By getting my writing done in the morning, I get to do the thing I love most first--and then I'm not as resentful of the time taken away by other things throughout the day.


3. The art is in the recovery.

As a former pianist, one of my biggest anxieties was making a mistake during a recital. John admitted that mistakes were inevitable, but he advocated going on anyway. "The art is in the recovery," he said. A bad note may happen--but it's the notes that come afterward that count.

And of course, this can be applied to all stages of writing. Rejections at the query stage--what writers do afterward is what counts. Do they quit? Or do they hunker down at the desk and strive to write something better? Same goes for abysmal sales. What does the writer do next? Give up? Or write the next book?

Mistakes, nerves, and insecurities are inevitable in music, art, writing and life. But if we can learn ways around them, and not make them a hindrance, we'll go farther than we thought possible.

What about you? What are your fears? Where is your focus? When are you at your best? And how does all this translate to your writing?

To MFA, or not to MFA? That is the question...

When people find out that I'm enrolled in an MFA program, they often ask me if it's an essential part of becoming a part of the writing profession. And while there are some who believe that an MFA is necessary, I'm in the camp that says it might not be.

Which sort of makes me look like this.

You might be asking why I'm in a program at all. Simple. I'm in a situation where my MFA fits my lifestyle and doesn't break my bank (my body, however, is a different matter, but we'll get to that in a bit). Besides, I feel like I need it to grow as a writer.

So here, in my experience so far, are my suggestions if you're considering an MFA program:

Like I said before, don't break your bank.

In my MFA program, I'm surrounded by writers who are battling huge debt, loans, broken-down cars, and other horrors. While I'm sure getting a writing degree has been the right choice for them, I wouldn't recommend it if you're not a situation where you have to break your bank to do so.

With my librarian job, I get a tuition discount, which basically adds up to about $100 or so a class, and I work in a job where my time is somewhat flexible. So if you're in this kind of position, and you're looking to grow, that's when an MFA might be the right thing for you. (But I also know many people who have been successful writers without one.)

Surround yourself with other writers, but keep writing on your own, too.

A lot of my classmates tell me how astonished they are with how much I write. Right now, I'm drafting a new project while working on an old one, because I'm making the time to do what I can, when I can.

Even some of my writing instructors are encouraging us to make time to write outside of class, which I'm thankful for. Some people are good at talking about writing (see the OA blogger typing to you right now), but my instructor mentioned this great book called, Do the Work, which encourages the doing rather than the talking.

So, write what what you can, when you can, no matter what your current situation might be.

Be open to learn new things, but only use the information that works for you. 

I'm lucky that I have instructors who are open (and sometimes even insistent) on plot-driven material. But this isn't always the case in MFA programs. A lot of times (perhaps more twenty years ago than now) literary writing is encouraged to be poetic more than anything else, and "commercial" fiction is sometimes looked down upon. I'm lucky that my program covers a lot of disciplines (fiction, nonfiction, poetry) and allows for flexibility in creativity. Just know that not all programs will emphasize this.

And so far, I've gotten some good guidance on how to help my writing grow. One instructor helped me see how I could make my characters more empathetic to others (and therefore more sympathetic to readers), and another encouraged me to "write with a heartbeat," because my prose tended to fall a bit flat. Both these suggestions have helped my writing immensely.

But if there's a guy either in your MFA class or critique group who wants you to change the plot because that's not how he would have written it, you can go ahead and tell him to suck his hot air.

Make sure you take care of yourself.

I'm mentioning this one last, but it's the most important, and one thing I've neglected lately. Ever since I've started my MFA program, whenever I had a week of vacation, or a bit of down time, I've always gotten sick. Even now, the scratchy throat and congested chest I have are so closely following my previous illness that I'm not sure if it's the same iteration of it, or something different. And while I did take the advice of my instructors to write in the morning, I didn't make the effort to get to bed at a decent hour and get enough sleep.

So here are some suggestions (especially while in a graduate program) that might help:

Get enough sleep.

Spend at least 20 minutes a day doing something that's completely unproductive.

Choose physical exercise that fits your lifestyle and routine.

Stop being so hard on yourself, you perfectionist, you.

That last one was mostly for me, but you get my point. Which brings me to my last one. Do whatever helps you grow the most as a writer, whether that means an MFA or not.

Edited prose falling flat? Check your inner critic

Ernest Hemingway said, "Write drunk, edit sober." The problem with editing sober, though, is if it goes too far unchecked, it can turn into "church lady" sober. The inner critic taunts your loopy, messy prose, making you feel stupid for writing it in the first place. Sort of like this:



The unfortunate result of this, at least for me, is prose with all the life sucked out of it, leading to flat characters and a weak plot. Yeah, the sentences go together, but if there's no life in them, they're not worth reading.
I ran into this with a recent short story I wrote for my MFA class. It explored what might happen if our bad ideas didn't come from us, but from external, invisible beings who planted them to ensure we learned from our mistakes. (Much like an inner critic, no?) My protagonist is one of these invisible beings, and the seed she plants backfires. Forced to confront her lizard boss Roebuck, she finds out the whole system is rigged. 
Here's the scene as I turned it in for class:

I can’t move. Can’t think. I stare, feeling like I’m seeing Roebuck for the first time. “Why control us this way? Make us do this if it doesn’t help the humans?”   

He flicks his tongue. Irritated. “Ignorance keeps the system healthy. Don’t question it.”

This isn’t right. My entire being buzzes with a new clarity. One that allows me, for the first time, to see into his brain. His memories.

There’s a silver medical table, with his former lizard self, much smaller, and squealing in pain. A human in a white lab coat injects him with a red fluid.

My mouth gapes, and I can’t speak. Zorg was right about pawns. I wonder how much he knows. How much he wanted to tell me, but was afraid of what Roebuck would do if he did.

I narrow my black eyes. “You don’t do this to help the humans. You do it because you want revenge on them.”

He growls, and pulls me toward another wall. An invisible door, one I didn’t know was there, opens. “They need to know the harm they cause others. Be accountable for it.”

The room seems to elongate. I stare at the empty elevator pod at the other side of the room, starting its countdown to leave.

I can’t let it. 

Here's the same scene with some deleted lines added back in, more showing instead of telling, and some sentences combined:

My joints stiffen. I can’t move. Can’t think. “Why control us? Make us do this if it doesn’t help the humans?”   

He flicks his tongue, irritated. “Because it works. Ignorance keeps the system healthy.”

I stare at his hooked face with its sinister scales and needle-sharp teeth. And for the first time, I don’t trust it. Fueled by anger, my mind buzzes, allowing me access into the deepest part of his brain, where his memories live.

On a silver medical table, his former lizard self, much smaller, squeals in pain. A human in a white lab coat injects him with a red fluid.

So that’s why. He doesn’t want to help the humans. He wants revenge on them.

Zorg was right about pawns. I wonder how much he wanted to tell me, but couldn’t, afraid of what Roebuck might do.

I narrow my black eyes, scathing. “You’re using us. All of us. To hurt them.”

"I don't have time for this." He growls, and pulls me toward another wall. An invisible door, one I didn’t know was there, opens. “They need to know the harm they cause others, and be accountable for it. Someday, you'll understand.”

The room elongates, and I stare at the empty elevator pod at the other side, starting its countdown to make someone else’s life unnecessarily miserable.

I can’t let it. 

  The scene still needs work, but at least I've gotten hold of the emotional heft needed to carry it forward. I took a overly telling sentence that involved "seeing Roebuck for the first time" and showed how she perceives him differently instead. I also inserted more of Roebuck's reactions to her. But most importantly, I allowed my sentences to be a bit messier, inserting more cadence and variety within the prose by default.
So what about you? What kills your prose, and what have you done to spruce it back up again?

Back to Writing!

Summer is officially over at my house and the kids will be back in school by the end of the week. I’m facing the moment I’ve been looking forward to all summer... Writing Time!!!

But man! My daily habits have completely changed (maybe for the better) while being off the grid. So... since I have a relatively clean slate to set up new writing habits, I’m working on a list of what my daily priorities should be.

1. Make a schedule! 
-One hour of exercise, three days a week with the hubs. Neither of us seem willing to put out the effort on our own, but we’re hoping to keep each other motivated. :-) You never know! It just might work! No more, “I don’t have time, I’m writing!”

-Dinner plans. No more, “I can’t think about dinner right now, I’m writing!” (which ultimately leads to $5 pizzas or frozen/boxed things with 8 minutes to spare before swim team practice.)

-I will NOT attempt to do any writing before the kids go to school. I generally wake up hours before anyone else does, but it ultimately leads to, “Oh my gosh! The kids are still in bed and we have 4 minutes to make lunches, eat breakfast, get dressed and out the door!”
But I might try jotting down a few scene/chapter notes that I want to tackle for the day... especially if I need to write three chapters a week to meet my intended deadline. (Thank goodness I have a (mostly) detailed outline to keep me focused!)

-Make laundry/cleaning a daily ritual—not a monthly “Ugh! I can’t work in these conditions!”

-Be extra cautious about balancing time between MY projects vs covers and editing for others. As much as I love working on other people's projects, I really do have a deadline.

2. Write the Schedule!
-Change that... PRINT the schedule as a daily check-off chart and live by the list each day until it becomes habit.

3. Stick to the Schedule!
-I seem to go through this I-need-better-habits phase every September and New Year. So...crossing my fingers and toes that I can be dedicated to more than just making time to write. :-)

I’m extremely grateful to have such a huge amount of flexibility in my day-to-day life. I know many writers who would LOVE to have as much time as I do. I just need to use the time more wisely to better balance obsessive writing and a healthier frame of mind. I’m 98% certain everyone in my house would benefit. :-)

Writing Is Not My Life

Years ago, when I first began exploring online writers' forums, I kept seeing members declare, "Writing is my life!" Some would go on to brag about how all-consuming their writing was, about how they had no friends, no time for other activities. At times, especially when I saw one of them making strides toward publication, I wondered if they were right. Would only those who poured everything into their writing succeed? If that was true, there was no hope for me.

See, as a young adult, I'd already learned the painful lesson that writing was not my life and never could be. It's sometimes tempting to let myself disappear into a world of my own creation, to completely give in to my drive to write and to succeed as an author. But I married and had children young, and they needed me to be more than a writer. Just being a member of my newly created family made it clear to me that there was more I had to be. Was I doomed to failure as a writer, then? Did successful writers shut out their families and the world?

Soon enough, I noticed that veteran writers didn't throw around that phrase. They managed to finish books and publish them without being swallowed up by their desire to write. What a relief! But this realization was more than a relief, because not only is there more I have to be, but there's more I have the privilege of being.

Now I'm so grateful to be able to say, "Writing is NOT my life." And when I hear people say, "Writing is my life," I cringe. Because what happens when writing doesn't seem to be going anywhere? When the dream seems to come crashing down around us? When all the work appears to be for nothing? Every writer has those moments. I've certainly had my share. And during those times, the people who loved and needed me, and the other purposes I had, were what kept me going.

Living a full life has done more than help me through the tough times in my writing life; it's enriched my writing in ways I never expected. Though there are many other aspects of my life that impact my writing, the clearest example of this is how the time I've spent practicing and coaching judo has fueled my Venture series. From the real personalities that help me to shape realistic characters, to the struggles I've observed and shared on that mat, which shape the story's themes, to the technical knowledge that helps me write about fighters, this series would not be what it is if I hadn't peeled my rear end off of my chair and gone to judo practice.

Though I love judo, I used to worry that my commitments were getting in the way of my writing goals. But the very hours I thought I was sacrificing, taking away from writing time to spend all evening at practice or all weekend at a tournament, turned out to be a great investment not only in people, but in my writing. The more I take time away from writing to just live, the more my writing comes alive.