Listen closely

You need to listen closely

to what’s in your heart

even if you can’t always

understand the language

it’s speaking.

You can feel it beating

in your chest, just beneath

your ribcage, pulsing

with life, with words

that flow onto the page

like an endless running

stream, 

like ice melting off the mountain

filling the page with

what you need to hear

just the softest of sounds, 

nearly inaudible on some mornings,

sounds you can’t always decipher, 

on some days just silence

flowing through your pen

leaving no marks on the page,

while on other days 

a rush of words,

a wave, a tsunami of words

that nearly carries

your pen away,

that’s almost impossible

to contain on the page,

words spilling

overflowing

washing over you

leaving you soaked to the skin 

your pen exhausted in your hand, 

your heart content, 

grateful for each word.

—

How trust works

How trust works:

you take a deep breath

pick a pen

open your journal

and begin writing

not knowing what

you'll discover

before you put

your pen to paper

trusting words 

will appear

trusting the process 

of how one word 

will lead you 

to the next

trusting you'll find

what you're looking for

before you reach

the end of

the page 

Just beyond the next breath

Do you ever wonder what keeps drawing you 

back to the page each morning--day after day, 

month after month, year after year?

Or why you return like a lost soul not knowing 

who you are or where you're going, the only certainty 

the pen you hold in your hand (as long as the ink lasts),

and the blank page waiting for you to fill it with words?

Maybe it's because the moment your hand touches the page, 

you feel like you've come home, no longer lost or blind, and

the world you couldn't see moments ago suddenly becomes clear

waiting for you to enter.

Maybe it's because you feel like you set off on a journey 

each morning, like stepping into a boat and pushing off from shore

to see what is waiting for you just around the bend, just past the curve 

in the bank, just beyond the next breath.

Maybe it's because you live for these moments, for the chance 

to swim into your imagination, to return to the place where you know

you can be yourself without pretense, without a mask, the place

where you can remember who you are and why you pick up a pen 

and open your journal and fill a blank page with words each morning.

Working on revisions

How do you know when you're finished revising your manuscript?

After the second or third pass, it's easy to believe that you're done. 

You've revised verb tenses and word choices. You've caught typos. You've polished each sentence until it shines like polished silver. 

But are you really done?

If you're working with an editor who you can trust, you can share the manuscript and listen to feedback. 

It's the same with a writing group. If you trust the other writers in the group--and why would you be in a writing group you don't trust?--you listen to their feedback.

If you prefer to work on your own, though, you have a slightly different challenge, which is, ultimately, the same challenge that every writer must face.

You need to listen to your inner voice, which can be deceptive at times.

You need to keep digging, keep asking yourself what's missing. 

What am I forgetting? What does the reader need in this moment? What does my character want, and what's keeping him or her from getting it? And what does he or she do to reach his or her goal?

To answer these questions, you may have to put your manuscript in a drawer for a while. 

A day, a week, or more. 

That's how you can gain distance and change your perspective.

That's how you can return to it with a clearer eye and see gaps or missing pieces that you couldn't have seen when you were so close to it, working on it from the inside, so to speak.

Each time you revise your manuscript, you need to see it the way a reader will see it. 

How might your words strike a reader? What images and scenes will make the greatest impact?  Why does the plot unfold the way it does?

Working on revisions in this way becomes a process of listening more carefully and looking more closely so that you (and ultimately your reader) are able to slip inside your characters and can feel what they're feeling. 

As you keep reviewing the manuscript, you're listening for inconsistencies, for the gaps that you couldn't see on the previous pass, for the issues that you can expand or delete.

The secret is patience. 

Give yourself time.

As many writers have discovered: "Time is the best editor." 

Full steam ahead

Full steam ahead

you mustn't look back

no glancing over your shoulder

at the pages you've written

or the days that came

before this one

eyes front

even though you can't see

what's coming 

you must step into the unknown

with hope

with faith 

it will all fall into place

even if you don't know how

(you never know how)

but here we are again

writing

filling the blank page

(how wonderful is that?)

still not knowing 

where the words come from

or how they find their way 

onto the page

they just do

guided by an invisible hand

an angel, perhaps, 

watching over you

Learning to trust the process

One of the things you need to learn about writing is how to trust the process, to trust yourself, your imagination, to accept whatever images your imagination gives you, to receive without judgment whatever words appear in your mind, to open the gate and let anything that wants to come onto the page come onto the page. 

You have to learn not to resist, not to judge, not to second-guess, to simply allow whatever words need to come to come, and to write them down as quickly as you can before they disappear and go back into hiding and you can't see them again. 

You have to accept the mystery, the inability to explain how or why it works, and simply let your pen move over the page, like taking dictation, only the voice is sometimes barely audible--sometimes not audible at all--and you have to make sense of the whisper of the wind or the sound of silence, and somehow it's like a dream and somehow you find the words, and somehow you breathe the words onto the page.

And you open your eyes to find what you needed to write only after you put your pen down, take a breath, and look down at the page that, only moments ago, was blank.

And now--behold!-- it is filled with words that somehow came from some hidden source, perhaps from thin air, perhaps from your pen, perhaps from your heart. 

Looking Between The Lines

I started a new project in February, and I found myself surprised -- the way I'm always surprised when an idea pops into my head -- that suddenly I was writing with eagerness every morning to see where this new idea might lead, curious to discover the story that might be hidden somewhere inside it.

Since then I've written many pages, and I've forced myself to go back to the beginning again and again, and to revise the manuscript's pages with an eye toward discovering what might be missing and what might be added to get the full story on the page.

Each time I begin revising again, it's like starting anew, like climbing up a ladder again, except there are words on the page, unlike when I started out in February and the pages were all blank. This evidence of having written provides some comfort and reassurance, even if the words aren't quite right.

There's still so much that's not yet on the page--even after three months of work--and which needs to be brought into the light.

Much of the revision process, I've learned over time, is trying to figure out what's not on the page but needs to be there. That's often the most frustrating part of the process, too, because although I may know that something feels like it's missing, I don't always know what might be missing or how to find what's missing (except to keep writing).

So, I've learned to work slowly, to go back to the beginning after finishing each draft, to return to the first page and try to see between the lines, to find in that empty space not only words but images and scenes and dialogue.

I try to understand the characters who are making their appearance (often shyly) on the page and who seem reluctant to let themselves be seen, as if they're worried (in the same way that I might worry) about what might happen to them if they reveal themselves fully. On some days I'll find myself with a flood of pages, while on other days, only silence.

Here's something that I don't admit to many people: I worry about making a mistake in the way I am approaching the project. I'm afraid it'll all come crumbling down or the words will turn into a mush of spaghetti before I can finish the story. I worry about not making enough mistakes. And I worry about making too many mistakes and that I'll need to ditch the entire project months from now, a total failure. Sometimes, on days when words won't come, I think revision is just another word for worry.

It helps, I've found, to sit down at the same time every day to start work, whether I have any ideas about where the day's work may take me or not. Just sitting down, opening my laptop, and beginning to type somehow loosens the words and frees my imagination so that I can re-enter the world that I've discovered on the page.

After years of working on different projects, I've learned not to be fooled into thinking that I've finished the revisions just because I happened to finish another draft. Just because words are on the page, just because I've created something that feels finished, doesn't mean it's finished.

I've had to learn how to be patient and to take a long-range view. Not weeks or months but sometimes years. And I've come to enjoy the process of beginning again... and again, even though it isn't easy on some days to be patient and enjoy the process.

What I've found, though, is that patience is often rewarded with new discoveries and new ways of understanding the story, and with these discoveries comes a greater depth and greater clarity to the story.

Layers appear as if by magic, and with each pass another layer appears that I might not have discovered if I hadn't kept working on the manuscript.

Each revision brings a new way of understanding the story, of seeing the story.

Revisions are an integral part of the writing process, a kind of miracle that lets a story unfold in unexpected ways, but only if the writer is patient and willing to return--sometimes against all odds--to begin again, and yet again, to see where the words might lead.

Second-Guessing Yourself (or How Can You Really Trust Your Intuition?)

After thinking about a story for years and trying to write it for more years than I care to count, I had a break through a few months ago and managed to get the words of the story down on paper.

Every afternoon I sat down to type out the next chapter, and the next, and received a gift, a miracle, of sorts, as page after page began to appear on the screen. 

Over the course of a few months the words began to add up, and I found myself with a chapter, and then another chapter, until I looked up one day and found myself with 40,000 words, enough to qualify the work-in-progress as a novel for middle graders.

Of course, just because a manuscript contains a certain number of words doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a book. (We all know this, right?) But, after revising it ten or twenty times, this manuscript felt like a book. It felt complete and as close to what I’d envisioned as possible.

And then, for the first time in years, I dreamed about two of the people in the story. They had died years ago, but in the dream they expressed their pleasure with the story and how I’d told it.

I dreamed of one of my writing teachers, too, a woman who I considered my writing mentor. She was known for her excruciating honesty, and in my dream she was smiling as she told me, with a certain amount of pride, that I’d done it.

So, I felt good about the manuscript. It was as good as I could get it. Good enough to believe it was ready to share. So, I sent it out to an agent who another writer had kindly recommended.

The agent wrote back quickly to say that she loved the story. She described the writing as beautiful. She enjoyed spending time with the main character. But she had one concern. The pace was too slow. Editors today, she explained, want fast-paced stories right from the start.  

So she passed on the book, and now I have a dilemma.

Do I leave the story alone or do I trust the opinion of an unknown but generous and warm-hearted reader who has vast experience in the marketplace and who knows the tastes and desires of editors looking for manuscripts to publish?

It's hard to evaluate our own work, especially when we're so close to it, which is why it might be best to put the manuscript aside for a while and take another look in a few months.

What would you do? 

For more information on trusting intuition or second-guessing yourself, visit:

http://cauldronsandcupcakes.com/2013/03/22/honouring-your-intuition-why-arent-you-doing-it/

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/07/10/trusting-intuition-helen-fisher-gut-instincts_n_3530420.html

http://examinedexistence.com/daniel-kahnemans-on-why-we-shouldnt-always-trust-our-gut-feelings/

http://sarahockler.com/2011/12/20/are-you-an-ideal-critique-partner/

Stuck in the Muck

It happens when you least expect it.

You take a turn down a road that looks promising and before you realize what’s happening the tires sink into the muck and you can’t back out.

Or you are swimming in clear water and the next thing you know there are weeds tangled around your arms and legs and you are sinking into the mud.

Your brain is stuck, your pen is frozen.

Words have vanished; they simply won’t come.

No matter how hard you push or pull or plead, the words will not appear. 

You are stuck in the muck.

It’s where I’ve floundered for the past few days.

Stuck in the muck, going nowhere. 

You may be wondering how in the world I got stuck in the muck.

I could say that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, but that isn’t true. 

I could say that I wasn’t writing what I felt passionate about, but that isn’t true either.

I got stuck because I received conflicting advice about a work-in-progress

And the conflicting advice stopped me in my tracks.

I ended up questioning the worth of my story.

And questioning the worth of my story led to questioning my own worth as a writer.

And once I started questioning my worth as a writer, words froze. They dried up and disappeared.

Getting stuck in the muck, I discovered, is more than just having words disappear. 

It’s having your confidence as a writer disappear, too. 

Your desire to write anything is gone, and you fear yet more criticism and advice.

Whatever compels you to write shrivels up and hides, and no amount of pleading will bring it out of its shell.

Some writers remain stuck in the muck for days and weeks and months.

Some remain stuck for years listening to well-meaning voices telling them what they should or shouldn’t write.

Luckily, though, I have friends who have faith in my ability. 

They were kind enough to remind me of that ability and, in so doing, helped me find my way out of the muck.

Their words of faith helped me regain my footing so that I could return to solid ground, to a place where I could hear my own voice again.

I could trust my intuition, I could follow it again without trying to second-guess myself, without looking back over my shoulder.

There is always the possibility, of course, that I can find myself stuck in the muck again. 

Any of us can get stuck in the muck. It's one of the dangers of writing.

But if we can take a long view of our work, we may be able to see that getting stuck in the muck is simply part of the larger process of writing and finding our way.

Intuition

It can prove mystifying when someone–a teacher, another writer, a close friend or confidant–advises you to “trust your intuition” when you’re facing a difficult decision in your work.

How can you trust something that’s so elusive, so hard to define?

What is “intuition” anyway?

And how do you learn to trust it?

Here’s how intuition is defined in The Merriam-Webster Dictionary:

Intuition - the power or faculty of knowing things without conscious reasoning

What’s encouraging (to a writer) about this definition is its suggestion that we have an ability to know the world not only in the conscious realm but through our unconscious, as well.

That’s encouraging because it suggests each writer has a way of relating to problems and finding solutions to those problems by tapping into his unconscious mind.

But how do you–how does any writer–find a path into the unconscious part of his or her brain?

Finding that path involves learning to let go of expectations so you can hear your own thoughts, not those of anyone else. Eventually, you want to be able to write down those thoughts as they come to you unfiltered through anyone else’s expectations.

It also involves opening up to the odd, strange, and sometimes downright bizarre thoughts that may flit through your mind on occasion and letting these thoughts--any thoughts--come without judgment, without criticism.

It means opening to the possibility that you may have nothing to say... and then sitting with the silence (like treading water and noticing what’s happening around you) until a thought enters your head, pulses through your heart, emerges as an impulse in your fingers, and begins moving your pen across the page.

As you write page after page, day after day, month after month, year after year, you may begin to notice the slightest vibration--the first twinge of intuition--in the back of your throat as the words emerge, almost like a compass needle vibrating as it points north.

At this point, you may feel your words emerging on the paper as you see them appearing in your unconscious... almost as if you’re copying down the words before they disappear again into the sea of your unconscious.

Trusting your intuition means not thinking as you write but, rather, feeling your way with words through a deep part of your unconscious, using words to reach a place beyond words and beyond reason.

You won’t know what you’ll find there until you arrive... and you won’t arrive there until you let go of your expectations and allow the words to float to the surface and flow without judgment or praise.

Writing in this way is almost like dreaming while half-awake, moving your pen across the page and putting words down.

When you wake up from the "dream" or dream-state, you may discover the solution to your problem.

Trust your intuition. It will lead you where you need to go.

For more on trusting intuition, visit:
http://www.writewhatyouknow.com/qom.php?question_id=36
http://www.freelancewritingsuccess.com/brian-tracy3.php
http://www.nytimes.com/1986/01/20/style/relationships-learning-to-trust-intuition.html
http://articles.latimes.com/1990-08-19/news/vw-3026_1_intuitive-people
http://www.trans4mind.com/counterpoint/rowley8.shtml
http://www.ideamarketers.com/?writing_coach&articleid=413974
http://www.articlesbase.com/spirituality-articles/what-is-intuition-938544.html
http://www.intuition.org/txt/gawain2.htm
http://www.creativity-portal.com/cca/valery-satterwhite/trust-intuition.html