Practical Magic

I feel like I’ve been experiencing a bit of a creative drought lately, and I’m not entirely sure why. Sure, there was the busyness of the holidays and the days I was down for the count because of one bug or another. But I think I’m also struggling to find a rhythm again. For most of last year, I spent hours a week creating new pages of material, and many more hours reading relevant research and daydreaming about various scenes and plot developments. And then I finished the first draft, took a self-satisfied break, and dove into my first round of revision. That also kept me busy and moving forward in a structured kind of rhythm. But now it’s time to revise again, and the plain fact of the matter is that I’m pretty sick of it. This part of the writing process, I am discovering, is very nuts and bolts—nitpicking over wording, figuring out chapter breaks, etc. Writing the actual story was definitely work, but it was fun work and it was creative work. This just feels like work work, and I’ve started finding all sorts of things to do instead of this work, from reading magazines, to cleaning my bathroom (although that is kind of necessary), to watching the E! channel (which is like a television vacuum of the soul).

As I get ready to attend my first writer’s conference down in San Diego this weekend, it occurs to me that this phase might be the true separating point between me being a real writer and me being just a wannabe writer. Anyone who’s dreamed of being a writer has indulged in the fantasy of churning out a manuscript that Presto! Magic! instantly transforms into a bestseller on the shelf at Barnes & Noble because it’s just so amazing that the publishing powers and public simply can’t resist it. But something that’s beginning to stand out to me in interviews of authors and articles about getting published is that it’s not so much about talent or having a good manuscript (although those are both good things to have) as it is about having determination and a little down and dirty grit.

Case in point: I recently read a book entitled Your First Novel: A Published Author and a Top Agent Share the Keys to Achieving Your Dream, and it’s a very practical and helpful book. It’s also brutally honest about how hard and unlikely it is that you will ever actually achieve said dream. Basically, the literary agent who wrote it goes to great lengths to explain how much effort you have to go to in order to make contact with anyone in the publishing industry, how rarely anyone will actually respond to your attempted contacts, how even rarer it is for them to ask to read any part of your manuscript, and then the utterly slim to none odds that someone will actually publish it even if you do manage to find an agent who likes it. On top of that, the process between accepted manuscript and book on the shelf can be a long and arduous one.

Essentially, the subtext of this book seems to be JUST GIVE UP NOW UNLESS YOU’RE REALLY SERIOUS ABOUT THIS AND VERY VERY PERSISTENT. I’ve never thought of myself as a particularly persistent person. Conscientious and disciplined, yes. But persistence requires a sense of self and confidence that I’m not sure I have. I hope so and would like to, but only time will tell if I actually do—time and this upcoming conference, where I’ll have the opportunity to talk face to face with actual agents and editors. It’s an exciting opportunity, but also a slightly terrifying one. Just show them how confident and enthusiastic you are about your work, seems to be the consensus of advice. This, of course, sets off a firestorm of anxiety in me. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can overcome a lifetime of neurotic insecurity by January 29th!” has been my inward cry. Fortunately, my friend Jani came to my rescue, advising me to just fake the confidence, which immediately made me feel better. Thanks to dozens of piano recitals throughout my formative years, I can fake poise and confidence like nobody’s business. And as negatively as we tend to view faking anything, it’s actually kind of a good thing in some cases. In my case, it helps me get past that initial panic and hyper self-awareness and ease into the actual subject matter. It’s helped me play Beethoven sonatas, it’s helped me deliver lectures on literature, and I have a feeling it will also help me get excited (hopefully!) about my manuscript when I’m talking to publishing industry people about it.

Really, I suppose faking it works even for writing and creativity. If I sit around and wait to feel the “real thing,” I could be sitting around and waiting for a long time. It’s when I force myself to sit down and write even when I’m not feeling like it at all—when I’m faking it—that the real thing comes along and hours have flown by because I’ve slipped into that zone that makes me impervious to my stiff neck, growling stomach, and even my feared lack of creative resources. Like magic. Ta Da!