I believe more in the scissors than I do in the pencil.
I read that novelist Truman Capote worked only from lying down on a couch, writing and revising by marking up his pages with a pen. He'd start out with a cup of coffee by his side in the morning. Then switch out the coffee cup for a glass of sherry in the afternoon, and end the day with a martini.
He was a prolific novelist, screenwriter, short-story writer, and playwright. Breakfast at Tiffany's and the nonfiction In Cold Blood are among his well-known works. Surprising to think he wrote them all on his back like Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel ceiling.
I'm revising now; maybe I should try that.
Perhaps lying down would actually settle me enough to focus.
Here it is the end of April -- it feels like one blink and the days on the calendar whipped up a froth and now the suds are settling down and it's a month later already. April's slipping away with a big sucking noise.
I have MEANT to do so many things. Start on the revision, rethink my marketing, read and review more books. Instead my desk is a mess of iterative notes and lists and calendars and intentions and hashtags and spreadsheets.
Yes, shockingly to this English-major mind, a SPREADSHEET has reared its little digit head. Because now that the first draft of the manuscript is done I've entered a new phase. The Stage of Reason: logic and structure and analysis and fact-checking. I've gone through all 26 chapters of the manuscript to note details I want to verify. Imagine 396 rows on an Excel spreadsheet filled with phrases like, "Were Montmartre's streets cobblestone or dirt?"
It's hard to settle down. I mean is fact-checking really writing? The restlessness has been like an undercurrent flowing against me, an invisible resistance making it challenging to move forward and progress.
And it's come out of nowhere. A big dip down from the euphoric high I felt completing the first draft.
Here's what I think: After so many months of a tight routine of focus to get the story down, when I finally finished and mentally let loose, a flood of pent-up thought rushed forward. Many of the voices are negative: Who are you to think you can write a book? Look at all the other people around who have published dozens of books. You've started too late. You don't know enough. No one knows who you are. No one will care.
Have you ever felt like this, an impostor?
Other mental voices needle that I'm not doing enough: I should update my website. I should gather essays and create a digital giveaway. I should post more online. I should become a speaker. I should update my photos. I should find more collaborators. I should, should, should.
Have you ever felt like this, paralyzed with so many next-actions you can't choose one?
Clearly, something had to give. And, finally, it was this week that I think I broke through the mess into a way forward to silence the negative, spinning thoughts. Two cool sources gave me the perspective to connect the dots.
Love vs. Commerce. I heard a podcast interview with Brian Heiler, a guy who runs a thriving online community dedicated to 1970's toys and pop culture. His motive is love not money, and in the interview (by Dan Blank), he observes how art and commerce have gotten mashed together so that often collectors get obsessed with what an item is worth, keep it in pristine condition and close it up behind cellophane, and end of obscuring the joy the item. TV shows on finding treasure in abandoned storage units or getting a pawn shop to estimate the worth of an old keepsake have created a culture where value is all about the bucks. The message is that commercial success is the yardstick for true value. So, by taking in this message, a frenzy to build an audience of potential readers or to attract thousands of social-media followers clouded the reason I'm doing this.
My purpose for writing the book -- the joy and love for crafting an important story -- is shoved aside and forgotten. No wonder I felt like an impostor.
Live True to Yourself. The second nudge on this topic came from a blog post on Regrets of the Dying by Bronnie Ware, who worked for many years in palliative care, most often with people expected to die. In 2009 she wrote the first article on this topic (others have come along since.) Gathered from her conversations with those she was caring for, she shared the five most frequent regrets from people who knew they were dying. The most common regret struck a chord with me: I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
This is how Bonnie explained it: "This was the most common regret of all. When people realize that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honoured even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made."
Reading this statement quieted my spinning demons. I am not in a race; I am pursuing a choice that feels true to myself. Yes, I can improve my website and change my communications, etc., etc., but these can be an outcome of the love I have, not an obligation to my marketing sense.
I am calmer.
I hope the restlessness is gone, but, in a way, I'm grateful. The distraction and anxiety forced me to keep searching and listening for what I needed to hear. That's what revision is, right? Deciding what to cut away and what to keep.
I'm keeping the love.
How I'm Writing the Book
Filling in the Gaps: My goal is to finish fact-checking and making little corrections from my book coach by Memorial Day. This will prepare me to do a proper manuscript audit to figure out what I need to cut out since the book's a little long. Books on Strong Women by Female Authors. I hope you find your way to A Matter of Chance by Julie Maloney. It is a beautiful, heart-rending tale of a daughter's kidnapping, and the vivid, intense, close-to-crazy experience inside Maddy, the mom's head. The whole time I imagined, "If it was me..." with all the anguish of never, never, never giving up hope for a vanished daughter. Police detectives. Russian Mafia. New York streets. Exquisitely desperate.
My Son and Wife are expecting a BABY! End of July. I told my Husband that instead of "Nana" or "Grandma" I want to be called "Lolly" so he could be "Pop." So our Son can say to the Baby, "Lolly Pop is coming!" Ha! (My Husband is not amused.) A final word from Capote:
The brain may take advice, but not the heart.