Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Comparison Shopping, Part 2 (A Companion Piece)

[I guest posted at Periphery today. This piece is a tangential companion to that one.]

"Revision is when you finally get to recognize the distance between what you wanted to write, what you thought you were writting, and what you actually did write. That recognition often makes you want to throw up."
~~Carolyn See, Making a Literary Life


One night when I was ten, I had a particularly vivid dream about a talking horse. I no longer remember anything the horse had to say, which is a shame, because I almost remember that there was a vaguely philosophical bent to his rambling--perhaps he bestowed upon me priceless wisdom that I am poorer for having forgotten. I do, however, remember with certainty waking up the next morning with a clear mental image of this horse, with his glossy coat and flowing mane and tail.

So clear was this image that I felt certain that even I could draw it. Please believe me when I say that I approached the page with a deep confidence wholly unjustified by any of my previous artistic productions. Here is what I drew:

*This sketch has been darkened by tracing the original lines with pencil so they would show up for this photo. Apparently, pencil starts to fade after a couple of decades; I should probably be grateful.


You will perhaps note that this glorious specimen of horseflesh is hiding his head in shame.The shame, rest assured, was all mine. By the time I had gotten to his head, I was so demoralized, I made his neck longer so I wouldn't have room for my horrendous approximation of his head.

It's surprising to me that this page was not torn out of its notebook in a fit of frustrated humiliation, but I am glad that it wasn't because now I have preserved forever(-ish)* evidence of my first memory of that particular variety of artistic frustration.

I have long since given up on the visual arts--though I occasionally dabble and doodle, my expectations are so low that I'm never devastated by inferior results. Writing, of course, is a whole other story. You know that feeling that you get when you know what you want to say, but there is some weird glitch between your brain and your pen or keyboard so that what comes out is as similar to what you meant to say as a ladybug is to a giraffe?  Yeah, that.

In my guest post over at Periphery today, I talked about the sick feeling we get in the pits of our stomachs when we compare our work to the work of others and find it wanting. The only thing that compares to that feeling--and maybe even surpasses it, for me--is comparing my own work to the picture of it I had in my head.

"A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." I've had that Thomas Mann quote etched in my brain for so long, I can no longer even remember when or where I first heard it.  But, as someone who makes multiple drafts of practically everything I put to paper--friendly letters, school excuses, notices to delinquent customers, incident reports, everything--I understand exactly what he meant.

I am a perpetual tinkerer, trying to get incrementally closer to what I meant to say, and I will mess around with stuff I've written almost indefinitely unless I have a deadline. Daily blogging has been great for me in that way because it's meant a daily deadline (albeit a self-imposed one). I have to admit to having quite a long way to go, though--and on those nights when you see a Random Quote (or, say, a picture of a roll of toilet paper on my bathroom sink) posted it is likely that there is a three-quarters-of-the-way written post in my drafts folder that has stymied me.

One of the things I am learning, however gradually, is that when I can't get a thought or an image to come out just-so, it's quite possible that it's not time yet and no amount of tinkering, or thinking at it is going to get it ready any faster. The only thing that helps (when I can force myself to do it), is to set it down and come back later--maybe every day for a week, maybe not at all for six months.

One of the other things that I am learning, also painfully gradually, is that the utter delight in getting it right can carry me through a whole lot of getting it wrong. There's another Carolyn See quote that I adore--and it's taken from the same book as that semi-despairing quote above: "I have to say--self-absorbed or not--that there are sentences of my own I love so much I quote them to myself...Maybe the world wasn't waiting in radiance for me to write those sentences, but maybe I was."

Sometimes, I know just what she means.  And it makes all the difference.

13 comments:

  1. Love this! I'll try to get back by later with a quote I read recently that's right up this alley.

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    1. Glad you liked it, Melanie. Looking forward to the quote.

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  2. I understand this so well. I'll have an idea in my mind, I'll wrestle with it, and if/when it finally flows out onto paper and it is good, really good, I'm pleased. Pleased, of course, being an extreme understatement of my feelings of joy and relief!

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    1. It's some kind of natural high--the pursuit of which is a huge part of what keeps me going at the keyboard and/or notebook. Glad you can identify.

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  3. I definitely know this feeling. So so very frustrating..
    Those quotes are wonderful, and I'm going to go think about them now.
    Thank you for sharing.

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    1. Sometimes being a quote fiend comes in handy--as you no doubt know since you put them to such good use in between your amazing photographs!

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  4. Please don't beat yourself up. As a new visitor I am hooked by the honesty in your writing. When I write, it rarely comes out as I thought it might, sometimes it is better. Always be on the look out for accidental magic on the page. Perfection isn't always that interesting, sometimes the lumps and bumps are what makes life interesting.

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    1. Thanks so much--and welcome. I'm looking forward to take a few minutes to "visit" you tomorrow and get to know you better.

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  5. When I think about the agents that I sent the very first, very rough, draft of my book to, I cringe- and want to throw up. What I had written was NOT what I thought I had written. I used to hate the thought of revising, but, you, my friend, have made it bearable and even enjoyable.
    I'm working hard on not comparing myself (especially to Tangledlou) and trying to find that 'utter delight in what I can do'.
    Love the horse.

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    1. It's been enjoyable for me, too. (And, here's a little secret--I've grown kind of fond of the goofy attempt at a horse myself over the years.)

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  6. I have some quotes for you on this very topic. I have to hunt them down. I have been pleased to learn that this disconnect is common, even among writers I admire and not just some personal malfunction.
    I would frame that horse. "Glorious specimen of horseflesh" is a glorious specimen of vivid writing that makes my whole head smile.

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    1. I may yet frame that goofy old horse. Come to think of it, he would make an awesome gift--and I wouldn't have to worry about anyone looking him in the mouth, right?

      Thanks for stopping by and thanks for lending me your place while you were away. ;)

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  7. Ugh. I have something to say and it won't come out the way I need it to!

    Frame the horse. He's spectacular!

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