I had a busy summer this year.
Back in March I had an idea for a new manuscript. It was one of those moments several writers have experienced, just walking around and living life when the brain goes off on one of its semi-frequent divergent meanderings and BAM!, you stumble on one of those golden “What if” questions that sets off an avalanche of possibilities. Before long, you start to realize that, yes, there is a legitimately viable story idea coming together.
It was exciting to have something new come on so strong. I decided immediately I wanted to do it right. I was going to have tons of writing time available in the summer, so I gave the idea the rest of the spring to percolate. I filled the whiteboard in my office with comp titles coming from other books, movies, television shows, video games, and even podcasts. I began tapping idea fragments into a massive list on my phone. I sought out middle grade titles that felt similar to my idea in one way or another, to measure what the boundaries were for the story I was planning and figure out how I might be able to push them.
Once the work started, it came fast. I wrote chronologically with only a rough outline in my head, something I’ve never done before. When the draft was finished, I stepped away for a few weeks, giving my head some time to clear while waiting for feedback. When I got back to it, I powered through the revisions at a challenging pace with an approximate deadline in mind. There was a day or two of sweet relief when I finally reached that goal, but then I started feeling an itch….
I knew NaNoWrimo 2017 would be starting in less than a week. I've been a semi-regular participant over time, but have sat out the past two years due to other writing projects and different commitments. I thought about giving it a try this year, and came up with a number of reasons why it seemed like a good idea: I’ve always enjoyed participating; it would be an amazing feather in my cap if I could lay claim to drafting two complete manuscripts inside of the same calendar year; I had been hit with another idea — not exactly a new idea but one from the vault I wanted to try someday, and the time was feeling right. Since I thought it could be at least a few weeks until I was in a position to do any other revisions on the new manuscript, I decided to sign up.
The thing was, as much as I love this new idea, there is little reason for me to think it will ever see the light of day. I’m a writer of middle grade fiction. This new project would be a memoir, based around one particular area of my life, and not really directed at a middle grade audience. I have no nonfiction platform in this area, so as far as publishing aspirations go, it seems like it’d be a tremendous long shot. Really the only reason I would have for taking on this project is because I want to write it so much.
I felt just as passionate about my middle grade story earlier in the year when I was working on it. The big difference is I wrote that knowing it had a decent chance of eventually being ready for submission, and hopefully would get as far as publication someday. This new one might end up only being something for me and, hopefully, friends and family to enjoy.
It has me thinking:
*Why do we write?
*Is it for the love of it?
*Do we let goals dictate or influence which projects we commit to?
*Would we still throw ourselves into the work as completely, even if we knew nobody else would ever read it?
*What benefits are there for jumping outside of the box and exploring new areas, just for the sake of exploring?
Not everyone would have the same answers to these questions. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing to occasionally consider the reasons we have for choosing this life. It might reveal something about our choices, or it could provide us with a renewed focus.
All I know is that right now, with literally hours until NaNoWriMo begins, I’m looking forward to whatever self-discovery comes along with this new project, both personally and from the perspective of pure writing. I think it’s going to be a good month.
To anyone else out there about to take on NaNo this year, or just entering a new stage of a current work-in-progress, I’d encourage you to reflect on it. You might discover some interesting things.
About a year ago, almost to the day, I wrote a post here breaking down the differences between having writing dreams and writing goals. As I looked back at it recently and began wondering how many of my own had been reached in 2016, a realization came to me: Dreams are fine, but they’re almost always beyond your control. Goals can be useful, but they’re constantly evolving.
This year I decided to reflect on reasons for writing — not wondering so much about our hopes or ambitions related to it, but why we have them at all. What’s the point of investing so much of ourselves in this? What do we hope to accomplish from it? With all the frustrating moments that pile up along the way, why even bother, really?
I came up with a fairly predictable list of my own reasons that, when taken as a whole, weren’t very convincing. As I thought about why each was on the list, I found that every reason could be traced back to either insecurity or arrogance. I felt I had to prove I was worthy of my dreams and goals — both to myself and to other people — or I was too quick to believe that not only was I worthy, but I deserved seeing them happen. Here are some examples of what I mean:
*I want to see something I wrote on a shelf in a bookstore. (Insecurity: Why would being on a bookstore shelf make me, or my writing, any more valid? Why would it take that to make me feel I was good enough?)
*I want to write something that will be meaningful to people. (Arrogance: What makes me think I have anything noteworthy to say in the first place?)
*I want to write something that people in the publishing industry would respect and take seriously. (Insecurity: Why should this mean so much to me, if I’ve lived any kind of a life that, hopefully, has already earned me the respect of other people for different reasons?)
*I want to be successful enough at writing so I can devote myself to it full time. (Arrogance: I must have a pretty high opinion of my work to think I could possibly be one of the few to ever see Royalty Dollar #1, much less go full time, someday.)
*I want to publish a book so the people in my life will be proud of what I’ve accomplished. (Insecurity: If anyone is going to be proud of me, why does the reason need to be so specifically defined? Why would it take an achievement like publishing for that happen at all?)
*I want to write something great someday. (Arrogance: So now it’s not just stopping at meaningful? And where did I get the idea I was capable of anything great?)
That writer brain can set some nasty traps and dig some twisty rabbit holes for you if you let it.
One of the reasons it was so important to me to reflect on motivation was the preparation I had going for a new manuscript. I’d spent nearly all of 2016 in a back-and-forth revision dance that finally felt like it had paid off with a solid manuscript, so it was time for a new one. I had an idea I felt strongly about, so I immersed myself in the mindset that planning it down to the most minuscule detail was the way to go. Between my character sketching, my setting descriptions and the pre-synopsis I wrote of where I expected the story to go (it was too comprehensive to be called just an outline), I had a planning word count nearly equal in length to the manuscript I’d just finished revising. I’ve always been a planner, but this was a new level.
The work started pretty well, and I saw things coming together in positive ways. However, having this road map to adhere to made the writing feel different. I wasn’t getting caught up in the excitement of what I still believe is a great idea for a story, and I couldn’t figure out why. So eventually, I stopped. Not just working on that story; I pretty much stopped writing. That left me feeling like a hole was opening up inside me, which is not how things are supposed to happen. Writing had always been a retreat, if not an escape. It was something I could rely on to help me process what I had going on in life. Without that, the hole kept getting wider and deeper, because I wasn’t filling it with a very specific purpose.
So, I made the difficult decision to put aside the project I had invested so much planning into and started a different story, one that had been rattling around in the vault for years. I only had vague ideas about it, but felt like it would be more fun. Days later, without even trying that hard, I was thousands of words into a new manuscript and felt that part of me coming back to life. I was writing like I always had— just telling a story because I wanted to. It was fun again. The hole was filling. My head was clearing. The emptiness wasn’t there. Instead I was carrying around a growing collection of ideas I wanted to try. Nothing structured, all random. I wanted to see what was going to happen next, and began planning out just far enough ahead.
I felt like had my answer. Why write? What’s my reason?
I write because I feel wrong if I don’t. I don’t feel complete without it. Whether I’m writing something that only a few dozen or potentially thousands of people might read someday, or something that I’ll never show another living soul, I simply need to do it. Any hopes or dreams or goals beyond that just have to exist separately.
I imagine this is probably true for a lot of us. Whatever goals you set for yourself in 2017 — reach for the stars, but keep your purpose in mind. Write because you need to. Write to fill the hole. Write because you love it. Respect the hopes and dreams and wishes that happen as a result of that need, but put them in their proper place, and let them resolve themselves along the way.
