Mining For Gold
August 5, 1999
5:25 a.m.
I only netted about 500 words yesterday. In order to get these, I wrote probably 1,500. The early stages of a story are like that for me sometimes--well, a lot of the time, actually. But after years of working things out inside my own head, I've learned a little about trusting myself. I know other writers who never throw anything away. Charles Eckert tells me he archives everything, figuring he never knows what he may eventually be able to pull out of its dusty drawer and hone to the right finish. What I think he means is that he thinks through everything before he writes it, and generally commits ideas to paper only after he's pretty certain where the story's going. Hence, if it's down on paper, it's probably pretty good. Knowing Chuck as I do, and understanding the care he puts into his work, it probably is good. But that approach doesn't work for me. I've found that if I wait to write until I have a fleshed out idea, I basically just sit around and twiddle (1) my thumbs. Then I notice that magazine on the corner of my desk looks interesting, and the dust is building up on the CDs and needs to be cleaned off, and, oh, when did I last check my e-mail? In other words, if I wait, my brain figures I must not be very serious about this stuff, and finds a way to entertain itself while the rest of my psyche gets into gear. When I start, I sit down and write. If I know what I'm writing about, the session adds to my productive wordcount. If I don't the material is as much exploratory as it is anything else. So, yesterday's 1,500 words were good. Despite not being able to actually use them all, I'm glad I wrote them because they told me about the character. They told me about the politics of the situation, which I think is going to make it into the story in a way different than I first imagined--I'm still churning on this, but it's struck a nerve, you know? That's what I like the most about this type of story development. I like writing something interesting that I didn't know was inside me. I like seeing it glow on the page, challenging me like a gunslinger across a sun-parched road of dust and tumbleweeds, it's fingers flexing above its dark holster and the smell of tension in the air. What's this mean to you, bub? it whispers. I take that challenge to work, or to bed, or wherever. And there it churns until the next day or the next week or whenever. Inevitably something clicks and finally I understand. Only then can I really draw. And once I've got the real story, the words flow very rapidly. But this understanding sometimes only comes because I force an idea out by sitting down and opening a vein. That's just how I am. I'm always surpised by how these ideas fit into stories, too. Another writer once told me that the central kernal of the story, its theme and the soul of its characters had to be there from the beginning, that it wasn't possible to add it like some moodule later in the flow. He's a fine writer, and I respect his opinion. But I disagree with it. Sometimes I write a full exploratory draft before I find the core of the story. Occasionally, the original is so far off that I have to scrap the entire thing and start over. But just as often, I can go back and change only bits that need changing and come away with the story I need told. Yes, it's a lot nicer when the core comes first. But it doesn't have to. I think a professional works in whatever way he needs to work to get a professional story done. And for me, that means I produce words no matter whether I know where they're going or not. Which means I produce stuff that is dreck on occasion, and I produce stuff that's good, but doesn't add to the story in question--which is the same thing as dreck for all intents and purposes. The challenge that a writer like me faces, and the skill that I've had to work so hard to refine, is being able to tell the difference between these things and the real stuff. You know, the parts that make a story what I want it to be. It's a vision thing. The challenge for a writer like me is to recognize the few brilliant glimmers in the pile, and to be able to quickly visualize their potential. In this fashion it's a lot like mining for gold. So this morning I'm going back into the stream. I'll stand in cold water and dip the pan into the current, and as the morning sun comes up, I'll hold the pan up into its rays and peer in. Hoping. No, not hoping. Knowing. There's gold in them thar hills. And in the end, I write this way because I know I can trust myself to find it.   Have a good one.  Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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"Can't you feel the rock dust in your lungs, it'll cut down a miner while he is still young. Two years in the silicosis takes hold, and I feel like I'm dying from mining for gold." Traditional song Favorite performance: The Cowboy Junkies The Trinity Sessions 1 -- per the American Heritage Dictionary: twid·dle (twid'l) v. 1. To turn over or around lightly. 2. To play with; trifle. -- idiom. twiddle (one's) thumbs. To do little or nothing; be idle. [Poss. blend of TWIST and FIDDLE.] --twid'dlern. |
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