In Retrospect
February 8, 2000
6:49 a.m.
In retrospect I suppose all things seem more intelligent than they really are. Yeah, I had inklings before I started the Double Dog Dare. Two novels (drafts! Of course) in two months is not an easy thing to do when one also has a family and a full time day job. But dangit, this was me I was thinking about, and I can do anything I set my mind to. I honestly believe this, by the way. I can do anything I set my mind to. I've been wrong, of course. I fail a lot. But I refuse to let those elements of the truth seep into my psyche. This inability to sense failure, I think, is what keeps me persistent. But its downside is that it also allows me to travel far, far down a barren path. So I'm sitting here trying to decide a few things. Things like what did I get out of this Double-Dog Dare? And would I do it again? Let's start with the problems. For any of you who followed the day-to-day stuff, you'll know how hard I struggled with the second book. The bottom line is that as a first draft, it's a pretty bad draft. The problem, of course, was that I attempted a triple back flip, double Lutz, with a twist off the low board. This book, which I've decided has a working title of Kagari, is a really intricate story. It's set in an alien environment, with a culture very different than human. It morphed a lot in the first telling, and the bottom line is that I wouldn't let a human being on earth see the first draft because it really stinks. Does this mean I wouldn't have tried to write it in a month? Not at all. I think I will always attempt to write my first draft in a month's time--even the ones where the first draft is crappy--and here's why. You see, I'm an engineer. The first draft is, in my simplistic mind, a prototype. Sometimes the prototype flies. Sometimes it's just a block of wood cut to look like the gadget you're envisioning. I love the story I ended the month with so much more than the story I started the month with. And pushing myself to "finish" it in the month's span forced me to dig down into the story. But this version of Kagari is closer to the wooden block than it is to the wondrous flying machine. No problem. What I wouldn't do again, unless forced to meet a contract, would be to write two novels in two adjacent months. This was painful. I was on empty for most of the month of January, and emotionally I was drained. I would not work like this in the future unless I needed to. But, I'll note that I've come away from the exercise with a new understanding of myself as a writer. If I need to, I know I can work this way. I know I can crank words and create stories that hold together. I don't know how to really describe this. I'm still very much a new writer, still examining the boundaries of my capabilities. It makes me feel good to know that I can do this. Would I prefer to have more time? Yes. Would I want anyone to read something I wrote in a month? Well ... it depends. The book I wrote in the first month was a different beast. Lords of Existence was the second book in a series. I was already familiar with most of the character set. I enjoyed the world, and in the first couple days I knew exactly what was going to happen throughout the book. It wrote quite easily. My gut feeling is that, yes, the micro writing will need to be better (and it will be through the second rewrite--and one should always keep in mind that I have an advantage in that my life partner is a highly skilled professional copy editor who gives me the evil-eye if I even consider sending something out without her perusal). But I don't think it's so bad that I would be afraid to have a limited set of writers read it in a workshop like environment. No, I wouldn't want to publish it this way--but, then, how many of us have ever written a first draft they were dying to have run directly to the printers? Lords of Existence is a prototype that actually flies. Yeah, it wobbles in the air. But it flies. It will require a lot less work in rewrite. So, when I look at the effort now, I see I got a huge dividend from my investment. But, I've got to say that the investment was a lot larger than I had planned. I don't know whether it was just because the second book was so complex, or not, but the last half of the second book brought me face-to-face with the core of my being as a writer. It's a scary, scary thing sometimes, to look at the reasons we write, and to glance over at the screen with its cursor that blinks so coldly. There were a lot of times where setting this deadline made me feel like a failure, because I honestly didn't know if I could make it or not. And, as I said earlier, this conflicts directly with how I see myself. Scary. I was in Brown County State Park when I finished. I was alone, but Lisa had sent me away, you know? Given me the time. She had, in fact, forced me to finish this book. She systematically took away all the barriers that I was putting up in my mind. And I finished and looked out the window. It had snowed. Everything was covered, and the day was at its midpoint, so the white blanket was easy to see as it spread out over everything. I looked at the cursor. It still blinked, of course. I closed the file and turned off the machine. Fifteen minutes remained until check-out. I packed quickly, and piled everything into the car. I paid the clerk. As I drove through the park, I saw trees standing under the snow, beautiful in their own stark fashion. They were growing under that snow, storing energy they would use a few months later to spring upon the scene. I can do anything I set my mind to, I thought.  I think it's just woods fever Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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Sorry for the lag in entries. I've been sick ... you don't want to hear more. Believe me. Me |
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