Tag: Writing Fears

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That Stupid Thing Called Fear

Posted on by beckylevine

I always think I’m pretty good about the fear thing. I do pretty well at working on my projects, facing the fear that they may never “make it,” tucking that away into the little box where it belongs, where it won’t get in the way of the actual writing. I do pretty well, too, working through a yucky first draft, opening up the little box again and dropping in the worry that yucky is the only adjective I’ll ever have to describe the story.

Where fear seems to hit me, though, is when I haven’t been working on a project for a while. Sometimes, it’s a vacation that takes me away, sometimes it’s the job-work that makes it hard to get to, sometimes–like recently–it’s that I’ve been working on some other writing project, like my picture book.

Whatever the reason, there comes a time when I have to transition back.

Here’s how I was feeling this week about stepping back into my YA historical:

  • This second draft just isn’t really much further along than the first draft. (There’s a good reason for this, which I talked about here, but still…)
  • I was really having fun writing a funny picture book, you know? I was smiling a lot.
  • Oh, boy, are there some not-cheerful research books I need to be reading.
  • What was I even writing last time I worked on the YA?
  • I so don’t have enough clue about my protagonist yet.
  • I think there are probably about a bajillion pages I should just cut.

And so on.

Then I spent a few minutes–seriously, fifteen? last week just looking at the last few chapters I’d written in the YA. And–as usual–I saw stuff that, yeah, made me gag, and I saw stuff–as usual–that was…good. And I started to see where, in the future, I’l need to compress events, edit too-modern language, and you know…revise. I’m not ready to do that, obviously, but the consensus between me, my brain, and my anxiety was pretty much: Hey, this isn’t all bad.

And some of the fear went away.

I spent another few minutes–three, this time? thinking about the next scene. Which is one I’d actually written for the first draft, but that still has a place in Caro’s new story. And I thought of some changes that would make things happen more quickly, make Caro more angry at another character, and show her at least trying to take charge.

One more little bubble of fear popped up. You probably know this one: Are these really the right changes to make?

Well, because I’d dropped myself back into the book the day before, I was able to take that bubble of fear, pop it, and drop the residue into the box. And slam the lid.

And I was able to sit down and write.

And fall in love all over again with this story and this world and, most of all, this hero.

The moral of this lesson is 1) Try not to stay away from a writing project for longer than you have to and 2) Try even harder not to listen to the fear.

It’s not only destructive; it’s wrong. Put on your armor, heft your shield, draw your sword. Then get back into the arena and write.

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Writing the Scene You’ve Been Avoiding

Posted on by beckylevine

We all have it: that scene the plot is going to demand, or the one that history requires, or the one that really will push your hero to a new place. Sometimes, it’s fun and exciting, the scene we’ve been waiting to get to, that’s been simmering in our brains all along as we work our way toward it.

And, sometimes, it’s not so fun. Sometimes, it’s stressful.

Maybe it’s a romance scene, and you’re not so comfortable putting that stuff on the page. Maybe it’s an anger scene, and it pushed the buttons on your own emotions and self-control. Maybe it targets something from your childhood, maybe even something that’s the reason you’re writing this book–but that doesn’t make it easy. And maybe it’s a matter of putting your character in a place she needs to be, but a place that you, yourself, would never go.

What do you do?

I’m facing one of those scenes this week. For me, it’s one of the ones that history–the history I’m writing about–is making me write. I’ve known all along that I would probably be writing this scene, but I’ve pushed it away. I didn’t touch it during the first draft. It’s actually an okay situation for my hero, who she is, to be in; it is not a situation I would ever choose for myself. It’s a situation different people in my life have told me I perhaps SHOULD have chosen, or be choosing, so there’s a bit of resentment and resistance to add to the complication. The scene has been in the back of my mind, not ever letting itself be completely ignored, pretty much waiting till I got to the point to say, “Fine. Okay. You’re in.”

Or to the point where the story said…”Here.”

I’ve written up to the point where the scene needs to be included. It’s the right time, I think, for my hero to participate. Does that make it easier? Well, actually, yes. Because now the scene has a plot and character purpose; it’s going to do more than just layer in an element of history. And waiting until I got to this point, until the story caught up with the idea, has given me (I think!) a way in. I can see what the scene will do for my character, and how it will complicate her life, instead of mine. I can see her attitude about things, which–yes, has a piece of my attitude, but is most importantly going to be true to her. I think. Waiting…and writing until I was ready, has given me time to get to know my hero and to at least find a point where I can understand and empathize with what she’ll be feeling. And how she’ll be acting.

A point where it won’t be all about me. 🙂

So if you’ve got one of those scenes looming, even in the distance, try not to fret too much. Don’t force yourself to drop it in somewhere just because you know it’s necessary, and don’t spend too much time arguing with yourself about whether to include it at all. Let it sit out there for a while. At some point, I believe, your scene and your story will intersect.

And that’s the time to write it.

Posted in Writing Fears

Some Thoughts on Fear

Posted on by beckylevine

I just read two wonderful books of historical fiction:

The reading of both of these books was an absolute delight. The books move quickly, not weighed down by too much historical baggage, with the hero’s problems and needs always the main focus.  As a reader, I lost myself in both stories and found excuses to put off other work so I could keep reading and keep reading. And as a writer, I kept hearing myself in the background, saying, “Yes! This is what historical fiction should be. This is what I want to do with my story.”

Those were the ups.

The down, of course, was that other voice in the background, still mine, but the variant that isn’t so sure about things. And that voice was saying, “…if I can.”

It’s a big if.

I’m also reading Seven Steps on the Writer’s Path, by Nancy Pickard and Lynn Lott. My friend and critique partner Terri Thayer bought multiple copies of this book after hearing Nancy Pickard talk at a recent writers conferences. She wrapped them up and handed them around the table at our last meeting, because, she said, we all needed the book.

I think she’s right. So far, I’ve only read up to  Step 1, Unhappiness, which the authors identify as the stage before you get writing, when–in a not-so-bad case–you’re itching with unreleased creativity, or–in a pretty bad case, you’re depressed and curled up with misery. I don’t think I’m there right now, not full-blown, anyway, but I recognize the stage. Probably you all do. Because in this stage, whether you’re bursting with the need to write or stressing out that you might not be able to, there’s one common factor.

Fear.

These days, I’m feeling pretty good about my writing. In the “old days,” I typically had one idea at a time and, if that project was going poorly, I faced the big fear that this was all I would ever think of to write and I wouldn’t even be able to do that. For whatever reason these days, I have more ideas than I can juggle, wishing mostly for more time so I could get to all of them.

But…reading these two novels reminded me that the fear can still lurk. The fear that what I want to do with this historical fiction novel I’m working on, the story that I want to tell, may be beyond me.  I’ve looked pretty closely at this, and–honestly–I’m pretty sure this feeling is not jealousy. This is one way I’m lucky, I think–when someone creates a thing of beauty, especially out of words, it motivates and inspired ms, rather than making me feel like I should give up. Still, mixed into the pleasure and the awe is that other, less happy emotion.

I honestly know only one way of dealing with this feeling. And that is to look fully head on at the question I’m asking myself.

That question is: “What if I can’t write Caro’s story, not with the strength it deserves, the power I know a book can have? What if I am not a good enough writer?”

I don’t know the answer to that question. Perhaps that’s a good thing. 🙂 

What I do know is this: If I stop trying, if I give up, then, no, I won’t be able to write the book. If I quit, then I drop any chance of success that I might hope for.

Pickard and Lott talk about not hiding from the unhappiness; they say the only way to get through it is to recognize and speak it. I would add that there may or may not be a way to get past the fear, but there is a way not to let it beat us. And that is to choose the option of hope. Possibility. The maybe I can. To keep writing.

And, of course, to keep reading. To remind ourselves why we do this, what we are striving for.  Thanks, Joyce. Thanks, Laurie.