Nanofinmo: Goal Achieved!

 Nanowrimo began in 1999 as a challenge to spur creativity. The task set was simply to write a 50,000 word novel in the period of 30 days. Simple? Yes. Easy? Not quite. But since that first year, the challenge is reissued beginning November 1st. It's become more formalized, garnered big name companies to sponsor it, grown its brand , and added supplemental challenges throughout the year in order to keep people creating and taking the next steps to nurture their novel into creation. 

I love the idea of writing a novel in a month (which breaks down to 1,667 words a day) and have begun several Novembers with my hopes high as I officially declared my intentions at my project at Nanowrimo.org. No, I was never quite as prepared as I'd hoped I'd be, and yet, I had a dream each year that this would be the year when things came together and the words flowed out of me. Just like they had with Jack Kerouac. Genius in three weeks? Fucking doable! And I had an entire extra week to write my novel. It felt practically luxurious. And yet, inevitably, the world got in the way, I started off great, many times writing more than my quota, but eventually I missed a day, which often became two, and in the meantime the 1,667 words kept stacking up like a terrifying avalanche of words I would never be able to climb out of. 

My last attempt was in 2020, and in spite of pre-ordering the winner's t-shirt, I did not finish. The shirt arrived and I couldn't ever wear it because I'd know it was a lie, and if someone asked me about it it would remind me of all my broken promises. And yet, I remain hopeful! I've started at least three novels, two of which I got pretty deep into before falling in love with another cute lil' idea for a novel went traipsing by, luring me to follow it with its promises of a joyous romp at the computer, writing away. After all, it wasn't me that was the problem! It wasn't my work habits, or  my outsized expectations, nor was it my over attachment to results over process. It was just that the story hadn't been great enough when it came right down to it. It wasn't perfect, and I could not execute it perfectly. 

Rational me knows that no rough draft is perfect, but the wistful, yearning version of me still worries and thinks that if the story were truly meant to be born, it would make it easy on me. This rarely happens. And some of the greatest novels were born out of a desperate struggle and loads of hand wringing, brow beating and self flagellation. Again, the rational side of me knows that too. And lately, all sides of me have been hearing the message that it doesn't matter how brilliant your book is if it remains in your head. In fact, the worst novel is better than the best "in my head" book, because that supposedly terrible, but finished novel can still be picked up and handed to a reader, who may end up making more of the novel in their imagination than it would have been on its own, unread. 

So this year my New Year's Resolution was simple. Finish the book I've been working on for the past five years. No more going back to the beginning to clarify my choices before I continue (this is how I have ended up with four different versions of the the first 20,000 words of a novel, none of which was necessarily better than the other, they were just parallel words with slightly different paths trod). This was my year to finish a novel. Finally. 

Of course, I decided to start the project by going back to the beginning one last time, It was a trap, yes, but trodding back to the beginning did get me back into the groove of the story I was writing. And re-reading those first pages helped me realize that, actually, a lot of it was pretty damn readable. No good on its own, only possibly good as a part of the whole, but it was encouraging. It was also a reminder of just how little my tortured writer's mind could be trusted while I was in the trenches working away and cursing each click of the keyboard. I struggled away, day after day, joined a writer's meetup, tracked my slow but steadily growing word count, and when April came along and I saw that the same people who had brought Nanowrinmo had branded April as Nanofinno (AKA National Novel FINISHING Month) I took the plunge. I committed to 50,000 words by April 30th, and I wrote every day. 

                             

Did I struggle? Yes. Exactly two weeks in I had a revelation. I needed to change my "1st Plot Point". That was the key to all of my struggles! Of course, if I changed that then it meant that all of the prior pages were setting up a plot point that was now completely different. So I was just going to have to go back to the beginning, right? Or no. I mean, up to that point I had been keeping tracks of all the possible alternate paths I had in mind, things I might want to change in edits, and then sailing resolutely onward. For example, if Linda became Jillian? No problem! Make a note and sail ONWARD! But this revelation seemed like a game changer. I couldn't even begin to see how I couldn't continue. In a way it was lucky that I'd been in this situation before because I was able to convince myself to stay in a holding pattern just long enough for the so-called revelation (also known as an illusion, a distraction, a mirage) clarity would return. And it did. It helped that I'd confided in some fellow writers who knew the struggle, and coached me through my doubts and second guessing. 

At some point I realized that I was more than 40,000 words into my novel, and yet, had barely gotten through a quarter of my planned story's outline. Disheartening? Yes. Had I overwritten? Yes. Did it mean I might write my 50,000 words and only be halfway through the book? Yes. But also no. Because there was really no way of knowing until I'd reached the end. 

And by April 30th, I had written 50,323 words more than I had at the beginning of the month. The novel is currently 79,000 words and theres' still a ways to go until my ending, but that is ok. Once it's complete so much will come into focus. I have faith. And just as important as the fact is that I've gotten closer to my novel's completion, is the fact that I set a creative goal and I kept it in spite of everything. I built up a little more trust in myself, aI found out which times of day and where I write best, and I've built up a practice which has made me more and more empowered, and makes it easier and easier to say to myself "Just sit at the desk and see what happens."And those lessons (plus the fact that I now feel justified in occasionally slipping on that t-shirt I'd purchased last November) were worth it.

Understanding Glinda

 I think the feeling of "loss" is one of the worst kinds of pain. It certainly has been for me. And as far as loss goes, my experience of it has been pretty average. Many have experienced more, and many have had less. Which just goes to show that the experience of loss is so potent that getting hit with it in any form or degree can be enough to make someone say to themselves "I won't allow myself to feel this way again".  But in truth, loss is, for better and worse, here to stay. But if that's so, it's because the delights of life are here to stay, too (that means both the "smile to yourself as you're walking to the drug store" moments and the "so this is what everyone's been talking about for so long" moments of falling in love for the first time). 

And yet, it's tempting to try to lock our doors to loss. It's so tempting a thought that for some it can become a way of life, a daily practice of staving off loss by attempting to have nothing to lose (that's the great big form of it) or in unacknowledged refusal to look at old pictures of loved ones past for fear that recalling them will bring the ache of their absence.  But I think I'm beginning to come to terms with the fact that this is a lost cause. Because the only way to prevent the pangs of loss is to steel ourselves to feel nothing when we encounter life's joyful surprises. It's a life of saying "no". "No" to experiences that may bring future happiness (submitting resumes, going on job interviews) and "no" to cooing like an idiot over ridiculous big eyed puppies. 

It also means (if we are acclimating ourselves to living in a world without future joy and therefore the pain when that joy seems no longer present) that whatever comforts and pleasure we currently have in our lives become that much more precious and we will have many dreadful days ahead as those remaining joys break, or chip, or lose their meaning because they've been dredged up too often and exploited for their potency until their color is eaten away like old photos bleached by the sun through an unshaded window. And we won't have the comfort of knowing there is a treasure trove of happy surprises awaiting us, because we have told ourselves they just lead to more pain, so even when they do happen they can feel tarnished with the the guilt of indiscretion (the way I feel after eating a bag of "Tate's Bakeshop" Walnut Chocolate Chip Cookies. 

I've wrestling with these thoughts about loss particularly lately because eighteen old cassette tapes arrived in the mail from my mother, and while I've been really looking forward to listening to them, and to transferring them to digital form so they can escape the ravages that time takes on ribbons of forty year old tape, I admit that I've also been worried about the loss I will inevitably feel. I've been worried that the level of loss awakened will be like Pandora's box in rectangular form with two little movable gears at its center. This is not the first time I've wrestled with this particular instance of weighing the potential joy against the feelings loss, but it is the first time I was able to overcome those fears long enough to purchase a tape converter and coax my mother out to her garage where a very small number of my things still remain, so that I can have these tapes with me again. 

And it's the first time in thirty years I've heard these particular sounds, bringing back the past. My childhood. Is it painful? Yes. Hearing these tapes makes we want to peel back the curtain and step back into that sparsely furnished apartment in Cedar Rapids where I lived with my mom, as she recorded me telling her stories, and interviewed me about movies I'd just seen and was still bubbling over with enthusiasm for. It makes me want to shower that twenty five year old, newly single mother with mountains of love and encouragement which might lighten up the journey ahead. And it also makes me laugh, to hear the untrained sound of my four year old voice, and fills me with admiration for my mom, and gives me glimpses of the truth that she had a life completely separate of me, and pangs and hopes that had nothing to do with me. That we were both living lives in which the other had a crucial supporting role. It's an experience that has awakened feelings of guilt for things I did as a child later, ways in which I strayed from the purity and untouched hope I had for the days ahead, but it's also brought supreme comfort because I hear in myself at four all the things that I still am. My vocal patterns, my tendency to dive into things head first, my love of anything connected to story... it's all still here. The essence of that kid is still in me, inevitably changed, but not lost. And while other people appearing or mentioned in the tapes, like my Grandma Foye and my Aunt Mary, have passed on-- others, like my mother are still here, also changed, and yet the same.  And this experience reminds me that I can and should shower appreciation on her today, and acknowledge what she's given me, and be proud of us for getting through what was to come, relatively uncompromised. And I'm blessed with the satisfaction of being able to gift this experience back to her in a less fragile form than it was, so she can listen without fear of breaking the tape. 

So, loss. Thinking about it this way I'm reminded of the ancient Japanese philosophy about finding beauty in things repaired, quietly bringing attention to the unnameable fluttery pangs and regal strength in those cracks and to the vase as a whole, with those cracks. And I'm also aware of the fact that I cannot give shortcuts to this lesson in anyone else's life, because not only is it an experience they have to have from theirselves, but their experience will more than likely be completely different from mine, and to think that other people's experiences are limited to and/or equal to my own, is to entertain a dangerous naivety. 

But it does make me think about a certain pink chiffon gowned witch with voice like a strawberry milkshake, sloshy and sweet. And her words at the end of the 1939 film no longer seem as much like a cop out as they used to. Not only couldn't she have convinced Dorothy to avoid the yellow brick road and just click her hells at the get go, but she shouldn't have. Because to do so would deny her all the experiences of the journey. She did exactly what she was meant to. She encouraged one of our most plucky and hopeful heroes to take another step, come what may.

The "Ten Minute" Exercise

 They say that the hardest part about writing, or painting, or doing any kind of creative work (and I'd say it's true about most things) is getting to the desk, or easel, or to whichever space it is that the work needs to be done. I've found this to be true in my life, and one of the ways I've been able to get over myself enough to be productive, is through the use of this exercise. I did not create it, but I've adapted it for my own personal use, and it's been life changing. It's especially useful if you happen to be one of those creative people who's goals seem a bit spread out. You want to write a novel, you want to paint, you want to improve your dancing skills. Some people tell you you need to cut away all but one of those dreams. I say, "why limit yourself like that?" All you need to have is an hour of time set aside, and a timer. When you've got that...

1. List four or five projects that you really want to get done. 

Maybe you want to organize the space where you live and create. Maybe you want to create something. Or maybe you want to share something you've created. These can be big projects. Big dreams. In fact, if its a big dream that's been needling away at you to do it and that you've responded to by avoiding it, then it's perfect for this exercise. 

2. Look at each project and list a couple of steps that will move it forward. The tasks you choose will depend on where you are in the project and what you need in that moment. Don't overthink this part, just jot them down. 

To continue with the novel writing example, you may want to begin writing the first draft, or keep writing it, or explore and come up with ideas for a particular character or plot point that you want to understand a little better. 

3. Next, get a wind-up kitchen timer, or get ahold of your phone and open up the timer app. Whichever option you like best is perfect. 

4. Set the timer for ten minutes. 

5. For ten uninterrupted minutes do the task that most needs to be done in that first project. If you are able to finish that task within the allotted time, move on to the next one.

6. Once the timer goes off, stop what you are doing immediately, then reset the timer and move on to project 2. 

7. Keep doing this until you've worked for ten minutes on the final project you listed. 

8. Celebrate!

What I love about this exercise is how little time it takes, proving that you don't need hours of time to work on something. You can do more in ten minutes than you ever thought possible. And it will give you experience in the doing, which is the only way to get better at the doing. Want to be more brave? You can read all you want about bravery, but the only way to be better at being courageous is to do what courageous people do. Take a risk. 

Now, having done this once, you can do it again and again. Anytime you are having a difficult time prioritizing one project or task over another, or you just want to be reminded how good it feels to achieve something. Big tasks happen, more often than not, through the achievement of many small tasks done in multiple steps. 

If you've tried this exercise, I'd love to hear about how the process went for you, as I'm sure it will inspire and encourage others to join in. 

Happy creating!

What if it's easier than I think?

Lately, I've been in a solid mental space, creatively speaking. I work every day on a novel that I expect to have a completed draft of by September, I've just shared part two in a series of short films starring Cathy Dresden, I recently completed the animation voice-over demo I've been promising myself to complete for the past six year, and I meet regularly on Zoom to check in with and support other gay writers. In addition to that I meet with a friend weekly "write together" (which in this moment means writing at the same time at our respective desks) and I've been motivating myself with weekly podcasts with tips for writing and making things, as well as reading other works aimed at people wanting to improve their creative productivity and time management. In short, I feel pretty good. And yet, I know that what I've done and am doing now is completely manageable, doesn't take that much work to maintain, and that there is more I can and should be doing. 

For one? I want to return to this blog. I plan to secure representation. I'm excited to make more Cathy videos with less turn around time (there was three months between the first and second episodes), and I want to explore a new creative project a friend of mine recently proposed, regarding a subject very close to my heart, and see if it has promise. In short, I want to keep finding ways to say "yes". Now please understand, much of what I've written so far has had me cringing internally. It feels corny, hokey, "self-helpy", and it feels like bragging. Trust me that any negative thing you might have thought so far (other people are doing a lot more than him, yes he's making things but who is looking at them...) I say those things to myself too. And they don't help me. 

Producing creative work has often felt like a struggle for me. It can feel like giving a pint of blood through your fingertip, and I fret and worry over every detail until what I've done is complete. And even once it's complete, I have to research the best way to share it, and find ways to "build an audience" and it all feels so frightening. But doing it badly helps me get a little better the next time I try it, giving me more confidence to squash the fear long enough to do the things I need to get to the next step. And more and more I find myself asking "What if I'm better than the things I say to myself in my most fearful moments?" Well then all that worry is a waste. And the process of sharing will get easier the more I practice it, and the more I make. And in that way, little sep by little step, I can change my belief and my reality. 

Because there was a time when we had much more confidence. And we wrote stories, made puppet shows, choreographed dances because we hadn't yet bought the illusion that we have to earn the right to do this. The truth is we already have the right. We just have to do it. And it may mean doing it badly for a seemingly interminable amount of time, but we will get better if we continue to work at it. Does that mean that the result of my project or work of art will be the specific future I desperately want it to have? It doesn't not. But I truly believe these artistic impulses we have are born in us because they are supposed to be followed. And when they are followed they will lead to new experiences and discoveries, and they will make you feel better simply by keeping promises you made to yourself. The promise to finish something you dreamed of doing. And here are two more things I believe: 1. The art you make, if you share it, will find the eyes and ears and mouths and fingers it is supposed to. And you may never know how many people that is. You may never see it happen. But it will happen.  2. The finishing of a project does not equal the end of the line for that project. Sometimes we write the first thing so that we can get to the next thing, growing and learning so that we can create the seventh thing. 

So, in the interest of following through on these thoughts and feelings I'm having, I'm going to be more thoughtful about how I spend my time, I'm going to work on being kind to myself, I'm going to experiment with ways to be more productive, and to understand myself. And I'll share how it is going, talk about some of my processes and things that have worked for me, and if you'd like to join me, I'd love to have you along for the journey, and to hear how things are going for you. 

Looking Back

 I've decided to do a little metaphorical time traveling, within my own life. I've dabbled in that kind of rumination and remembering before. Last year I started a project intending to transcribe all of my childhood journals beginning with the 7th grade. The idea was I'd get them on my hard drive and they might actually be of service, in case I wanted them for posterity or inspiration for creative projects, and to try and get a sense of myself and my adolescence as story, rather than a series of rote wakings and sleeping and repeating. And I did find glimpses of that, but after the initial surge wore off, the messiness of my childhood delusions and fantasies began to feel like self inflicted torture, and my dedication to it wavered until it was forgotten. 

But, in spite of not yet completing that project, I don't feel like the urge was a wrong one, or the practice a failure. And so, I've started a couple new projects, which I'm much more likely to reach the end of.

1. I have a disposable camera that I'd only partially used, and that I've been holding onto since 2006. I've refused to let go of it even though I hadn't taken a photo with it since that year. I figured at some point I there might be something worth developing, and so in spite of three moves since then, I still have the camera. Of course, it expired in 2008 so whatever photos were in there might not be salvageable, but I finally decided, inspired my roommate, who mentioned she was planing to do the same, I dropped it off at Duane Reade, and in three to four weeks I should know, if the technology has held, what I was thinking worthwhile to record fifteen years ago. 

2. When I was two, my mom began interviewing me, recording my voice for posterity. It was just the two of us at that time, and she was my world, so we had lots of recorded conversations. She also recorded bath time, my third Christmas, and we would record spoken letters for friends and family, some of which were never sent. In time, her interest in the spoken word became my interest, and I now have boxes of tapes, sporadically recorded, and which have taken up space in my parents garage since then. I'd always figured I would some day transfer them, if possible to digital, and see if there was anything worth keeping. In particular there are talks my mother and grandmother had during some of her visits, and I would like to hear those again. 

A friend of mine recently lost his grandmother, and he shared a fifteen minute interview he had done with his grandmother over the phone. It was so comforting, and her affection for him so obvious that it finally inspired me to order a $30 machine to catch what might be on them before the tapes can corrode any further. Of course, I may not find the particular conversations I'm hoping for, and after sifting through hours of footage I might not discover anything worth keeping, but I've decided it's better to know. 

In the meantime, I'm feeling pretty hopeful, and glad that the tomorrow I've kept promising myself is on it's way to becoming "today". I'll make sure to update you with anything I find.