Scratching the surface
Taking my own advice is pretty hard. I realize that I'm woefully under disciplined for a writer. And that my muscles, such as they are, have become stiff with laziness. I'm making effort to flex all the things - my brain, my creativity, my fingers - even though it's absolutely at the bottom.
For years I waded in the in between, cheerfully not noticing that I was sinking below anyone with skill, and definitely behind those starting out. Rusty doesn't even begin to cover it.
Rather than being discouraged, I'm keeping an open mind and starting small. Little writing exercises, just like when I was in grade school, and being okay with it. Just because I've been writing since I was five or six years old doesn't mean that I'm proficient. It doesn't mean that I don't have plenty to learn.
It's reminding me of when I started acting versus when I started studying acting. I did my first play when I was in kindergarten. I didn't actually start studying the techniques and the skills involved until I was in middle school. I can remember feeling like I was better than the assignments. Who couldn't pretend to be a tree? Or a rock? Who couldn't cry on cue when thinking about your dog dying? Why was this important? Those exercises built into nearly effortless performances. (Nothing is truly without effort, but falling into a character became like breathing and the technical aspects were second nature.)
And that's what I'm looking for here. A seamless transition between the creativity in my head and the technical prowess to produce readable work that I'm proud of sharing. A lot of people study this in college. It would've helped to finish school, yes, but just like I'd have to re-take Algebra after all these years, refreshing my skills as a writer makes sense, too.
I would love to know, without a doubt, where my niche lies. To know that my characters have a rich, full life from my fingers to the page. I have doubts. So I read things that are supposed to help, but often leave me feeling less somehow. Like whatever little time I'm able to squeeze into my day devoted to my art isn't enough and there will always be someone who can do better.
Isn't that life, though? The truth of all walks of life is that there is always going to be someone who, from the outside, does it better, more cleanly, with more dedication than you can muster?
It's times like this when I miss the arrogance of my youth, the endless well of confidence that told me I could wait ten years, twenty, before pursuing writing and I'd be just fine. That it wasn't the goal, the journey.
She was right, I guess. I did enjoy the path that got me here. I have more experience than I thought possible because I wasn't sitting in a little room whipping up mediocre short stories with trite endings until my "big inspiration" came along. I can write about death and loss with a piercing conviction. I understand bravery and heart more than I could've at 20, or even 30. If I've come this far, why not believe that a little longer won't do me anymore harm? Take the time to do it right. Teach myself the discipline and the heart and go from there?
While I'm a little disappointed I can jump with both feet into the deep end without some sort of life saving device wrapped around my body, I'm grateful I'm starting. Scratching the surface of my potential and embracing how far I've come.
For years I waded in the in between, cheerfully not noticing that I was sinking below anyone with skill, and definitely behind those starting out. Rusty doesn't even begin to cover it.
Rather than being discouraged, I'm keeping an open mind and starting small. Little writing exercises, just like when I was in grade school, and being okay with it. Just because I've been writing since I was five or six years old doesn't mean that I'm proficient. It doesn't mean that I don't have plenty to learn.
It's reminding me of when I started acting versus when I started studying acting. I did my first play when I was in kindergarten. I didn't actually start studying the techniques and the skills involved until I was in middle school. I can remember feeling like I was better than the assignments. Who couldn't pretend to be a tree? Or a rock? Who couldn't cry on cue when thinking about your dog dying? Why was this important? Those exercises built into nearly effortless performances. (Nothing is truly without effort, but falling into a character became like breathing and the technical aspects were second nature.)
And that's what I'm looking for here. A seamless transition between the creativity in my head and the technical prowess to produce readable work that I'm proud of sharing. A lot of people study this in college. It would've helped to finish school, yes, but just like I'd have to re-take Algebra after all these years, refreshing my skills as a writer makes sense, too.
I would love to know, without a doubt, where my niche lies. To know that my characters have a rich, full life from my fingers to the page. I have doubts. So I read things that are supposed to help, but often leave me feeling less somehow. Like whatever little time I'm able to squeeze into my day devoted to my art isn't enough and there will always be someone who can do better.
Isn't that life, though? The truth of all walks of life is that there is always going to be someone who, from the outside, does it better, more cleanly, with more dedication than you can muster?
It's times like this when I miss the arrogance of my youth, the endless well of confidence that told me I could wait ten years, twenty, before pursuing writing and I'd be just fine. That it wasn't the goal, the journey.
She was right, I guess. I did enjoy the path that got me here. I have more experience than I thought possible because I wasn't sitting in a little room whipping up mediocre short stories with trite endings until my "big inspiration" came along. I can write about death and loss with a piercing conviction. I understand bravery and heart more than I could've at 20, or even 30. If I've come this far, why not believe that a little longer won't do me anymore harm? Take the time to do it right. Teach myself the discipline and the heart and go from there?
While I'm a little disappointed I can jump with both feet into the deep end without some sort of life saving device wrapped around my body, I'm grateful I'm starting. Scratching the surface of my potential and embracing how far I've come.
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