Pigs with Pencils
  • Fear and Loathing
  • August1st

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    I had a sobering thought today. If I were to have spent all this time on my book and put it into my painting instead–I’d been showing real mastery now. Maybe it’s not fair to think on things in this fashion–after all, I have an MFA and a work history behind me. A year’s worth of solid everyday intensive work would make a huge difference–because that difference would be all about the refinement of existing skill.

    But instead, I’ve taken a different path. I’ve decided to try something new. Ground zero type of new. Self taught ground zero. Well, if you have talent, you can build skill. I’ve always maintained that. I guess I’m just wondering how wise or perhaps unwise I’ve been with my time.

    I wouldn’t wonder about it at all, if I didn’t have this other option. But I do. I could be doing some nice illustration right now, and that has its own great joys about it.

    It’s not wrong to try new things. Sometimes that’s the only way we find new passions in life. But there is a danger in it too–especially if you already know you have talents elsewhere. Who is to say that the quest for my book will only lead me to passable mediocrity–when that same time spent in another venue would lend itself to true mastery? It’s not that I am unwilling to push and try to learn and build my skill at my new venture…I think over my long time at working and reworking, I’ve proven to myself that I certainly have what it takes to at least finish–that’s extremely important to me–to finish.

    But there is no guarantee that even though I’ve tried very hard, I simply won’t have what it takes to achieve something worth all of that time, except in my own personal world. That’s really the truth with any project. But the difference between a professional and a hobbyist is that the professional continues on working very hard at building skill, where the hobbyist is rightfully content with enjoying the work of their hands, skill level being relative and not so much the point.

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  • July10th

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    My critiquers and my first readers have vehemently opposing opinions on my changes to this story. And now I’m not sure myself whose opinion should hold more sway.

    Art is thankfully so much more simple. It’s obvious when something isn’t looking right or if the picture is too static. Writing is not like this apparently–either that, or perhaps my changes have been too sweeping, to all or nothing. I am that kind of person, you know.

    So here I am mid-redraft, and unsure–again. Changing the POV changes the story. My critique partners say good–my readers say not good.

    Where does the compromise lie in this situation? I can rewrite my opening section and keep the same POV. I can add to it all the dynamics that are in the new draft, add some new elements that have come to light, and go forward. It still changes the story though. But it has to change, I trust the writers, not the readers on this issue–but what part has to change?

    I ask myself, knowing I limited myself severely in my initial draft–is it enough change to partially satisfy my critics if I do everything they advised–except change the POV? How critical is that change? Why did they tell me do it?

    Hero #2 carries the plot. His is the more complex journey, his decision carries the weight at the end. Hero #1, my critique partners felt–did not have the strength to carry the plot. Her actions only involve herself and her world, an infinitely smaller place, with seemingly smaller complications and consequences.

    But my readers–who have not read the synopsis–like the story from hero #2 better. It’s got a melancholy mysterious tone that is wiped out when the story comes from hero#1. The pacing is slower, more deliberate. Hero#2 is completely in the dark about things that are happening. But critique partners found her too passive in her ignorance, too accepting of cruelty in her helpless child way. Readers said its okay that they do the emotional heavy lifting–so long as it doesn’t last through the whole story. They have real attachment to hero#2 after reading the opening chapters.

    Will the attachment transfer to hero #1 if I open his story with the scene where he gets a reassignment card–his worst nightmare come true? Something terrible has happened to hero#2 which my readers have just witnessed. Hero #1 is devastated–and he doesn’t even know what happened, but he expresses that grief. And then quite shortly experiences the horror first hand–expressing even more of what I would suspect the reader is feeling as well. They should identify with him. Very personally identify with him.

    This whole damn story is a gamble. No matter where I start it, no matter whose POV it comes from. I ask a lot of emotional investment from my reader–and then I yank them around by their heart strings. Mercilessly.

  • June26th

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    Didn’t know how much though. Shocking, utterly shocking. I don’t even know if I can tell this from two POV characters. I may need to switch something around. In any case, here is what is happening:

    I can now see that yes, I’ve had the wrong lead in mind since page one, sentence one. But I think, I surely think, that these two people are so different, and from such different places I don’t know that I can split the POV. I am too new a writer. I think you will come to love one character and hate the other, for through no fault of her own, she wrecks the other one’s life.

    Sounds interesting, doesn’t it? I’m simply in panic mode. I have to redraft, yet again. I have to carefully decide just where this story needs to start, and if it isn’t the right place, then I need to forget about what I have and write something else. These are big problems though–plot and character–not something you can deal with in an edit. No, this is a redraft. I’m afraid I can’t do it. The idea of it is giving me indigestion. Ha!

    But, consider how long I’ve been at this. It’s just so damn hard. A simple fairy story, a silly little thing to read….why no, I must insist on building an entire paper universe in peril of destruction with characters who have awful decisions to make. It is truly beyond me in some ways. It’s like a snow ball. Something small and manageable, understandable, until a year and some months later it’s grown to something I only had the barest glimmer of at the time I blindly started.

    And not in size mind you. It’s only 80,000 words. But already the scope is too big. I’ve cut the storyline by half in order to give it the time and the space it needs to become as rich as it really is. Of course, there is always the chance that this is the hardest moment. The point where it seems to be impossibly difficult–but if I manage to figure it out, all the rest will click into place.

    That’s the shred of hope I cling to. I know that some people would say that if the advice to make these changes throws you into a despairing place, then don’t take it. Maybe it’s not the right thing to do. And Maybe it’s not, but I can’t judge for myself. Do I think it will make for a better story? Yes, I do. I’m still struggling though with the fact that it’s suddenly not the one I thought I had written.

  • May23rd

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    Critique. Coming. Up.

    Well, it’s not just that, you know. It’s also the 2+ hour trip and the big city and the hotel. I should be really excited and I am, but with an edge of trepidation. It’s going to be a long week with lots of things to do. And then when I get back, my trepidation will return and roll right into another upcoming event. Another trip. Meeting with more people…and art obligations. But by then, I’ll be down to one or two projects. My pirate coat ought to be finished.  I’ll have everything wrapped up for logo and t-shirt work. I’ll come back here and it will go back to just me and my manuscript and a pile of good notes and interesting ideas to ponder.