Thoughts on Writing: Finding Inspiration... Fairy tales

Hello darlings,

As I prepare to embark on this journey, I find myself faced with endless possibilities. Which road to take depends on where you derive your inspiration. Now, I've spent years writing reviews, recaps, fanfics, and academic assignments that comment on an existing piece of art. Perhaps in another post, I'll tackle the concept of writing a truly "original" story but for now I'll stick to something a little safer and talk about my sources of inspiration.

Every romance is rooted in the social and cultural experience of the author and the romantic literary tradition that preceded it. Each generation builds upon the work that previous generations have done whether or not they are conscious of the actual source material. But, as I've said, I've always been very conscious of the places from which I draw inspiration. I bookmark websites. I keep notepads full of quotes. I keep journals full of magazine clippings. And I've recently discovered the wonder of Pinterest. ;)

But for me, one of my biggest sources of inspiration has to be fairy tales and mythology. I grew up during the height of the Disney Renaissance. And like many children, fairy tales and mythology were what drew me into the library and into Barnes & Noble. Fairy tales are what drew me into fantasy and young adult fiction. And of course all those Disney films spurred my other loves like musicals and art and animation.

Now, when I think about actually sitting down to write a novel, the first thing that comes to mind are the stories I've always wanted to write about. Other than doing retreads of the stories that everyone knows, I've always wanted to try my hand at The Six Swans, The Goose Girl, Manyfurs, East of the Sun and West of the Moon, and Maid Maleen. Yes, I was the little girl with the complete collection of Grimm fairytales. While I think you could easily make adapt these stories for adults, I think they really belong in the young adult section. I think there's something valuable in not just inventing new female characters, but resuscitating female characters that are already present in our culture and fleshing them out and giving them new life. And I've been wanting to write what I consider real strong female characters for years.

As for an original story, I've had a few stalled attempts over the years. Often they just come across as mimicries of other characters. My most recent attempt to do a take on Little Red Riding Hood fell flat. For me, there are two problems with doing an original story. 1. Effective world-building is incredibly difficult. J.K. Rowling may not be the world's greatest author but one of the reasons the Harry Potter series is so captivating is that it managed to pull in so many fantasy elements while maintaining a coherent vision. I've never been the kind of writer who was all that focused on the setting or on magic and fantasy over realistic characters so learning how to utilize those elements would be difficult. 2. A fairy tale has to have a motivation. Whether openly acknowledged or not, the most successful fairy tales are based on some societal or personal anxiety. Fear of the big bad wolf... whether it's his masculine sexual desire or his animalistic qualities and existence outside of the bounds of proper society in the unknown foreignness of the woods. Marriage as a means of social mobility or of obtaining security in a patriarchal society where women are forced into competition for resources. And right now I don't have a compelling character in my head who has an anxiety that needs resolution. Or maybe I do and I'm not ready to tackle it. The last thing I want to do is invent a character and end up with a Mary Sue.

Ah, well, that's enough work (and inane rambling) for today. I hope you're deriving some enjoyment from accompanying me in my writing process.

I'll check in again soon. :)
-Cat

Thoughts on Writing: I Should Write A Manuscript

Hi darlings,

I know I haven't written one of my writing/random emotional venting posts in a while. But elsewhere on the internets I have been saying for months... who am I kidding... for years, that I should just go ahead and write a manuscript. For one, every writer says the best way to learn how to write is to just go for it. And actually forcing yourself to complete a novel will teach you more about the writing process than anything else.

It's not that I haven't written anything. I write this blog. I write articles and reviews. I write short stories. But a novel is a commitment. And as we've reviewed, committing to something is scary. Committing to something means you can fail. I don't want to realize that my potential is a "tiny, gray, starveling little cat with diarrhea..."

That would be horrifying. Putting yourself out there to face rejection is horrifying. But even worse is putting in effort before putting yourself out there and then getting rejected. It's much easier to decide to audition for something on a whim than to practice every day until you feel like you've reached the peak of your abilities only to be told that you aren't good enough. It's much easier to focus on the subjects you're good at and commit halfheartedly to those you aren't so that when you don't get an A, you can excuse it as not performing to your full potential. And it's much easier to spend time writing rambling short stories that may not be entirely internally consistent, instead of working on a full-fledged novel that you put time into conceiving and plotting and editing and then send off to publishers. Because when you experience failure after all of that, it can crush your spirit. Maybe not at all once. Nothing as dramatic as all that. But your confidence can leave you bit by bit until you're emotionally paralyzed.

But eventually you have to keep moving. And no one is going to carry you home. No matter what The Drums say. 

So I'm going to force myself to keep marching on. One slow, wobbly step at a time. It may take me some time to work out what I want to write about as I'm full of ideas but writing a novel is about finding something you seriously want to write about for months, not something you think sounds interesting that you'll abandon a quarter of the way through. Maybe I'll talk to you about my ideas. Or maybe I'll just talk to my dog. But regardless, I will keep you updated, darlings.

Thanks for listening,

Cat

Thoughts on Life...The Absence of Feeling

Hi guys,

I know it's been a while since I've written a post like this. Basically, I've kind of morphed into a full time fashion/beauty blogger. And I know this isn't a true return to form as I'm writing about what I'm thinking and not specifically about the act of writing. But, you know, what the heck. It is my blog, right? :)

Do you ever get the sense that if someone were to ask you how you're feeling, you wouldn't know how to answer? Now, don't go psychoanalyzing me. I don't need a diagnosis. I'm just a little, well, I guess maybe I'm a little burned out. And perhaps I'm trying to avoid a few things. I don't know. Usually I work this kind of thing out in my writing (I mean my fiction writing) but I just wanted to chat a bit. To you, whoever you are, out there. Hi!

I just get a little tired sometimes. And scared. And lonely. And I suppose it's easier to put roadblocks in the way of your own happiness and success than to confront that fear and loneliness and do something about it. I remember hearing somewhere that the easiest thing to do is the thing you're already doing. Hopefully that's not from a terrible Lifetime movie. I have sort of terrible viewing habits when I'm feeling sentimental.

Anyway, I don't know why I'm writing. I guess maybe I just needed to work this all out to myself as a little reminder that you don't get anything in life by hiding away and avoiding the things that feel scary. Even if you walk outside and it starts raining, and I mean pouring, and thunder is rumbling every step of the way, what are the chances you'll be struck by lightning? I think it's a safe bet that the probability of you getting where you need to go increases greatly with every step you take out the door.

So...yeah. I guess that's all I wanted to say.

Thanks for listening.
Cat

Dissatisfaction

Sometimes I feel a little overwhelmed by dissatisfaction. Dissatisfaction, to me, is not quite the same as depression or frustration or anger. It's probably not as a much of a concern for people who have truly pressing problems, but that is why it's carries the mildness of still seeming like a shade of satisfaction. On the spectrum of real world concerns, it occupies a tiny band towards the end before you hit the truly trivial. When I feel frustrated, it's like there's an elemental being trapped inside of me trying to claw it's way out. My chest doesn't seem to want to expand enough to let in enough air and I feel like I'm always stuck halfway through a breath and longing to scream. That is not dissatisfaction. Depression (not the medical definition) is like a heavy oppressive cloud of emotion that keeps me floating listlessly through the day and actively weighs me down and clouds my mind with negativity. Dissatisfaction is different.

Feeling dissatisfied with life is a bit like feeling apathetic. Instead of the heavy cloud of depression, it's more like light mist. It seeps into your eyes and mind and alters your perception of the world. I don't feel like I'm being frustrated in my attempts to get things done and I don't feel the lack of motivation that comes with overwhelming emotions of depression and anger that cloud your reason. Instead it feels like nothing is going quite right. There is no guide. There is no path. There is just floating along and letting yourself dissolve into the mist. There is getting things done without really be invested in them. There is wanting something to finally tip the scales but being neither angered or upset when nothing does. Dissatisfication holds you back from getting a huge list of tasks completed but it is not paralysis. Paralysis involves something actively holding you back, even if it is the physical insubstantiality of fear. Dissatisfaction is seeing no obstacles, awareness that none are there, and being unable to will yourself toward your goal any faster.

I have to wonder if dissatisfaction ever becomes cured or if it simply evolves into another emotion. In most cases, I suspect frustration/anger or desire take over and become motivating factors. Unfortunately nothing of the sort is taking hold at the moment...

Write What You Know

There are times, as a writer, when you will suddenly have an epiphany about yourself. This will be odd and startling if you are anything like me and maintain a certain level of distance. Sure, I connect with my characters and invest a lot in writing quality material (off of message boards and aside from emails that is). But I'm not one of those people who will likely ever write an advice book, or a tell-all, or a memoir. First of all, my life is probably not going to be all that interesting unless you find the ramblings of detail-obsessed, verging on neurotic...but then again, you are reading my blog. Let's move on, shall we?

I have issues writing about myself. I took a required class in college where it wasn't about writing a straightforward argument-based essay, or fiction, or really anything with a structure I understood. It asked for you to write in a rambling, structured way about yourself. Me? I don't want you to really know me. Unless I want you to. I'm certainly not going to pour all my confessions out in a random essay to be read by a professor and group-critiqued. That's what diaries and journals are for. Which, by the by, I am terrible at keeping.

Anyway, I was in the bath, as I usually am when my epiphanies and brilliant story ideas happen upon me, and suddenly I realized...I am a control freak. Emphasis on control. Emphasis on freak. Of course, I've realized this through my writing, as every good character has a little part of you in their identity. That's what helps you understand them and connect to their story. But I don't think I ever realized how much of my strengths, problems, and the core of how I function has to do with my need for control.

I am leader. I will take charge in social situations or for group projects. I tend to get along with most people and am good at charming them and leading a conversation. The things I excel at tend to me microcosm situations that I can control. An essay. My own little relentless argument. A painting, a sketch, a design. The chance to fully control the development and creation of an image and imbue it with life. Speaking of such, my stories. My articles. My life.

With these strengths come the weaknesses of being unable to give up control. You freak out when you are confronted with something or someone that feels too unknown, too uncontrollable. If the power seems to be taken out of your hands and you don't immediately excel, it is too easy to reject the class or person or situation because it challenges you in a way that is actually frightening. If I don't try, then perhaps I'll fail, but I'll be in control of my failure and I won't have to confront the truth about whether I would fail if I truly put all my effort into the attempt. Objectively, I know I'm ridiculous. But it's hard to be objective when you're so focused on control, consciously or not, that you become this bundle of nervous energy and potential, so sensitive and shaky that you're utterly paralyzed.

Imagination...Thoughts on Writing

Sometimes when I sit down to write I'm confronted with a problem. I don't know what to do. I know what I can do but that seems to easy, it seems like something I've heard before, something too simple. So I wait and wait until my brain works out the problem and I find my way to something that sounds like me. It might be a familiar or probable plot but it's written in my own style. But while I'm still feeling uninspired, I sometimes think back to when I was younger. Didn't it seem like you were teeming with ideas that you just didn't know how to articulate as well as you can now?

So what is the problem?

A) Is the problem just that we become less imaginative with age? Is it the same way our brains are less capable of memorizing large amounts of information or learning a new language?

B) Is it a problem of structure? Is it just that we can still imagine things but only within the confines of certain plot points that society has instructed us on? That is, you're still fully capable of being imaginative but everytime you look for an answer the little people in your brain pull out options from a filing cabinet stocked with the tropes you've seen and read about in movies, books, TV, etc. Is it that we've been taught that certain things are realistic and so we reject what we might have once written? That is, we've had a notion of reality imposed upon us so like novel writers of the past we look for the option that seems the most probable. This stops us from writing about dragons, or magical ponies, or even taking realistic but wildly unconventional plot turns or such because those office minions in our brain stamp them with the red ink of the fantastic and unlikely. Is that why we rehash so many of the same plots?

Why is there this problem, if indeed there is one? Why is the height of our structural expertise when our imagination is at a low point? Why is the height of our imagination when we don't have the skill to explain our thoughts articulately?

And yet, when we're young we're not completely free of rehashing the same plots because we're learning. We're starting to pick up familiar plots, learn and develop them into our own plots as we develop our own style and voice.

So...which is the better point to be at? Should we keep journals when we're young to develop when we're older? Should we live in bubbles? How would we then learn the skill of writing without any products of society (books, essays, film, television, plays)? I don't really know how to deal with this so I'm just throwing it out there to the universe.

Anger... Thoughts on Writing

I don't like to give in to negative feelings when I can help it. Anger, sadness, frustration... These are things that we're told aren't productive. But what about when they are? I'm not saying I need to be ready to break all my china in order to write a brilliant essay but sometimes the bad, unhealthy feelings are the ones that inspire my best work. The isolation and frustration of my current boredom lets me delve into the depth of what a character might be feeling instead of chugging along with a tedious surface-skimming plot. Some of that leftover tension lets me bang out the review I've been putting off for the past few days despite already finishing the book. Our base feelings are sometimes what we need to tap into to say what we're really feeling, unhindered by the layers of politeness, protocol, familiar tropes, and easy rhythms that guide us through life.

But when I finished all this, I went to check my grades once again (I've been checking for most of the second half of the month) and finally the last one (the one I've been waiting on) was posted. Needless to say I was disappointed or I wouldn't be mentioning it. The anger didn't really come. I'd expelled it already in my writing. But there was still something thrumming beneath the surface. I suppose I'm writing them away now in this blog post.

I'm suppose I'm suggesting that's what writing is for in part. Writing away the negativity. Sure indulging it is probably not healthy but at least in my case, writing builds up the tension until it simply fades away. Am I still upset at my grade? Yes. Do I feel upset? No.

I realize this isn't terribly insightful but as I've mentioned, I've been doing a lot of writing in the last few hours so please forgive this less than brilliant post.

Commitment and Productivity

Hello blog,

I feel very unfocused lately. I have bursts of productivity. I will write a little bit of a story and then wander off to read the book I should be reviewing. I will stare at the copies of Jane Eyre, A Room of One's Own, and Mrs. Dalloway I have stacked on my printer and then instead draw a couple of clothing designs. This will inevitably turn me to mourning the fact that half of my old designs are lost somewhere in my apartment or house or were disposed of in the trash without my knowledge and I will find something to take my mind off of that. So where does that leave me? Writing another blog post I guess. But why? Well, because I feel like the world is set up for focused people.

Think about how much of being productive asks for your commitment. To read a book that I'm not obligated to read for a class, it has to really grab me from at least the first 50 to 100 pages. Otherwise, why should I bother? Yet some authors seem to write now with the idea that if I've picked up their book I'm somehow obligated to commit hours of my life to a slow slog through bland descriptions (desperately trying to be insightful and evocative) and inspired storytelling. No, thank you. Yet, if I've read that 50 to 100 pages am I allowed to give my opinion? Well, not without an automatic counterclaim that I haven't finished so my thoughts aren't as valid. Did I read that book? Well, I read some of it...I read enough of it.

So you sit down and do some writing. Is the story finished? Not by a long shot. There's still at least 5 more edits to get through. I might end up scrapping the whole thing. And no one reading really has anything to say until you've finished the damn thing. It's almost worse with essays because at least with stories you can end chapters on a cliffhanger. An essay can't be presented until you've done all the work. You may have laid out the foundations of an argument but until the whole thing is ready, you can't show it to anyone prepared to defend it. (Yes, I've got a blog post in the works that I might never get finished.)

But why is the world so structured around commiting your time to things? We've only got so much time on this earth and sometimes it seems like there are so many impulses pulling you in different directions but all demanding a substantial chunk of your time. With my designs it's easy. I put pen to paper and in a few seconds I've got a new sketch. And yet it's not fulfilling in the same way. And the actual product, the dress, would take another substantial chunk of time to sew. I don't know what I'm trying to say with this, just that I sometimes I wish I knew what to do and I wish something were pushing me to get things done.

Say It Again... Thoughts on Writing

I am aware...in the moments when I am not being an English major or a literary snob...that from what I do on a regular basis I am already a writer and an editor. I am not yet comfortable enough with you, unknown reader of the interwebs, to share with you all the threads that connect my life, but suffice it to say I do a lot of writing and a fair amount of editing...though I am forced to hold off on taking on too much as it is far too time-consuming when you factor in the time I need to recover my faith in humanity as I trudge through the drivel that some people churn out. Obviously, I am exaggerating...and joking...for the most part. 

Yet there are moments when I know without a doubt that I am a writer. A few minutes ago, before I decided to turn the computer back on and type up this post I was reading through the June 2011 issue of Vogue that just came in the mail today. I had just finished an article by Gully Wells excerpted from her book The House in France (to be published June 21, 2011) and then an article by Julia Glass titled "On Beauty." What struck me most about these articles wasn't how well they were written or how I identified with them but how I didn't fear them. Some of their sentiments (thinking back on their younger selves) echo my own. Some of their words might have been words I might have written. But it didn't send me into a panic. It didn't strike me with existential doubt or worry that I would never be able to write as well as they could or how my writing might simple echo theirs...so what would be the point? Instead, as Susanna Rowson preaches in Charlotte Temple, in reading their articles I achieved for a moment what Rowson declares all young girls should hope to attain...contentment.

Perhaps in my writing I may say things that others have said before me. But so what? Writers have written what others have written before them without qualms and without fear. Well, exclude plagiarism from that, but you get my point. I may say the same things again, but I'll be saying them in my own voice. An authorial voice. With weight. That means something...even if it's just to me.

In the moments of clarity when I wonder whether I'll be able to pull off the double major and be both a woman of science and fulfill my instinct to write in a professional sense, when I wonder if my work will ever be published and widely read, let alone well-received when the majority of book sales are the purchase of the most popular novels...part of me doesn't really care. That is, I'm not sure if I'm leaving things up to fate and trusting that someday I'll be published or I realize that whether or not I am published will do nothing material in helping to validate my existence...but when I put everything else aside I'm just content to write and to know that I am a writer.