Brittany: Where’s the finish line?
Christa’s post last week left me with a lot to think about. I’m sure I had read it before, that authors are often judged on the basis of their debut novel’s sales, that depending on its success and failure, a career can be born or lost. I probably skimmed over that part in some guide book, thinking that it didn’t apply to me. But after Christa mentioned it, and I responded with a pollyanna-esque comment that now makes me cringe, I started to re-consider my point of view. Her concern is something that bears contemplation… which I have been doing nonstop ever since.
Since that post, I haven’t been able to write. I’ve been happy with my re-writes up to this point, but I wonder now if I’m as far ahead as I thought I was. Is my sparse writing style enough? Can I do better? The other big questions that spring to mind are when will I really be finished? And will I know I’m finished when I get there?
It’s ironic that my book is about home improvement when time and again I have likened the re-writing, re-editing, re-assessing process to the continual construction of the Winchester Mystery House. I think we can safely say that the “additions” to that house didn’t improve it in any way. I wonder about this as I tear apart my novel and try to reconstruct it into something better, something more functional. Am I simply making additions or am I actually making improvements?
I can see this going on indefinetely. The more I learn of the cut-throat behind-the-scenes business of the publishing industry, the more my fear grows that I’m never going to be finished. I was always the student who wanted to turn in my best work, but deadlines always loomed at school. Now there are no deadlines. I can tweak endlessly. And because I lack the experience to know when enough is enough, I might very well end up doing that.
So my question is to those of you who’ve declared your project finished and have gone on to see it published: How do you know when you’ve reached the finish line?
Studio Mothers: Life & Art 
Oh Brittany, that wasn’t a cringe-worthy thought! It would’ve been my response too. And I WAS going to go with small publishers following all the agent rejections. The bottom line was that I couldn’t devote the time to sales that I could without kids (or at least with older kids). For a book that many people are likely to agree isn’t that original – even if I had the time to devote, it might not work out. In other words, the odds were *significantly* against me (not just normal odds like for all authors). And ultimately, because I’d grown tired of the project, I decided I was done.
I think if you are used to listening to your gut – for most everything, not just writing – you’ll know when you’re done. I had the sense, working on this last draft, that when I was done, I was done. There was no way I could fathom more improvements. I think that was only partly because I’d grown tired of the project. It felt deeper than that, if that makes sense. Because I was thinking if an agent or editor had suggestions, I would incorporate them, but for myself, this story coming out of my head was DONE.
I think too that after the first novel, when you do get published and you get a book deal that requires a ms every year or whatever, you have learned much about your process – which lets you write faster, better, and develop a better sense of “done-ness.” You have a deadline to meet, so you don’t waste time writing crap (for the most part). And you know that a second and third pair of professional eyes will be available to read and help out, and I’m sure that helps with the stress.
So… don’t think too hard about it. It does sound as if you need some time off. You jumped right into revisions after finishing, right? I know you feel like your due date is your deadline (I’ve been there!) but you might want to consider consciously giving yourself time off. Your subconscious can chew on the project, maybe you can make notes on where to take it, maybe have some other people read it. And, gosh, you have a great writers’ group you love! Ask for those folks’ advice, both on the novel itself and on the career issues you’re facing. Maybe one can even mentor you?
I’m sorry for freaking you out, and I hope your block doesn’t last long.
I see so much of myself in you all . . . . goal oriented, perfectionistic, self-critical, driven, and determined. Like one of the others said, perhaps that’s why we are all here – because we are so much alike! As a designer instead of primarily a writer, I guess I find my sense of “doneness” or finding and crossing the “finish line” a bit easier because what I create does have a final form much sooner than, say, a novel. So here’s a thought, but please don’t throw me out!
All of the creative energy and time that you invest in your children is also an incredible expression of who you are as a creator . . . . your words are going into the hearts, minds, and little souls of your babies every day and will live there forever. You are still young – perhaps it would be OK to give yourself a break from that kind of intense writing, to write on the hearts of your little ones. I’m not suggesting that you give up writing (then you would really toss me out of here – and that’s exactly what I want to encourage young moms NOT to do . . . . . don’t give up on your dreams. Teach our children to respect us as women who are MORE than our role as a mom) – but give yourself some grace, some space, some down time, but know that even when you aren’t writing the next great American novel, you are still writing. You are writing life-long lessons on love, and patience, and kindness, and truth on the hearts of your babies. All your creativity will not go unnoticed in the great scheme of the universe. Be kind to yourself.
I know that wasn’t particularly helpful in terms of the specific question that you asked, but perhaps just remembering that your eternal worth and value as a human being is being etched on the face of eternity even when you are singing a lullaby to that precious little one. You are doing a great job! Nina
Well Nina, I can’t speak for Brittany, but I can tell you exactly why I am so driven… it is because of the words my parents “wrote on my heart.” I self-criticize and self-doubt because my parents (especially my father) criticized and doubted me. Really I know they doubted themselves, but they passed it on down.
And while I started writing (with an eye toward publication) as a way to “prove” to myself that I really WAS worth something, I have found that as a mother, writing keeps me balanced. If I don’t write enough, or as intensely as I feel I need to, it is much harder for me to keep perspective on myself and my children. I find my parents’ words and tone coming out of my mouth. In other words, the words I am writing on their hearts are the same written on mine!! And that makes me so incredibly sad, but at the same time, I have these stories that need to be written, and I keep thinking I “should” be able to fit them in, and if I could just fit them in, I’d be a better mother.
I’m a mess, I know, but I lack the funds to seek therapy. I just do the best I can day by day. Sometimes that means I give up an afternoon and spend it just with the boys. And sometimes it means I get frustrated because weeks have gone by without any meaningful productivity on my part. Then I think, “Guess my parents were right,” and what kind of example is THAT to pass along?
I am sorry to sound defensive, but you really touched a nerve, I guess. I am glad that you have the perspective that so many years of parenting have given you. I just wish I could relate!
Like you Christa, I write compulsively in an attempt to “prove” myself and my worth to people. I did not have a particularly stellar childhood. My father left my mother and I shortly after I turned 2, and my mother was “unbalanced” and depressed and basically expected me to shut up, stay quiet, and not bug her. I spent a lot of time with my grandparents and great-grandmother, who were good people that loved me, but they were old and also expected me to shut up, be good, and not bug them. I did a whole lot of independent play for a whole lot of years, and to keep myself sane, I often escaped into story telling with my dolls.
Then, around late elementary school, a miraculous thing occurred. Teachers started telling my mother that I was a good writer. Mom’s reaction was “well, that’s nice.” Then in middle school, the praise got a little stronger. Mom’s reaction was “what a nice hobby for Brittany.” By high school, the praise was “Brittany’s got unusually rare talent and will probably be a published, best-selling author one day.” Mom’s reaction, “Wonderful. Brittany can write charming, sensational books while she works in business or the waste removal industry (a job she strongly encouraged me to pursue becuase of the demand for sanitation workers). She was pleased that I got the attention I did, butnot until recently, which creeps me out to no end, was she what I would call an enthusiastic supporter of my goals and dreams.
She was not in favor of my studying English in college and personally signed me up for business classes and forced me to pursue a business degree, which I hated. It only lasted a year and then I told her to stuff it. I went on and got a Masters in English, had no job prospects, but lots of praise, again, for my writing.
Then I graduated, got married, life interferred, I jumped from job to job, not particularly caring whether I had a career or not. My goal, which I stated clearly to my husband before we ever started dating, was to be a stay-at-home mom and a writer. Period.
So here I am–finishing up my first novel and writing myself in circles as I try to find balance between my destiny (so to speak) and my reality. Despite the fact that I have a nearly 20 month old and am one week shy of 8 months pregnant, and despite the fact that lately I am so tired that I can barely concentrate enough to read words on the computer screen, and much less compose them, and despite the fact that every cell in my body is screaming at me to just go lay down and nap, I am like a woman possessed. This book has to be finished, and by god, it has to be perfect, and not only does it have to be perfect, it has to be published, and sell a million copies or I will have failed. Nothing short of that is acceptible. Other than my marriage and my children, nothing else defines and has defined me so much.
It’s as simple as that.
This is a fascinating discussion. First, Brittany, I have to say that I can’t believe your mother pushed you toward working in garbage removal. Even if she intended for you a nice office job, rather than driving the truck itself, this is such a dismal dream for a child that I can’t get it out of my mind. (I was fortunate in that I had a mother who believed I could do anything. She was, and still is, my biggest cheerleader in many ways. Reading what Christa and Bethany experienced makes me cringe. I can’t imagine what kind of job that does on your self-esteem.)
To the point of creativity. For a long time, I have suspected that some women are more able than others to find deep satisfaction in motherhood itself. Despite the fact that I started having kids at 21–and at 38 am still having them–nursed each one for up to 19 months, and have very fond memories of the years I spent at home fulltime, I have never felt that being a mother was “who I was.” In fact, most of the time, I’m not even sure my kids are related to me! (Don’t laugh, it’s true!) I love my children and have devoted countless hours to their care, enrichment, and well-being, but I can’t say that any of that time felt like it had anything to do with ME. I’m taking care of these little people who have come into my life, and in many ways, that’s my job. A job with wonderful rewards–laughter being my favorite–but mainly, an important responsibility.
I’ve often envied the mothers who profess to being totally “in love” with their children, and that having kids rocked their worlds to the point of waking up in a new universe. Maybe it’s because I had kids so young, that I’ve never known anything else. But I have to echo Brittany and Christa’s feelings of needing, in some kind of life-or-death way–if you can permit me the drama–to create in a regular way.
At the same time, I can also see another angle, just a stone’s throw from what Nina is saying. This discussion resonates deeply for me in part because I’m just finishing up Eckhart Tolle’s A NEW EARTH, which my mother recommended to me. (Caveat: Oprah frenzy aside, I did find several parts of the book overly repetitive and wished the thing had been condensed into 20 pages.) Eckhart’s main thrust is learning to be present, apart from the ego (the “content” of your life; how you might define yourself on paper) and coming to a place where you are truly OK with whatever happens. The point is not to be a passive doormat, but to accept that the only thing you ever “have” is this very moment. Right now. If you’re not able to show up and be present right now, you are missing out. Being present means “feeling” the moment, even if it’s unpleasant, and not judging the unpleasantness.
For the past few days I’ve been trying to work on being present–enjoying whatever is at hand, even if it’s just washing dishes–and something odd is happening. As I become less obsessed about what happened yesterday and what will happen tomorrow, I find intense creative inspiration bubbling up. I would have put money–a lot of money–on the opposite, because I’ve always believed that floating downstream is pretty much a waste of time if what you’re trying to do is get to the other side. But I’m just now starting to see that maybe the rich creative life I’ve been looking for is actually IN THE STREAM and not on the other side after all, despite my instincts.
Maybe this is all a little too far out and disorganized to be sharing at the moment, but I wanted to take Nina’s comments a step further. Maybe it’s not, for some of us, wrapping up in motherhood–but instead, taking three fully mindful breaths, feeling the breath in the body, and showing up for “right now” completely without judgment.
It’s also true that when you’re pushing hard, you sometimes miss opportunity. Whether or not you believe in God or a higher whatever, many of us can relate to feeling like things do happen for a reason, even if we can’t always understand why. Letting go of judgment about what happens, it looks to me, can unlock creative boundaries.
There may be a reason that one doesn’t meet a deadline–maybe something else is going to happen that will inform your book in some vital way, for example–and you don’t want to be closed to what might be landing in your lap that turns out to be BETTER than what you were fighting so hard for.
Anyway, remember that all this is coming from a perfectionist, type-A stress-monkey, so I’m really just trying it all on for size. But I thought I’d throw it into the mix.
OMG Brittany, our experiences are so similar!! My teachers encouraged my writing – my parents discouraged it. (No money in writing, or at least that was their excuse.) My mother pushed me hard to become a secretary (her dream job, one she lived and then left unfulfilled after she had me). I too was expected to shut up, be good, and not bug anyone – so I too escaped into my stories. And my goodness, my mother also has begun to champion my work, when she never did before. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop – why is she being so nice?? I don’t trust it at all.
I do think she has some serious, deep-seated identity issues, and I won’t even get into the issues my father has….
Miranda, thanks for your perspective on “being in the moment.” As a believer in God, I have heard the same before, but it’s so easy to forget. My comfort has been, when I’m tired and stressed out, that at least I will be able to go back and dredge up those feelings when I need them to write a scene. Then of course I think I don’t have the time to do that. 😉
I thought of another thing. Nina, I think the reason I get so frustrated with mothering vs. writing is that I already DO sacrifice so much prime writing time for my children. Day by day, I know they need me, so I’m often quite likely to say something like, “Nah, I think I’ll take the boys outside today.” Or yesterday, I found myself browsing video racks looking for something my son would enjoy, even though I really wanted writing time. My husband has to push me out the door even when I crave a break and we both want me to go out alone – I keep feeling like I “should” be doing something as a family!
It has nothing to do with feeling “blocked” – the ideas are there – and I feel like, I already spend so much time mothering, paradoxically, I also want to be more productive. Maybe my real problem is that I don’t feel that I spend the writing time I have particularly well?
Interesting discussion. I’d like to respond to the main point, “When am I done?” While it may be about insecurity, it may also be about process. I don’t believe you can do an effective rewrite on something as big as a novel without having something resembling a plan. I think if you go at with the approach “I just have to make this thing better! Perfect!” you’re going to have the difficulty you’re describing. It sounds rather frantic.
Where does the plan come from? Well, either you or, hopefully, one or two of your readers have done a read on a really fine, complete draft and have given you feedback. You’ve mulled that feedback over, decided what resonates with you, and have developed a plan for how you’ll address that feedback. Having a paper list of the specific parts that you need to fix isn’t a bad idea. I’m not much of a list user, but I essentially did that when responding to comments.
After you’ve revised the draft, let the thing stew for a bit. Come back to it after a week or two–whatever you think is long enough to have some distance–and read the thing through, as if it’s complete, as a reader and an editor, not the writer. If the text isn’t smooth, fix it. But if you see a writing problem, write yourself a note, and keep moving.
Then you can go back through and fix the writerly problems.
One final read/edit…and you should be done. Is it really done? I think it depends on how you feel about it at that point. If you feel it hasn’t met the mark, I’d suggest moving on to a new project. You’ll really need some distance at that point or you will hate it. Come back in a year, even, and decide whether the novel merits more effort.