Feed that monster

Sometimes it’s hard to write. Things come up – work, family, vacation, illness, life – and writing isn’t the easiest thing to slip into the spaces.

That’s why each of us needs our own, personal, “art monster.”

I first heard this idea from Lauren Groff, award-winning author of the novels Arcadia, Fates and Furies and more. When speaking last year, she talked about sticking with the artist’s life, even through times of crummy jobs and uncertainty.

“It’s hard, it’s so hard to be a creative person,” Groff said.

But what gets you through the bad times, she said, is waking every day with a commitment to your art, then practicing that commitment. Even if it’s not good in the beginning (because, as Groff said and as we all know, it’s never good at the beginning). You have to keep going and know that you are good. Have faith in yourself.

And that’s where your personal art monster comes in.

“Have an art monster inside of you, and feed it and let it live. Let that art monster stomp around the house,” Groff said.

And while it’s stomping and taking up space, rearranging your life for a bit, sprawling out over your chores, shoving your “real” work to the side for a moment, it’s telling you that you are good. Saying that you’re worth it, that you can do it.

“It’s about knowing how good you are on the inside and having that faith,” Groff said.

I collaged the idea of an art monster soon after hearing Groff, and ended up with images that reflected a sneaky, creative force, one that slips in through the night and early morning, working without being loud about, though it's still insistent and real and hungry. And while I feel those images still hold true, I’m ready for a louder monster. One that wants to do some stomping. To yell and shout. To say it’s hungry. To jump up and down, and push things around.

It’ll be hard, especially with summer and its strange schedule and extra trips and other fun stuff. But today, at least, I’ll sit for a minute and listen to that monster. And make some space for writing. Because all of us – me included – are worth it.

__________

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Accomplishment No. 1: Not Giving Up

A few years ago, I was lucky enough to hear author Ron Rash speak. With his easy Southern drawl and self-effacing humor, he described how he came to be a writer. I don't remember all the details, just this idea of him sitting in his house - maybe even the bathroom? - and writing and writing away, one story after another, all of it junk, none of it good. Here he was, trying to make a career out of something he, in his own words, couldn't even do well. And yet for the life of him, he couldn't quit.

Obviously, Rash, who has since written the New York Times bestselling novel Serena, along with other award winning novels and collections of stories and poems, stuck with it.  Kept going. And slowly, slowly, his writing became something better than good - it became something great.

It was exactly what I needed to hear. My own writing felt cumbersome and sloppy, unlikely to get me anywhere, and yet impossible to stop. But it was all too easy to entertain the idea of quitting. Who was I to chain myself to this thing that might never produce anything of worth, anything even good?

Every time I hear another author's story, it helps me remember that we all start somewhere, with the hint of an idea and a laptop or pad of paper, trying to scribble down a story, no idea of whether we'll actually succeed.

That idea is driven home in Rash's answer to the question of what was his proudest achievement to date in an interview with Tinge Magazine: 

"That I didn't give up, that I had enough faith in myself to keep writing when I was getting rejection slip after rejection slip. That's part of the deal. Too many writers who are good give up too quickly."

See that tree? A bristlecone pine. The oldest living single organism known. And a good image of persistence.

And for those of us who have been working away for years, still no luck finding an agent or publishing a book or selling a story, his reminder in that same interview that immediate success isn't always ideal might be just as helpful:

And see this path? This is what writing often feels like to me. A curvy trail through thick woods. Uncertainty at every step. And yet, you keep moving forward.

"I feel very lucky that what attention has come to me has come after thirty years of writing. It's often unhealthy for young writers to get a lot of attention. Too many distractions, and they may become too easily satisfied with the level of their work."

And finally, my favorite might just be his advice to writers: 

"Learn your craft, be patient, and - I believe this, although there are a few exceptions - if your work is good, somebody's going to notice. It may take a while. This is easy for me to say since, obviously, I have a New York publisher and my work is getting attention now, but often young writers worry too much about that. It's only human to want to break in and get the acclaim, but the main energy has to go into becoming a better writer."

Ahhh. Good words from a wise, writerly soul. Thanks, Ron Rash, for sharing your encouraging advice. And for sticking with writing yourself.

__________

Bristlecone pine photo: www.loc.gov

All quotes from Ron Rash, Tinge Magazine, Spring 2012

Ancient Art

I stood at the base of the red rock wall and stared at the 2,000-year-old artwork. And prompted by a question on an informational sign, I couldn't help wonder - Who were these artists?

The art I was looking at is thought to be from the Barrier Canyon Culture, and was painted on or etched into the rock at least two thousand years ago. These people were hunters and gatherers, who used stone and bone tools. They didn't have pottery, but they did have art.

Their pictures are breathtaking - strange shapes partway up the rock wall that look like people, true-to-size, with broad shoulders and tapered midsections. Some have dots or "crowns" above their heads. There are animals, too, and rows of lines, as though something was being counted or figured.

The pictures might represent a death or transformation into a supernatural or animal form; the animals might be spirit helpers to aid a shaman's journey into the beyond or the underworld. There's a lot we don't know.

But looking at this art, I couldn't help thinking about these artists, who may have had to travel long distances through the harsh canyon environment, all to make their pictures. What drove them to paint or etch? Were they were chosen or mentored or just couldn't help creating? Were they supported by the rest of the people, with food and other supplies? 

We'll probably never know. But there at the base of the canyon wall, with blue sky overhead and red rock to all sides, I felt grateful for these ancient artists. For they helped me to remember one thing that's still true: art is central to the human experience, to the human soul.

Killing the Butterfly

I love reading about how other authors write. How they start with the hint of an idea, and slowly, sometimes tortuously, shape it into a book. Often, it seems, there's magic involved. And yet the biggest part is always the sitting down and doing it.

Below, are thoughts on writing from novelist Ann Patchett, just a snippet from an incredible article. All quotes are from Patchett’s “This Is the Story of a Happy Marriage.”

Novelist Ann Patchett describes the process of thinking up a novel as the happiest time in her writing life. This yet-to-be-written book, though not a word has been set down on paper, is beautiful and piercing, the best novel yet.

And then, when she can no longer put off the actual writing, she sits down to write. And that's where it all falls apart.

“… I reach up and pluck the butterfly from the air. I take it from the region of my head and press it down against my desk, and there, with my own hand, I kill it.

It’s not that I want to kill it, but it’s the only way I can get something that is so three-dimensional onto the flat page. Just to make sure the job is done, I stick it into place with a pin. Imagine running over a butterfly with an SUV. Everything that was beautiful about this living thing – all the color, the light and movement – is gone. What I’m left with is the dry husk of my friend, the broken body chipped, dismantled and poorly reassembled. Dead. That is my book.”

This idea resonates with me completely. And, it’s been helpful. Because for awhile, when I experienced my inability to take a fluttering idea and portray it well on the page, I thought I had utterly failed. And I questioned whether I should forge on.

Maybe my idea wasn’t so great to begin with. Maybe my book wasn't the one I really wanted to write. Maybe I was never meant to write in the first place.

Patchett goes on to say that this feeling of failure can be a stopping point for many of writers. But it shouldn’t be. She herself still hasn’t figured out how to put that imagined idea down on paper without feeling as though it died in the process. But here’s what she has learned:

"I did, however, learn how to weather the death, and I learned how to forgive myself for it. Forgiveness, therefore, is key. I can’t write the book I want to write, but I can and will write the book I am capable of writing."

Because, she goes on to say, there is something just she has to say. And because through the process, she can “touch the hem of the gown that is art itself.”

Phew. Exactly the sort of encouragement I need to hear when I set out on a new project, and feel that my poor excuse at writing merely kills off ideas, instead of giving life to them. And yet, as the “death” of a caterpillar results in the “birth” of a butterfly, it's our job to travel through all of these stages.

________

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