I've started the process of going back and reading the novels I've written. I'm working on two at the same time because I don't like the idea of not participating in Nanowrimo after having this streak going, and I really can do both. So...I'm working on the standalone novel and working on the first in the Harry Potter-inspired series so that I can write the next one in November. Which is almost here! Aigh! (As Cathy would probably say.)
I imagine that me talking about this sounds hypercritical, but I need an outlet for the inner critic.
When I go back and read these novels, I'm so frustrated by how bad they seem. In the awesome "Ira Glass on storytelling" videos that can be found on youtube, he talks about the point in practicing creative work where your sensibilities are way more advanced than your abilities. So for me, I know the kind of brilliant writing I want to be like, but I don't have the skills to create that. Yet.
Because in all the crap, there are little nuggets of brilliance. Little observations, pieces of dialogue, evidences of character. Things that I kind of remember writing even though it was 4 years since I last looked at it and can't remember what I talked about last week.
Things I particularly disliked today in my writing: stereotypical characters, a scene that seems sensationalistic right now and I don't remember what redeeming qualities it has to the rest of the story, the tempo and cadence of the story. Choppy.
I did like today one of the main characters in one novel, and think I should give him more focus. Then I wonder at what point you scrap the whole thing and start over with the good parts.
"Mr. Jeremiah Cartwright, are you serving time for skipping geography two days ago?"
"No, Mr. M. This is for the cancer stick falling into my mouth and starting on fire during lunch yesterday."
I liked that answer from Jeremiah.
I find it was easier to get into a zone while writing than re-reading. Neither is easy.
Labels: reflections