Counterbalance

Rewriting Wiki?

I'm writing along, dashing toward my nanowrimo deadline (which, honestly, is looking more and more unattainable -- but the great news is that I have so many short story ideas popping up everywhere that I will have much to write once the deadline is over in 1 day 15 hours and 2 minutes) and I am struck by an idea that should not have hit me quite so hard over the head but, well, it has.  After my Wikipedia post, C was kind enough to point out that you can edit Wikipedia.  Am I the only one who did not know this? I'm flummoxed.  I find that I've lost respect for Wiki, and yet, I'm also intrigued by the concept of a group think - a group edit - an electronic collective mindshare.  This concept instantly reminds me of Quillhill's wonderful take on Google's plan to digitize books from a few days back. 

So, here's where I'm at.  I see the point of an author wanting to keep their material current (Google publishing line of thinking) but I don't know how I feel about a group of people updating and editing an encyclopedia that is referenced by millions of people and treated as a source of accurate (operative word) information. Am I naive? Too worried about political sabatoge through a subtle (or possibly not so subtle) revision of history?  I'm torn.  I like it and I don't. I'm interested and I'm mortified. It seems I'm not alone. Rarely, if ever, am I on the fence.  But here I sit.  Do I jump in and edit Wiki or do I bid farewell to my strange friend and get back to the matter at hand?

Weird, Wonderful Wikipedia

I have fallen prey to the "where should my plot go now" battle cries that just about every nanowrimo writer is experiencing seven days before the finish line.  Alas, I have been introduced to the hauntingly addicting and peculiar sport that is Wikipedia Random.  Now, we all know Wikipedia to be a wonderful source for information that we are actually looking for.  But flip this concept on its head - and see what Wikipedia turns up, when you aren't looking for anything in particular.  Visit the site and select Random Article on the left, or cut and paste this link into your browser each time you'd like a strange new phrase, concept or person to ponder: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random

In just three quick searches I have enriched my life by learning about the following:
1st Search -- Musophilus - a poem by Samuel Daniel
2nd Search -- Shatabdi Express - the Indian metro
3rd Search -- Wizbit - a 1986 BBC children's television show that takes place in Puzzleopolis

Is there no limit to the wonders of Wikipedia? Is there anything it does not know?  Try it.  Let me know what you find. 

And now back to the writing at hand...if I could just find a way to get my characters to to read Musophilus while taking the Shatabdi Express to Puzzleopolis...then my story dilemma will be solved. I'm sure of it.

Filching from Fiction to Feed My Non

I’m doing an awful thing as of late.  I’m filching ideas from fiction to help guide my current non-fiction writing sprint.  The nanowrimo “write a novel in 3 weeks” mad dash started out as a novel that then became several loosely linked short stories and now it has become something more like that arty, terribly cliché “creative nonfiction.” Which always puzzles me. What is creative nonfiction? To the layperson? To the reader who reads everything? To the writer who reads everything looking for good ideas? I see everything as both complete fiction and complete truth.  A problem, I realize.

When attending a reading last week (no, the week before? my god, where has the time gone?), the author stated clearly, before she began reading “Just to remind you, what I’m about to read is fiction.”  I thought that was interesting. A little odd.  Of course its non-fiction, you wrote a “novel.” But, whatever, duly noted.  She read.  She was lovely.  Her story was powerful.   And of course, I did not heed her warning.  I drove home that night thinking “Wow, I can’t believe that happened to her!”  But it had not.  Or had it? Maybe pieces of it happened to her or a friend or an extended friend or a stranger that happened to be talking about it too loudly at dinner. 

This is where I get stuck.  Not only in my assumption of what has happened to others as a result of the fiction they write – but I get myself into jams when I forget that I can make it all up.  I’m trying so hard to remain true to the spirit of what happened…that I forget I’m a FICTION writer.  I get to make it up.  Artfully spin my tale. Lie, if you will. 

I’m finding it hard to lie about the details when the truth of the matter still has to come out, fiction or not.  Shall I take this as a sign that non-fiction is my métier – or must I just hunker down and start fibbing?

When Writers Start Writing

It is surprising what happens when you make commitments to strangers who will hold you accountable.  The word I’m looking for is pressure.  You feel a certain pressure, an obligation.  I’ve somehow managed to overlook all self-imposed writing obligations in the past, which is why I’m able to see that this is somehow different.  There is movement. Forward motion. Words are getting onto paper.  Story ideas are resurfacing. I am turning down chances to shop for shoes so that I may write.  I raced home from a social engagement so I could map out an idea not for the book I’m working on now, but for the one after that.  What is happening to me?

It is the blog. It is the possibility that someone may find me a fraud for lamenting my lack of writing and then doing nothing to fix it.  It is the chance that someone out there, possibly a writer themselves, will stop reading the blog once they see I’m just fooling around.  Whining a bit for show. 

I am full of heavy things to say but this will have to suffice (at least now, still in the ripe flush of my writing glow): it is astonishing how many things snap into place when you are doing what you are meant to be doing.  I rescind my cry of “not enough bars” from last week.  When you are doing what you love – and what you have promised strangers you will do – you can unearth extra energy bars just about anywhere. 

Insights on Swink, nano and the art show that didn’t happen (I was writing!) in the coming days.

Writerly Things & An Arty Thing

To further implicate myself in the desire to become a writer (and to really nail myself to the wall so I cannot wriggle out of it, much as I'm sure I will try) -- I have signed myself up to participate in two writerly things and one artsy thing.

Writerly Thing #1 -- I have RSVPd for Swink Magazine's The Literary Salon: An Evening of Thinking and Drinking this Saturday night.  I know what you're thinking...sounds less like writerly work, more like plain old cocktail hour.  There will be readings by Lisa Glatt and Maggie Nelson, and we will dine on refreshments while sipping beer & wine.  If only my book would write itself while I spend a few hours drinking and chatting it up with other writers and trying in some way to get the Swink mag editors to stop sending me rejection letters.

Writerly Thing #2 -- By now, you are expecting that writerly thing #2 will be just as inane, innocuous, innocent.   You would be wrong.  It is National Novel Writing Month.  Interesting, right?  So, what the heck, I decided I would try to write a WHOLE NOVEL (50,000 words to be exact) by November 30th.  What fun.  Easy, right? The kicker is, I haven't even started.  The nanowrimo message boards are filled with writers, ten days in, feeling they've hit a wall.  Hit a wall? I've not even written the first word.  But I will do it.  And I promise to follow the careful rule they've laid out for me: "Writing the same word 50,000 times end to end does not a novel make."  Darn.

Arty Thing -- Given my already busy schedule with writerly things, this, in hindsight, may not happen. But, alas, arty things feed writerly things and so attending the Brewery Artwalk this weekend in downtown LA might just inspire that novel that needs to be written post haste. Who doesn't love to visit artists in their studios?  Natch.

I will report progress on all three fronts as the days progress.  Will all this writerly work interfere with the brand new blog?  Probably.  But that's the point, right?

How Many Bars Do You Have?

The question of the day: Is it okay to be mediocre at work if it means you are pursuing your art outside of work?  I have this theory.  The theory of life energy points.  Each of us wakes up with a certain amount each day – say ten bars of energy – just as you have on your cell phone.   As an artist who is not doing their art all day for a living, how many energy points should you devote to your day job? Eight? Five? Two? What is fair?  Let’s face it, when you spend upwards of 10-12 hours a day with whipper-snappers who actually are doing their life’s work at your day job, its easy to see you don’t measure up.  Its easy to start wanting to work the extra hours, get that big client, develop the creative brief that wins them all over, and show those power-hungry kiss-asses that you can be just as brilliant. Give them a run for their money and all that. Fine. Except that’s not the goal.  Or is it?

By my very nature, I want to excel at whatever it is I’m doing (possibly a result of my early years schooled in the art of Christian bible-thumping guilt and my profound understanding at an early age that the Lord would want me to give it my very best; it seems years of therapy haven’t quite gotten the “what have you done for Jesus lately?” mentality out of my now-agnostic self).  When you merge my need to please and my desire to “do good work” with a job that’s only meant to pay the bills and not bore me to tears, I find that I continually forget what I’m supposed to be doing.  I get so wrapped up in my do-gooding at work, that before I realize it, I return home to my writing desk to find that I’ve only got one bar of life energy left for the day – and I’ve not even made dinner, gone to the gym, walked the dog, kissed my boyfriend, folded the laundry, etc. 

If I happen to have a slow day at work (read: able to conserve much-needed energy points), I often feel guilty for not going “above and beyond” what is expected of me.  All around me, the lifers hustle about and talk of new strategies and ways to push the envelope, blah, blah, blah. Don’t get me wrong – I play a convincing part.  I know my stuff.  You don’t pretend at something for 10 years without eventually knowing what you are doing.  You can’t blame them – they love what they are doing.  A good percentage of the time, I like what I’m doing too…if it weren’t for that writing I’m trying to do as well.

Therein lies the dilemma.  At some point, I’m afraid I’ll just give in to the need to be great at something.  If I’m always going to be a lacking writer, why also must I be a lacking worker?  I need to believe that excellence in some form is in the cards for me.  And if for whatever reason excellence isn’t an option and a balance or counterbalance (not to get too cheeky, but this blog isn’t so named for nothing) must be negotiated – what opposing force wins and which is neutralized or just written off?  Is it possible to excel at both?  How many energy points does that take and where can I buy extras?

You could also take the view that mediocrity in art and in work is acceptable if the rest of your life is rich.  Point taken. Considering the abysmal state of our nation and the equally depressing state of the world, I realize it’s a luxury to be able to even ponder this question.  Factor in my relationships, and I have to admit that the rest of my life is pretty damn fine.  But that doesn’t answer my question.  There are those who will say it is the pursuit of excellence (inspirational posters with trees and rivers and streams loom before me) that matters, not the end game but the journey, and so on.  Platitudes to make underachievers feel better, or is there something to it?

That’s what I’m trying to sort out.

Am I the Only One? Say it isn't so.

So here I am.  The beginning of the blog. The brilliant one-liners failing me.  It's time to come clean. I've been living a double life. I have been writing for as long as I can remember, but I've also been working in "an official capacity" for just as long.  My day job is not just a day job, it's a career.  My writing is the farthest thing from a career.  What is holding me back?  Fear of mediocrity.  So, ignoring all sense of reason and decorum, I've chosen to write a blog so everyone can comment on the lacking prose I post.  If, of course, there is prose posted.  That remains to be seen. There are real writers out there who will read this and roll their eyes, willing me to get off the fence or stop offending writers everywhere with my whining.  There are career ad agency/marketing/technology types (how I spend my waking hours) who will also feel I need to get off the fence -- and stop pretending I could eventually be a real writer.  What does that mean, anyway, a real writer?  At the very least, it's a writer who writes every day...or...when things are hectic...every week.  With this blog, I hope to explore what I do every day, what I'm supposed to be writing every night, and all the things in life that conspire to get in the way.