just because it made me smile

I liked Nathan Bransford's post today about the fallacies about authors who have made it.  But more than the post in general, I loved the end and feel the need to quote it for you now:

"We keep striving no matter how high we've climbed, even those who have climbed the highest. Pressure can cut into satisfaction, and the spotlight can be uncomfortable.

It all reminds me of the speed of light (or at least my own understanding of the speed of light, which is likely wildly flawed). The way my understanding of the physics of light works is that no matter how fast you personally are traveling, from your perspective a beam of light will still look like it's traveling at the speed of light. You can't travel alongside a beam of light. There's no catching up.

And I think there's actually something great about that. There will always be something to chase, always something to strive for, always another horizon to pursue. Who wants to be perfectly contented? Where's the excitement in that? There will always be something great to chase around the bend."

on beauty

Two nights ago, I saw Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake at City Center.  The first time I saw the piece was eleven years ago, when the production first came to Broadway.  I was entranced and have since watched my DVD a number of times.  But Tuesday night was the first time I watched the show in its entirety in a long time.

I love the music.  I love every aspect of this production.  I can no longer imagine a version with a female dancing the part of the Swan because, really, female swans don’t make sense.  Swans are powerful, majestic, and cruel.  There is something inherently masculine about their physical strength.

I missed Adam Cooper.  His portrayal of the Swan was unimaginably layered.  Tuesday’s performance was good, better than good, even.  But something was missing.  With a flick of the wrist or a curve of his shoulder, Adam Cooper could evoke the movements of a bird, but also cruelty, love, lust, and aloofness.  There are no words to describe how many contrary emotions he could call with his wrist.

And that is what I want to write about.  The best dance I’ve ever seen hits me in the gut.  The emotions are so intense that it almost hurts to feel the loss or joy or anger or love.  Just being witness to the beauty and grace makes me ache.  When watching Swan Lake or my friend’s old brilliant dance company in college, tides of emotion start in the space between my solar plexus and my stomach and just radiate outward.

I don’t understand.

When I returned home Tuesday night, I tried to explain the production to my husband.  But in putting the relationship between the Prince and the Swan into words, I flattened it, deadened it.  The beauty of Swan Lake is that, without words, they dance simultaneous, contradictory, non-narrative relationships.

Does the Swan love the Prince?

Does the Swan torture the Prince?

Does the Swan protect the Prince?

Does the Swan feel remorse?

Does he hate the Prince?

Is he a perpetrator or a victim?

Is the Stranger actually the Swan?

Does the Swan want the Queen?

Does the Swan only dance with the women to hurt the Prince?

Is the Swan real or a figment of the Prince’s insanity?

Is the Swan capable of love?

Is the Swan capable of anything but cruelty?

Is this a story of requited or unrequited love?

Is this a story about insanity?

The answer is yes.

Try telling that relationship in narrative.  Try using words.  I dare you.  It doesn’t work.

After spending a number of years studying linguistics, cognitive science, literature, and art—and after spending even more years as a human being—I have come to the conclusion that people do not think in words.  Words come later.  Thoughts, emotions, happen on a pre-linguistic level.  Sure, our language affects how we think in the same way that picture frames affect what we see.  Thank you, Sapir Wharf.  But that’s it; words focus, but do not define, thought.  Haven’t you ever felt an emotion that you couldn’t put into words—not because you couldn’t remember the right one but because none existed for it? 

That’s what makes dance so profound for me.  It can tap into my emotions—into who I am—on a pre-linguistic level. Not sure what the lesson or conclusion I should draw from this is, as a writer.  I’m sure there is one.  Today, I am still just reeling from the raw experience.

community of loners

I've started to query agents and really, the idea of it is just making me queasy.  So instead of focusing desperately on my inbox, I am going to blog about a bit of writing common wisdom that I disagree with.

Writing is a lonely practice.

Writers, industry professionals, commentators all agree.  But I don't.

Sure, when I am writing, I do so alone.  I have all of these characters and visions swirling around my head.  I type at breakneck pace in fear that I will lose a morsel before I have time to commit it to the page.  In these moments, I like my solitude.  It is necessary.  I don't feel lonely, I feel invigorated.  In truth, the aspects of my life that intrude on that solitude--work, family, friends, husband, cats--only make me angry at those times.

But what about when the frenzy is over?  Nearly a year of editing, rewriting, beta's critiques, researching agents, query writing, and (cringe) the synopsis.

During this year, it was the community of writers and industry professionals that kept me sane.  Reading the many agent blogs taught me a great deal about the process of finding an agent, what a good query letter is, the do's and don'ts.  Comments on that blog let me know that my fears and misunderstandings were not my own.  A whole community of writers shared them with me.  Beta readers made me feel better in my blue days and kicked my ass into gear on my tired ones.  Forums helped me refine my work and support others'.

Perhaps this says more about my social life in the real world than anything else.  I am not a partier.  I do not have a large group of friends.  I do not attend a religious group or a book club.  So this community of writers and readers and publishing industry good Samaritans has made me feel... well... a part of something.

So, thank you for sharing your manuscripts, your critiques and your wisdom.  I am humbled to be part of this crowd.

put a fork in it

Huh.  I think I finished FLIGHT.  This is weird.

Thirteen months after I began writing the first scenes--eleven of which have been spent on editing--I think I am ready to begin querying agents.  I've gotten the incredible input of 3.5 beta readers (I'll let you speculate about what that .5 means) and now feel like I've gotten it to a high plateau.

I've written my query letter template and have research agents, even begun personalizing the queries to them.  The synopsis, much as it makes me cringe, is as close to uncringeworthy as it might ever be.

So, what is stopping me from querying?

I'm petrified.  Literally paralyzed with fear.

Is FLIGHT really done?  It's not the grand work that it is in my head.  But according to this elegant article by Michael Cunningham, that is to be expected.  I'm happy with FLIGHT.  I like what I have done with it.  It is imperfect but it is my offering.  (Three points to whoever picks up on that reference.)  But am I querying to early?  Is FLIGHT really finished?  Is the query the best it can be?  The synopsis?  All I can say is that I am happy with what they are.

I am sincerely hoping that by this time next week I will have worked past the nausea sufficiently to start putting it out there.

Keep breathing.