Vol. 1, Issue 9
All week my brain has felt like a wrung-out dishrag. I’ve been misplacing objects, forgetting to lock doors, and unable to fold laundry. But there’s nothing wrong with me. In fact, I feel very, very good.
A few days ago, I wrote the last lines of a first draft of a new novel. It doesn’t feel right to say I’ve “finished” a draft, because this messy, error-riddled manuscript is far from done. More than a few scenes still trail off with notes like INSERT SOMETHING TO FINISH THIS, and I’ve highlighted dozens of references to scientific facts and meteorological jargon to RESEARCH LATER. But the story itself and the primary character arcs feel emotionally complete. I know who lives, who dies, who falls in love, who commits unforgivable offenses. By the last page, I felt, as a reader, ready to say goodbye.
I told my writers’ group about the draft, and they promptly asked how I planned to celebrate. The question caught me off guard because, in fact, it had not occurred to me to do so. The manuscript is still so raw it’s practically breathing, and I know from past experience that there are long and painful months of revision ahead. But the “Lit Ladies” are right—I probably should celebrate this croquis of a book, this quick sketch of a fleshed-out story. I opened a blank document on June 10 and started tapping out the first fledgling sentences, and those tappings have somehow added up to more than 300 pages. (The Lit Ladies were the ones who nudged me to start this particular project when I was feeling adrift last spring after finishing my graduate program.)
The truth is, I buried myself in a new draft this summer in order to cope with the anxiety of having a manuscript still out on submission to publishers. It’s been a tense few months as I wait for that book to sell. I want more than anything to see it on bookshelves someday in the not-so-distant future, but I also know that may not happen, for all sorts of reasons I can’t control. All I can do is to keep hoping. And to keep writing.
Regardless of how or why this new story started, it now exists. And the real work will begin when I sit down with it again later this year and start looking critically at what, exactly, I wrote this summer. I despise revision, so I know that part won’t be easy.
But first, I’ll raise a glass to myself and to my writing group—and to all my new imaginary friends.
Listen
Today’s soundtrack is from Birdtalker, one of the bands I played on repeat while writing my new draft.
Read
Fashion Sketching: a Step-by-step Guide to Drawing the Basic Fashion Croquis with 9 Heads, Amiko Simonetti. “A croquis is a drawing of a fashion model that you trace over to design clothing. You can also call it a fashion figure or template. Fashion croquis can be all different shapes, sizes, and styles. It all depends on the end use of your design and the demographic you are designing for.”
Shitty First Drafts, Anne Lamott. “Almost all good writing begins with terrible first efforts. You need to start somewhere. Start by getting something—anything—down on paper. A friend of mine says that the first draft is the down draft—you just get it down. The second draft is the up draft—you fix it up. You try to say what you have to say more accurately. And the third draft is the dental draft, where you check every tooth, to see if it's loose or cramped or decayed, or even, God help us, healthy.”
Surprising Secrets of Writers’ First Book Drafts, BBC. “This is the heavy lifting of literary endeavour made manifest; there is no preciousness here, nothing is sacred … Sometimes, the very essence of what a writer is trying to express seems to hover tantalisingly in the gap between a word deleted and another added in its place.”
Watch
I love when writers talk about writing, and no one does it better Anne Lamott. “You’re going to feel like hell if you wake up someday and never wrote the stuff that is tugging on your heart, your stories, memories, visions and songs. Your truth, in your own voice. That’s all you have to offer us.”
First/Last Words
Writing the last page of the first draft is the most enjoyable moment in writing. It’s one of the most enjoyable moments in life, period.
—Nicholas Sparks
We live in a world of constant tasks, and the grind of doing, doing, doing can wear us thin after awhile. There’s a reason treading water feels harder than swimming from one end of a swimming pool to the other. Sometimes, we need to be able to grab onto the ledge and say “I made it.”
So this week, I invite you to make it.
Finish something. Just one thing. I’m not suggesting you finish a novel or a full-length film or anything like that. But there’s something valuable and exciting and motivating about completion that’s worth striving toward. Maybe you have a short story you’ve been tinkering with for awhile, or a batch of photos in need of an edit, or even an overdue email to write to a friend.
Whatever it is, set your intention this week to tackling that specific activity and when you finish it, remember to celebrate, if only for a few minutes. Savor the feeling of having done something important and valuable for yourself.
Connect
You can find Sandra on Twitter, Instagram, and at sandrabarnidge.com. As always, thank you for being here.