I watched Loving Highsmith last night, and have just finished Judy Blume Forever. There’s something I enjoy about films, most specifically documentaries, about writers. It’s as though by learning the path to greatness I might achieve greatness myself. Problematically though, some documentaries just gloss over how hard it was for them, if it was hard at all. Becoming a writer gets painted as some sort of magic. Like in movies when a character writes a book all in one night and the publishers practically bite off their hand for the rights.
Patricia Highsmith and Judy Blume are so incredibly different. Not in their genres, but in what their intentions were and are as writers. It seems like Highsmith spent her whole life trying to protect or correct who she really was (Highsmith was gay) while Judy Blume is all about honesty. Imagining that if she didn’t say things as they were, some child was going to be lost or afraid in the face of adulthood.
I’m always searching for that, the honesty in writing. I mostly think about writing more as storytelling, or escape. But so many times I don’t think far enough into ideas, or stop myself from writing it because I wonder, what will people think?
So many of the people that read my writing are people I actually know. And they’re quick to jump on the idea that every female protagonist is me. Never once considering that something of them might be me, but that also a large part of the characters are (obviously) made up. They certainly never see me in the male characters, but I’m everywhere. The result of all this is that honesty scares me.
Whether its part of me I’m putting into a story, or something fictional I’ve bestowed on the character, I always run the risk that people will get the wrong idea. Or maybe even get the right idea, which is worse. It’s very easy to hide in fiction, when people start picking away at it, it makes life more complicated. Though, I would like to try, all the same. Writing without honesty is just another story. And, as entertaining as it might be, it will never give you something you need. Even if you weren’t looking for it.
Now, from honest writing, to better writing. This week I decided to finally create a Kindle version of a book of ghost stories I self-published on Amazon in December 2021. It was a long haul to get it to my self-imposed deadline, and I didn’t do much with it afterwards. It exhausted me. Now that I’ve moved on to other things I feel a bit better about it and am trying to give it a second life. The problems come, when I read it.
Of course, I berate myself for not using better descriptions. I also don’t like that I’m so abrupt in moving the story on. And I wonder whether I should even be promoting it again after two years, I can clearly write better than this surely? It happens every time I sneak a peak at one of the copies I have on my shelf, and every time I have to remind myself of certain factors.
Firstly, and most positively, I have become a better writer over the past two years. Not only that but looking over any writing, after a period of time, is going to make it ripe for criticism. Suddenly every missed opportunity for better writing stands up straight and let’s itself be known. But what can you do? Keep everything in the drawer? Going back to it every year, trying to improve it? Nope. You just have to let these things go, and I’m glad I did. The matter of whether I’m a better writer or not? Well, I assume I am, but will waste time trying to convince myself I’m just as useless as ever.
The second thing I have to remind myself of when I look over old work like this, is the fact that they are all short stories. In the book itself and here on my website. And the fact is that short stories need to be succinct. You can’t keep burying yourself in detail when you’re trying to move the story along. Again though, I convince myself I can do better, should do better. It’s a never ending cycle of me beating myself up, and building myself back up again, so I’ll sit down and write something else.
That all being said, I am proud of myself sometimes. Just when I’ve finished something, before I’ve moved on to the next piece. The perils of wanting to be a better writer is that you always have to be critiquing yourself and seeing where you could do better. As though improving my writing will suddenly make people want to read more. It won’t. People will read good writing. But if all your good writing is hidden on the internet somewhere, then who in the hell is going to find it, let alone read it?
That’s enough for now I think. I have (other) writing to be getting on with. This week I went through my old computer files (after successfully transferring them from the old computer, I am really nailing all these writing tasks!) and I found another few poems I submitted to journals last year and which didn’t get accepted. I also found a bunch of short stories and essays meant for a collection I was writing some five years ago, but which have never seen the light of day.
That’s something I’ve got going for me, at least. As much as I berate myself for not writing enough, I certainly have written a great deal. I just need to focus on finding the right words now, which is so much harder than the story, plot, or character work. Annoying. But then I’m certainly not giving up anytime soon. Writing is so much fun, I can’t think of anything else I’d like to be doing.
If, after that pretty poor promotional message, you would like to read my book of ghost stories you can find it here. Now available on the Kindle!
Unstuck Monsters 