Month: January 2021 (Page 3 of 5)

Here are some lines

I’m in a stuck moment with my latest short story, “Things.” (This will hopefully not be its finished title, but it’s what I’ve got right now.)

When I get stuck, I sometimes try to write a bunch of different “Next lines” to see if any of them get me unstuck. Here are the ones I wrote the other day:

  1. The fighting pit smelled like wet straw and blood.
  2.  The first drink was always the hardest.
  3. Only the nosebleed seats were sold to the public. The rest were reserved.
  4. The blood inside his body burned hot; his muscles hardened like tempered steel.
  5. Jora hated the streets during the Thing.
  6.  “Odin, All-Father, grant me a good defeat.”

I’m not sure if I like any of these, or if they’re the right “next line” in the story, but I think a few of them could be the start of other scenes/sequences in the narrative. If nothing else, this exercise allows me to see various paths for the story to take. Even if I take none of these particular paths, the very fact that these paths *could* exist is helpful for me. It lets me know that the story is fluid, and that there isn’t necessarily a wrong choice, just different choices.

Random Tables

I’ve been stuck in a mire with my fiction writing lately. I’m almost finished with a short story, “The Wind Masters,” and I’ve started another story called “Things” (that’s a working title), but my imagination has been pretty dry recently. It’s been hard to conjure images in my mind.

So I’ve decided to practice a new habit: Creativity Hour. I’m pretty sure this comes from James Scott Bell in his book on plot structure; the basic idea is that a writer should spend some dedicated time each week coming up with ideas.

A few months ago, I made a list of activities that could help me with generating ideas and images (I’m like C.S. Lewis in that way: I start with a picture in my mind), and then when it’s “Creativity Hour” time, I can pick an activity or two to do for about an hour.

I usually work in my writer’s notebook for these sessions. Sometimes I’ll listen to evocative music and write down the images that come to mind. Sometimes I’ll do a “Try Ten” and makes lists. Other times I’ll just free-write, or ask myself, “What do I want to write about right now?” I might also look at cool artwork and get ideas from the images.

Today I tried using random tables from some of my RPG books to generate ideas. The fantastic Dungeon Alphabet, the Monster Alphabet, issue #2 of the Wormskin zine, the Lazy DM’s Cheat Sheet. After about 30 minutes of messing around, I ended up on the psychedelics table in Wormskin, and then the ideas started to flow. I thought about scenes for my Norse-inspired story, “Things,” and started the seedlings of other stories and characters (one that I particularly like is a dragon with piercing white eyes without pupils).

Anyway, it was neat seeing how these random tables for role-playing games could be used to inspire my fiction. I’m not particularly interested in using my homebrew DCC RPG campaign as fodder for a novel or anything; instead, it’s more about the randomness of the tables being a nice way to challenge my imagination, improvising and mixing together disparate elements. The randomness opens up my imagination, makes me think: How can I fit this into my current work-in-progress? How can I use this to tell a *new* story? How can I combine these two seemingly unrelated things into something whole?

Random tables serve as a kind of tonic for the imagination. They can give a jolt of energy to an over-tired, dulled mind.

Black Dog

One of my students mentioned Led Zeppelin the other day, and man, what a great band. I have loved Led Zeppelin for decades but haven’t listened to them much lately. No particular reason why, just listening to other stuff. But when my American Lit class brought them up this week, I was all about going on a Zeppelin binge.

So. Many. Great. Songs.

Seriously, I can’t think of any Zeppelin songs that are actively bad. Or even mediocre. All their songs rock. All have something interesting going on. All are eminently listenable. “Kashmir.” “Going to California.” “That’s the Way.” “Tangerine.” “Black Dog.”

I once tried out for my high school talent show by singing “Black Dog” with a band of guys who were total stoners and awesome dudes. Very talented. My singing, alas, was not so much, and we didn’t get in. But I still had a heckuva good time jamming to that song.

Ordinary Day

I didn’t blog yesterday. It’s okay; one miss isn’t a big deal. Two misses, though, can be the “beginning of a pattern.”

Today’s been a day of music. Lots of listening to old favorites. The Smithereens. Great Big Sea. Mumford and Sons’ first album (always the first album; sometimes the second; never the third).

“The Road Goes On.” (I might be the only person who remembers the Lord of the Rings musical.)

“Morning Has Broken.” (Gosh, do I miss Pushing Daisies!)

“Colours.”

“Beautiful.”

I know it’s not very original or unique to feel this way, but there’s nothing that can make one’s heart swell and yearn more deeply than a good song. Music is sometimes the air I need to breathe. Today was one of those days. I needed to feel the old ache that comes from hearing good music. I don’t know why I needed it, but I did. And somehow, when the music crescendos, when the harmonies gather into a rising wave, when the melody explodes into a final refrain — it’s in that moment that everything falls away, and there’s nothing but me and the music, and life is somehow distilled into that moment, and goosebumps cover my skin, and I know everything’s gonna be okay.

It was nice to have those moments today. To have those songs. To feel good.

Trusting the process

So I went on a bit of a rant today in my AP Lang class. I brought up the “love boredom” quote from Atomic Habits because a student was wishing/complaining that she wants to be good at things instantaneously. To her credit, she admitted that this was an unrealistic attitude, and she knew that it takes practice and diligence to become good at something. But still, she wants to be good right now, dagnabbit! (I might have added the “dagnabbit” part…)

We were talking about writing, but this could apply to anything, and despite my attempts at sage advice, I can understand where this student is coming from. Several months ago I started a new hobby: naalbinding. I have never knitted before, can barely sew, and I’m not great at spacial reasoning (nor am I nibble of finger). Which means that naalbinding does not come easily. So far I’ve only managed to make a wonky hat that’s too small for anyone in my family to wear (though it fits pretty nicely on a stuffed animal). I am now attempting to make hand-warmers.

It is not going well.

I wish I was amazing at naalbinding. I wish I was good right now. But I know I’ll probably suck for awhile. And what’s hard is trusting the process: trusting that if I practice I *will* get better. It’s the same feeling I’m sure my student has. She knows it takes practice and diligence, but when there’s little-to-no progress — especially in the early stages — it’s hard to trust. It’s hard to put faith in your abilities when the evidence right in front of you is that your abilities stink.

I often wonder what would happen if I practiced naalbinding every day for an entire year. Would I ever be able to make a good hat, or mittens, or socks? If I’m honest with myself, probably not. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m sure I’d get better at it, but “getting better” is not quite the same thing as “getting good.” And I think that’s where my student (and I) both get demoralized. Yes, practice can lead to improvement, but can it lead to mastery? Can it lead to being the kind of writer or naalbinder that we might want to be?

I wonder if sometimes we have to temper our goals. Or better yet, not have any goals. Not to sound defeatist, but if the activity (writing, naalbinding, baking, running, etc.) is something we do for its own sake, then it won’t matter if we master it or not. DOING the activity is its own reward. This mindset is hard to achieve, though. We have to *love* doing the thing, despite our mediocrity. And it can be hard to develop a love for something if we aren’t very good at it.

At some point, we either decide we’re “okay” with mediocrity and keep doing the activity, trusting in the process and knowing that practice will make us better even if it never makes us “good.” Or we give up the activity and move on to something else.

I’m not sure where I stand yet with naalbinding. Part of me wants to “conquer” it: to become really, really good. To prove that I can do it.

But another part of me just enjoys moving the needle through the loops and around my thumb, even if the finished piece kinda sucks.

I’m also not sure where my student stands. Does she want to become a great writer just to say, “I did it!”? Or does she genuinely enjoy moving pen over paper, stringing words together, sharing her ideas through writing?

If it’s only about results, then it’s hard to trust the process. The results may never come — especially if our goals are too high. But if we want to do better — not great or even good, just better — then practice works. The process works. We have to trust it.

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