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Motivations for writing: “It’s about the gear”

September 11, 2008 //
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Recently, on Triple J’s Hack programme, there was a segment on the transformation in photography from film-based to digital-based.

First they interviewed the die-hard devotees of film, then a professional photographer who’d happily made the transition to digital about six years ago. He had this to say [note: self-transcribed; all errors mine own] about using film instead of digital:

There is an element of luck about it, that people do enjoy that certain amount of uncertainty…there’s two kinds of photographers; there’s photographers who are focussed on the final result, and there’s photographers who actually like the process of being a photographer…being a photographer for them, I think, it’s about the gear. There’s nothing wrong with that, you know, they like the mechanics of winding the film on, they like getting in the darkroom, they tend to be process-driven rather than results-driven.

He divides photographers into results-driven and process-driven. Writers can be divided the same way. For some, arguably most professional/successful/profligate writers, it’s about the love of the result. They develop out their characters and plot and they write the scenes and get the book done quickly, with lots of planning and minimal revision.

Then there’s those writers who love falling into the process, letting the story develop as they go along, being carried along. Can be lots of false starts and deadends but also can be some wonderful a-ha moment. For this sort of writer, if they want to get a result in the end, there’s lot of drafts and revisions over the process.

Of course, for most long-term writers (and I’m sure for photographers), it’s enjoying a mix of the process and the result that’s important and which draws them back to the keyboard time and time again.

I’m obviously process-driven, as anyone who has followed this blog can tell, but if I didn’t want a damn decent result at the end of all this drafting, I wouldn’t keep going; I certainly wouldn’t have gone ahead with a second draft once the ‘process’ was over and the ‘result’ (the first draft) was in. Most writers like both. As the photographer says, there’s nothing wrong with where their emphasis lies (a longer process does not a better result make).

Okay, with me so far? There’s a third type of writer. For them, it really is just about the “gear” – the gloss of ‘being a writer’ (oh yes, it’s glamorous, all right).

They’d like to have written: they want the result (ie money and fame, not really a book) without going through the process at all. This can be a great motivator, of course, if somewhat unrealistic, but it does not necessarily translate into discipline. Props do not equal a process, wishing for it does not produce a result.

If you recognise elements of yourself in this, I’m not telling you to give it up. I am suggesting that your initial motivation for money and fame and glamour may get you started, but you’re going to need the motivation of absolutely loving what you do to keep going with it. It’s a great career, but all great careers are also hard work.

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Categories The philosophy of writing, Writing tips and techniques

Writer’s block vs procrastination

July 31, 2008 //
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To many writers, writer’s block doesn’t exist: it’s either just plain old procrastination or it’s bad planning or a sign that the scene’s gone wrong and you need to start over, but the idea of this ‘disease’ crippling a writer’s creativity and ability to write does not ring true to them.

I do think writer’s block does exist as a separate entity to procrastination – procrastination, for me, being a definite symptom of writer’s block, but not the same thing. But then, I have most often found my blocks occur when, yes, things have gone wrong and I need to delete a few pages and try again.

The ABC Radio National Book Show has recently had a great discussion on writer’s block, procrastination, hypergraphia and creativity, and you can read the transcript or listen to the program here.

One of the interviewees says this about the relationship between writer’s block and procrastination: “I think they overlap a lot, of course. One difference with procrastination, you’re doing something else while you’re not writing. Writer’s block is in a way a more furious and painful enterprise because you just sit there and drops of blood form on your forehead and fall on to the paper. Whereas a procrastinator in a way is more productive, because he decides he has to get up and clean the curtains or he’s going to go off on safari.”

The difference can be summed at as avoiding writing on purpose vs really wanting to write and not being able to get the words out (a “constipatory metaphor” as is said in that interview).

I do see procrastinating as potentially productive, when I am using it to avoid facing a block rather than avoiding doing something I don’t want to do. This is because while I am off cleaning the microwave or filing or other busywork that all of a sudden must be done right now this instant, I am turning over ideas and snatches of dialogues and character motivations in my head, either on purpose or because my mind is working away at trying to get past the sticking point. This creative energy will eventually be used, so it’s not entirely wasted time.

The discussion also touches on how emotion can affect writer’s block, in that depression can stop writing dead, not surprisingly. I think this is when writer’s block does become a real ‘physical’ problem, a symptom of actual chemical changes in the brain. That’s more serious than just not being sure what to write next. So maybe when we say ‘I’ve got writer’s block’ in the offhand way writers tend to use it, we’re as guilty of over-stating things as when people claim the flu instead of just a cold, or a migraine instead of just a headache.

In the next few weeks, I will post some tips for tackling procrastination and for tackling writer’s block.

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Categories The philosophy of writing

Posthumous publication: reluctant author, ravenous fans…

March 13, 2008 //
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Up until now, the Thursday post has been dedicated to writing tips and techniques. I’m going to start alternating that with musing I’m categorising as ‘the philosophy of writing’: those issues and conundrums associated with the clash of art and life.

So this is the first such entry, and it has to do with Vladimir Nabokov’s wish for any unfinished manuscripts to be destroyed after his death, as discussed recently on ABC National’s Book Show (transcript here).

An unfinished manuscript does exist, and has not been destroyed, though Nabokov died some thirty years ago. His wife couldn’t bring herself to obey his wishes and now his elderly son is wrestling with the dilemma. It’s possible no one will know if the manuscript has been destroyed until after the son’s death, when they open his safe and find either the manuscript or a pile of ashes (it’s equally likely he’ll up and auction it off next week).

The transcript I linked to above gives a great overview of the issues surrounding this particular book: Nabokov’s personal wish for it to be destroyed and his notorious perfectionism verses the great love many people have for his works and the tantalising idea that his unfinished work is departure for him, an experiment and one worth preserving (via publication).

The Book Show gives a couple of highbrow examples (Virgil and Kakfa) of posthumous publication against the author’s wishes, and of course examples abound in the genre world of books being completed after the author’s death, not necessarily against their wishes.

I want to look at the idea more generally: the wishes of the creator of art and the wishes of the connoisseur of art. Knowing how terrible first drafts can be, I am entirely on the side of the author who wants unfinished work left unpublished – not necessarily destroyed, but at least kept private.

For me, it’s a matter of respect: if someone requests something that is not necessarily legally enforceable but is in their will as a dying wish, who am I to so disrespect a loved one and ignore it for my own convenience? I would expect the same respect in return.

The problem is that, once dead, the author can’t enforce their own wishes. They have to rely on their literary executor. So no matter what decision they made in life, it comes down to how trustworthy, ruthless, or callous, this chosen person is.

The fans, of course, have their own wishes. If someone has, in essence, supported a career by buying the books, raving to their friends, attending the book signings, writing to the publisher, and et cetera, then do they get to have a say in what happens to the last manuscript?

Does their genuine desire to read their favourite’s last work weigh more or less than what might end up being (to be very cynical) an entirely monetary decision on the part of the literary executor (here’s a tip – don’t make your literary executor someone who will financially benefit from posthumous publication of your works)? Majority vote verses a minority vote of one…

I hold firmly that if the author believes the fans would be disappointed by reading the incompleted, unpolished version of their last work, it should indeed be kept unpublished. It’s doing the fans a favour by leaving memories untarnished.

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Categories The philosophy of writing
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