General rules and guidelines

Although the title of this post may be suggestive of some writing guidelines, it really has nothing at all to do with the craft, or the how-tos and wherefores of writing. It’s more about personal goals and achievements, and I suppose, there is just a little bit about intertwining life with writing.

I have two sets of to-do lists. One is for my writer goals and achievements, and the other is general life goals and achievements. My intention at the beginning of the year was to make a blog post at least once a week. Why? Because I wanted to add this to my list of writing goals. After a flurry of deadlines throughout January, I’ve pretty much kept to it.

This post, then, is about making your own general rules and guidelines and applying them in your life. I’m so used to making these for myself, I tend to forget there are other people around me, and sometimes, I reckon that can make me insular, but it’s also what helps me focus time around writing.

Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably, And never regret anything that made you smile.

Whose chair is it anyway?

We writers tend to carry on despite many uphill struggles, despite life throwing catastrophic events at us, and despite life always getting in the way of our muses. So, it was perhaps a relatively minor debacle this morning when my cat cat beat me to my chair and looked at me with a rather territorial glance. When I DID try and sit down, he just budged up looking ever so slightly squashed. Obviously he decided the chair much more appealing today, thank you very much. So he lorded it on my precious writing chair, while I spent my time sitting next to the floor on the bean bag. And this is the way we stayed for much of the morning. 

Oh, and in case you're wondering, the answer to the initial question is: It's obviously the cat's chair. 

Stewing apples and the temporary madness of the Muse

 

It happened while coring and cutting up apples ready for the process of stewing. My muse issued forth in a very small whispery voice, 'write me.' And so the conversation began:

'No. Not now, can't you see I'm busy.'

'But that's not as important as me. Write me!'

'Busy.'

'Imagine the picture of your novel when you've finished, got an agent, publisher. Doesn't it look nice?'

'Yes. Lovely.'

'Write me.'

'Muse. Behave yourself. I'll write you, but I only have one pair of hands.'

Frequently, the Muse strikes when we’re minding our own business, getting on with the small tasks we do in our every day life: vacuuming, washing dishes,  cleaning the kitchen floor, cutting, and chopping. It also happens when it knows we are indisposed, when shopping for instance or driving. It will never come so easily when sitting down with a cup of coffee, pen and notebook in hand.

What to do when the inconvenient Muse appears is just to enjoy the 'drifting madness,’ and try to remember its ideas when you are able to sit down and write.

From the Cat's Point of View

The story I've written today has a cat as its main character. It's a style I've been eager to try since reading Suite Français by Irene Nèmirovski. This excerpt from her novel shows how, in the middle of her story, she switches focus to the pet cat, creating an eerie atmosphere, building tension, and exploring the scene in a way  that none of the human characters could have provided.

He eyed the distance from the drainpipe to the ground. It was an easy jump, but he appeared to want to flatter himself by exaggerating the difficulty of the leap. He balanced his hindquarters, looking fierce and confident, swept his long black tail across the drainpipe and, ears pulled back, leapt forward, landing on the freshly tilled earth. he hesitated for a moment, then buried his muzzle in the ground. Now he was in the very black of night, at the heart of it, and the darkest point. He needed to sniff the earth: here, between the roots and pebbles, were smells untainted by the scent of humans, smells that had yet to waft into the air and vanish.

It's a barely concealed truth that people who shut themselves away for long periods of time love the mostly unintrusive companionship a cat can provide - barring the furniture [leg] scratching, manic half hours and 'mews' of 'feed me'. But to write about one in such an elegant manner, is a triumph of artistic merit.

The first draft

After working from scratch with a new story over the past couple of days, I see the truth in this statement. I've been writing a short story for a specific theme. Beginning with a vague idea of what I wanted to write, adding in a little twist for the ending, and the first copy was ready in little over an hour. But it certainly wasn't very good in terms of the story I wanted to tell.

It took a full day of re-writing, and two or three shorter edits before it was ready to send off.

The Nightmare Inside

It's not very often I have dreams that you could call nightmares, but for the second night running, I've woken, having had a very vivid, horrid dream about my waking life. This isn't about monsters, or weird objects, nor is it a notational anxiety about death and destruction, but it made me wonder about the purpose of dreaming and the way in which the parts of our brain communicate.

What is the purpose of the unconscious mind?

1. Is the unconscious trying to tell you something that although you may know it to be true, but choosing to consciously ignore it. Therefore, the only way the brain can make you take note, to forewarn, so to speak, using certain images and thoughts from the conscious, thus presenting a 'known truth' sans all the perceptive filtering.
2. Alternatively, is the unconscious trying to trick, deceive, to show your worst fears, to motivate, to make you a better person. Although, I can think of worse 'worse fear' scenarios in conscious mode, it's possible motivation may be a factor, or maybe 
3. The unconscious is really just an evil prankster.

In a way, the nightmare structure can be juxtaposed with the Nightmare on Elm Street movies, but in this sense, the Freddy Krueger becomes symbolic for the event that triggers the nightmare. The unconscious, by  personifying the fear, makes it more readily identifiable to the conscious, and this is how the unconscious has chosen to communicate. My own nightmare is always personified by a face; a smiling face, staring at me, but it's evil and sinister. A bit like picking up the hanged man in a tarot reading.

By having your fear manifest in such average terms, presents a rather obscure, but nevertheless, strong argument that the unconscious has a resolute desire to communicate with the waking self. This isn't about abstracts, it's about every day life. Communication is reinforced because the message from the unconscious is presented in normal every day terms, figures and backgrounds. It's at these times, perhaps, the unconscious is trying its hardest to show the conscious mind something: a hurtful truth, reality without the process of filtering or perception. It is presenting us with its conclusion.

When the unconscious personifies your 'Freddy Krueger' as a human face from your waking life, the truth becomes ingrained in your reality, and therefore, by default, a great deal more terrifying than imaginative monsters and abstract ideas.