Most of my adult life I’ve used an original NordicTrack cross country ski machine. I love it, but I remember how ungainly and uncoordinated it made me feel on first try. It reminded me of learning to ride a bicycle; I practically fell off a couple of times until I got the knack.
There was a nice new “Pro” model at my health club, but I never saw anyone on it, even when the other machines were jammed with users. One day I asked one of the trainers why. “Because they don’t want to look bad.” He had a point. The membership was young, and trendy singles filled the place after five, strutting their stuff to the opposite gender.
Once I saw a cool looking dude step up and give it a try. One or two silly-looking wobbles and he glanced around the club to see if anyone had noticed. Then he stepped off–probably for good.
Are you the kind of writer how doesn’t like to look bad — ever? When you freewrite, do you take care to make sure your freewrite is neatly written in complete sentences with transitions, and so on? Do you strut your stuff as a writer, even in “the foul rag and bone shop of the heart?” (W.B. Yeats)
More pointedly, who is it that you want to look good FOR? An idealized self, or some authority figure you long ago internalized? If so, you are barking up the wrong tree: they aren’t there.
It’s often true that writers whose personalities tend toward Always-On or Always-Perfect resist losing control, even in their private freewrites, and it’s not hard to see why: writing ugly feels too much like a betrayal of the self they’ve crafted to show the world.
Persona writers get by on style for years–often they are columnists and feature writers, letter writers, commentators, essayists.
One day they discover that fiction implicitly demands a deeper engagement with fantasy, spontaneity, even vulgarity–hallmarks of the unconscious. Style won’t get them there because in fiction writing, to “get by” means only that you won’t write anything unacceptable.
The great breakthrough for writers like this is the moment they can feel okay about stripping off the formal wear, slipping on their most comfortable ratty old gym outfit and starting to sweat. That’s when you rediscover the old alchemical principle that there is power in the mess—that to make gold, you start with muck.
If you want to write a better novel, start training yourself to enjoy making messes and playing with the messes you’ve made. Do this especially in the early part of your process, which is marked by discover and development. I would even advise “slobbing” right through your initial rough with no care for niceties.
Don’t worry: no one will ever see what you don’t want them to see. And of course there will be plenty of time later to clean it up later.
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