How the demons call to me
Writing is a tough job. Creative writing even more so — or for me it is, because the demons howl so loudly.
This play I’m writing — I’m nearing the end and I’d be feeling good only all night long I tossed and turned, the demons weaving their long fingers into my hair and jerking me awake.
It’s not good enough. Where’s your conflict? What’s going on?
What does it matter, you’ll never see it performed.
The whole idea stinks. It’s wrong. It doesn’t work. Give up now.
Plays are supposed to be about real people, not ideas. Who are these people? Why do we care?
Maybe you should be content just being the support crew. You’ll never write as well as you want to. You’ll never live up to your early promise. You never get it down on paper the way it should be written. Give up. Give up.
To have to wake up in the morning and come back to the computer feels Herculean. In fact, I haven’t opened the document yet, scared to find out that all my demons are chanting the truth.
Still, I suppose I’m going to. What else is there to do? Give up?
It’s always an option. Sitting right there. Just an option.
Sure it’s an option. But it’s the option you won’t take. Every choice closes one or more doors – and that’s one door that should be closed with a satisfying slam. Rage, rage! La lutte elle-même vers les sommets suffit à remplir un cœur de Francesca. And other things like that.
I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s just part of the process. I took a creative nonfiction class and spent 24 hours wailing and gnashing my teeth because I couldn’t think of something to write about for the first assignment. And then I had an idea and felt high, and then after I started writing, I went back into the I suck and have no talent and there’s no point to this phase. And then I got down to the business of revising it and fixing it. And then it sold. And since then, every piece I write has several points when I think I suck.
Tell your doubts to f off, knowing full well they’ll be back. And then tell them to f off again. The first draft is the hardest part–once that’s done, you can revise like crazy until you’re satisfied. And don’t rely on just your opinion–find someone to workshop it with, even online if necessary.
Good luck!
It’s an option. Trouble is, it’s always an option with everything. First drafts are always hard. I love to tinker with redrafting, but that first one is always a bugger.
Just keep thinking of how utterly fantastic you’ll feel when you hit the key that saves the COMPLETED play. Money can’t buy that feeling.
to Francesca’s demons:
You are not being helpful. Not helpful at all. Go away, and find someone your own size to pick on.
Hey, you got past your demons and started (and nearly finished) something. So don’t be scared of THEM! You have got them so whipped.
Just finish it. Paraphrasing some advice I got in law school … “It’s better to complete [the task] than to quit halfway through. 100% of a J.D. is better than 50% of law school.”
100% of a finished play — even if you think it sucks — is a complete work. Otherwise, it’s just another unfinished project.
Don’t give up. Don’t give up. Don’t give up. Repeat as necessary.