electric mist

if writing were like sports

You know, I wouldn't trade being a writer for anything else -- I love the solitude, I love the creation of the world, tossing impossible obstacles into the mix and seeing what these characters will do, what makes them tick. I love the fight to distill the moment, each moment, to its essence, to the one exact point where everything hangs in balance. Last night I fought a fierce battle. It was me against the scene, which was trying its dead level best to be static, talky, informative without drama. I wrote, deleted, rewrote, deleted... more times than I can count. I felt like a boxer in a ring, punched and counter-punched before I could even move into position. It took round after round, hitting the mat, wondering whether the bloody fight was worth it...why not just let this one go and live to fight another day... but you know, you just can't do that. The allure is great -- rest on this one, do the hard work on the next opponent, on the next scene. But you're not a writer if you rest, if you give in to the mundane, just like any great boxer or baseball player or footballer... you push. The great thing to writing is that you push yourself in the quiet of your own room, so it's not as likely that when you fail, there are witnesses standing around to boo. It's frustrating though, when you succeed -- that one round when you knock out the opponent and the odds had been against you -- there's no crowd to go wild, no screaming from the stands, no bookies paying off the ten-to-one odds. Wouldn't that be amazing, to have that sort of cheering going on every time you beat the odds?

Of course, all those crowds in the bedroom late at night when I've finished a scene on the laptop might just freak out Carl a little bit. Although that might be fun, too. Heh.