hmmm. I've got a lot of "bad" stories hidden in files on this computer somewhere. I'm okay with them sitting there, mostly because they tell me that at one point I put in the hours. But they are not going anywhere. They are, frankly, terrible. The good thing about all of those words and hours I put into those terrible stories, is that i learned from them. The learning was very slow, but we all learn at our own paces. And i couldn't be the person i am now (a person who has managed to publish books, stories, poems, etc) if i hadn't written all of that dreck. But here's something interesting (to me, anyway): even the stuff that I've published--a lot of it is simply not me anymore. So, questioner, here is my question for you: Are you still the person who began that "bad" story long ago? or are you someone else now? I'm thinking it's time to give up on that previous you and move forward into the person you are now. Yes, perhaps there are some good bits and pieces that you can salvage. If you're still in love with the idea, but not with what you've written, then one option is to begin again, from the beginning. As Beckett said, fail better (or maybe you won't fail). George may be right that every time you go back to the old story, it's because you need that time/distance from the new one. But oh my god, that old story is taunting you! The new one is fun for you--it's where the discovery is happening.
So. My unasked for advice: Put that old story away. It's not serving you any longer. Look forward, not to the past.
I get this endless rumination with oneself about a story that's not working. I tend to look at my options: struggle on, let it rest and for how long, give up, read it over once a day until something 'breaks,' the list goes on. The one thing that's absolute with me, however, is never deleting it. I have woken up in the middle of the night months, even years, after setting aside a story and known what to do with it. So no matter which option I pick when I'm stuck, the key is to store it somewhere and, more importantly, know how to find it again. Maybe some of that comes from being a librarian all my life where storage, search, and retrieval are eternal watchwords, but I've relied on those tools so many times, I don't give up on them. Or my stories either. They're just "resting."
I’ve mentioned before that I’m an architect and I’m constantly amazed at the parallels between that world of creative structure and the world of writing. We have a phrase in the design world that when you are on the right path, the project begins to ‘design itself’. It’s like building a puzzle from scratch then realizing that things on your desk fit perfectly into the weirdly shaped leftover voids. In the opposite version, I keep trying to hammer those pieces into poorly suited spaces - proverbial round pegs in square holes, which happens more than I like to admit, but less and less as I know myself better and hold the reins more loosely. When the thing designs itself, or writes itself, I sometimes feel more like I am channeling something than creating it. So thanks to questioner, and to George, for reminding us we are not alone in that struggle with emerging ideas.
About the scrapped conspiracy-related story, the one that seemed too unkind / sneering, I want to recommend chapter 7 of "Art in the After-Culture" by Ben Davis – it is a compassionate and level-headed take on the conspiratorial mindset that is everywhere these days, and the way it was written reminded me of your writing.
I believe there is yet still great art to be made about those who are wrapped up in conspiratorial thinking. And it will not come from a place of sneering.
In 2017 I was at a bus stop with this elderly couple who, after some time talking with me, pivoted into reptillian conspiracies about world leaders. I was incredulous, and because we were both trapped there waiting for our bus, I interrogated this line of thought, and even asked them, well how do you know *I'M* not a reptile?? Which seemed to shake them a bit. They kept telling me to research this, it's all online, and it occurred to me they were just trying to help me. When the bus pulled up, I saw them lean into each other, weary about a world that betrayed them, and I felt like they must really love each other, and they must feel very alone.
But back to the question. One of the things I love and cherish about writing is how much it reveals about ourselves. So, this may not play at all into what's happening with our questioner but are you someone who can't let a challenge go? Are you feeling the need to prove to yourself that you WILL find the key to the "bad" story? Because there's a difference between being haunted by a story and being held hostage by it. Only you know. But as others have noted, never discard anything completely because as Mary G pointed out, it may be a story from the you of the past but it could also be a story from the you of the future. Either way, wishing you luck.
I remember the story of Alberto Giacometti's sculpture "The Palace at 4 a.m." (https://www.moma.org/collection/works/80928) - how it is less of a solid sculpture than Giacometti had previously been creating, and how he came to realize that this outline of a sculpture represented an idea he was haunted by: that he had tried for six months to sustain a fragile, powerful love affair each night - how fragile this love was, and how this private would fall endlessly fall apart. And yet Anton and his lover endlessly rebuilt their "palace" each night, even though it would collapse again... And so his sculpture came into being, although he did not consciously understand it, nor its form, to start.
As importantly, the the writer William Maxwell apparently saw this very sculpture and then realized it was the key to a story he had been laboring to write -- and so Maxwell's novel "So Long, See You Tomorrow" crystallized.
I think we have to keep going with that idea that haunts us, to be open to signs that will help us to realize the story we are trying to tell, and the form to tell it, whether a more unusual sculptural form for Giacometti or a long-percolating novel for Maxwell... In other words, please, don't anyone give up or walk away on expressing these hard-won stories unless they no longer haunt you. But so long as they do, continue. (Imagine if, as examples, Giacometti, or Maxwell, or our George did... How much smaller this life would be.)
(And by the way, does anyway else get momentarily stunned when they look at the photo of Chekhov?)
I’m recalling (I hope correctly) the first line from a poem by Sylvia Plath: “The poems do not live; it’s a sad diagnosis.” That’s about it. She describes her struggles, then moves on. Makes better poems.
This year has been the hardest of my life for reasons I won't bore you with. In helping me cope, a friend suggested I find three things that still "fill my cup" and be sure to do each of these every day. The theory being that even if I had a bad day, I can say to myself, "Well I did those three things, so it was a day well spent."
Reading and rereading "A Swim in a Pond in the Rain" had been one of those things in 2021, so discovering Story Club (a little late to the party, this is my first post) was a wonderful surprise in this challenging year. Spending time, even if passively, with you fine folks and George's insightful and life-affirming posts while discovering new authors and short stories to discuss has most definitely kept my cup full to the brim.
Thank you all for your company, and happy birthday, George. To many more!
The post today is a great example of how it’s good for young or developing writers to think more expansively and creatively about craft advice. We’re inundated with craft advice (well, speaking for myself, I am, from all sorts of mostly online sources). But too much of it is formulaic. What I notice in this post and other craft-y posts by George is that they tend to illustrate the messy process in which real writing actually takes place. It’s one step forward, two steps sideways, another step upside-down, then back, then forward again. But in today’s post are also some extremely useful and revelatory tidbits: Like, pay attention to when something we’re writing is off, like veggies or fruit gone bad in the fridge. Immensely useful, practical stuff.
It's funny how Story Club posts sometimes seem to be in conversation with my private thoughts earlier in the week. This week is one of those times. Thanks, George. And happy birthday!
I like the idea of cutting out keepable bits and seeing what can be built around them. Another thing I ask myself when a story isn't working is, What is this story really about? Maybe I haven't gotten a clear head around that quest and that's what's making it not work.
I had a similar feeling with one story idea I’d been kicking around for a couple years. I had the inspiration behind it, had slowly put together the vague outlines of its plot, but I could never quite get into it. Then a professor of mine gave an assignment to write a contemporary version of ‘The Waste Land’, and for whatever reason, that story idea poured directly into writing that piece, and I was able to write it in an afternoon. All that is to say--sometimes a perspective shift, or a new medium, or basically switching your mindset from “I’ll do X” to “I’ll do X by way of Y” can be a little bit helpful.
this piece made me think a bit about what a curse it could be to a writer if everything they submitted for publication was published. what a curse! mind you, it happens, I suppose, we all know great writers who go bad. symptoms: their books get longer and longer (you
can’t edit me, I’m famous!) makes rejection seem more palatable in these terms
** unsettled by Anton’s eroticism **
hmmm. I've got a lot of "bad" stories hidden in files on this computer somewhere. I'm okay with them sitting there, mostly because they tell me that at one point I put in the hours. But they are not going anywhere. They are, frankly, terrible. The good thing about all of those words and hours I put into those terrible stories, is that i learned from them. The learning was very slow, but we all learn at our own paces. And i couldn't be the person i am now (a person who has managed to publish books, stories, poems, etc) if i hadn't written all of that dreck. But here's something interesting (to me, anyway): even the stuff that I've published--a lot of it is simply not me anymore. So, questioner, here is my question for you: Are you still the person who began that "bad" story long ago? or are you someone else now? I'm thinking it's time to give up on that previous you and move forward into the person you are now. Yes, perhaps there are some good bits and pieces that you can salvage. If you're still in love with the idea, but not with what you've written, then one option is to begin again, from the beginning. As Beckett said, fail better (or maybe you won't fail). George may be right that every time you go back to the old story, it's because you need that time/distance from the new one. But oh my god, that old story is taunting you! The new one is fun for you--it's where the discovery is happening.
So. My unasked for advice: Put that old story away. It's not serving you any longer. Look forward, not to the past.
I get this endless rumination with oneself about a story that's not working. I tend to look at my options: struggle on, let it rest and for how long, give up, read it over once a day until something 'breaks,' the list goes on. The one thing that's absolute with me, however, is never deleting it. I have woken up in the middle of the night months, even years, after setting aside a story and known what to do with it. So no matter which option I pick when I'm stuck, the key is to store it somewhere and, more importantly, know how to find it again. Maybe some of that comes from being a librarian all my life where storage, search, and retrieval are eternal watchwords, but I've relied on those tools so many times, I don't give up on them. Or my stories either. They're just "resting."
Took a break from working on my own "bad story" to read this, and now I don't know what to do. Is it lunch yet?
I’ve mentioned before that I’m an architect and I’m constantly amazed at the parallels between that world of creative structure and the world of writing. We have a phrase in the design world that when you are on the right path, the project begins to ‘design itself’. It’s like building a puzzle from scratch then realizing that things on your desk fit perfectly into the weirdly shaped leftover voids. In the opposite version, I keep trying to hammer those pieces into poorly suited spaces - proverbial round pegs in square holes, which happens more than I like to admit, but less and less as I know myself better and hold the reins more loosely. When the thing designs itself, or writes itself, I sometimes feel more like I am channeling something than creating it. So thanks to questioner, and to George, for reminding us we are not alone in that struggle with emerging ideas.
Dear George –
About the scrapped conspiracy-related story, the one that seemed too unkind / sneering, I want to recommend chapter 7 of "Art in the After-Culture" by Ben Davis – it is a compassionate and level-headed take on the conspiratorial mindset that is everywhere these days, and the way it was written reminded me of your writing.
I believe there is yet still great art to be made about those who are wrapped up in conspiratorial thinking. And it will not come from a place of sneering.
In 2017 I was at a bus stop with this elderly couple who, after some time talking with me, pivoted into reptillian conspiracies about world leaders. I was incredulous, and because we were both trapped there waiting for our bus, I interrogated this line of thought, and even asked them, well how do you know *I'M* not a reptile?? Which seemed to shake them a bit. They kept telling me to research this, it's all online, and it occurred to me they were just trying to help me. When the bus pulled up, I saw them lean into each other, weary about a world that betrayed them, and I felt like they must really love each other, and they must feel very alone.
– Joe
Oh, Anton, those eyes!
But back to the question. One of the things I love and cherish about writing is how much it reveals about ourselves. So, this may not play at all into what's happening with our questioner but are you someone who can't let a challenge go? Are you feeling the need to prove to yourself that you WILL find the key to the "bad" story? Because there's a difference between being haunted by a story and being held hostage by it. Only you know. But as others have noted, never discard anything completely because as Mary G pointed out, it may be a story from the you of the past but it could also be a story from the you of the future. Either way, wishing you luck.
Very smooth appeal to those free subscribers. That wink! Maybe lay out a plate of cookies too.
That smoldering Anton look. Whew!
I remember the story of Alberto Giacometti's sculpture "The Palace at 4 a.m." (https://www.moma.org/collection/works/80928) - how it is less of a solid sculpture than Giacometti had previously been creating, and how he came to realize that this outline of a sculpture represented an idea he was haunted by: that he had tried for six months to sustain a fragile, powerful love affair each night - how fragile this love was, and how this private would fall endlessly fall apart. And yet Anton and his lover endlessly rebuilt their "palace" each night, even though it would collapse again... And so his sculpture came into being, although he did not consciously understand it, nor its form, to start.
As importantly, the the writer William Maxwell apparently saw this very sculpture and then realized it was the key to a story he had been laboring to write -- and so Maxwell's novel "So Long, See You Tomorrow" crystallized.
I think we have to keep going with that idea that haunts us, to be open to signs that will help us to realize the story we are trying to tell, and the form to tell it, whether a more unusual sculptural form for Giacometti or a long-percolating novel for Maxwell... In other words, please, don't anyone give up or walk away on expressing these hard-won stories unless they no longer haunt you. But so long as they do, continue. (Imagine if, as examples, Giacometti, or Maxwell, or our George did... How much smaller this life would be.)
(And by the way, does anyway else get momentarily stunned when they look at the photo of Chekhov?)
I’m recalling (I hope correctly) the first line from a poem by Sylvia Plath: “The poems do not live; it’s a sad diagnosis.” That’s about it. She describes her struggles, then moves on. Makes better poems.
An aside to thank George on his birthday...
This year has been the hardest of my life for reasons I won't bore you with. In helping me cope, a friend suggested I find three things that still "fill my cup" and be sure to do each of these every day. The theory being that even if I had a bad day, I can say to myself, "Well I did those three things, so it was a day well spent."
Reading and rereading "A Swim in a Pond in the Rain" had been one of those things in 2021, so discovering Story Club (a little late to the party, this is my first post) was a wonderful surprise in this challenging year. Spending time, even if passively, with you fine folks and George's insightful and life-affirming posts while discovering new authors and short stories to discuss has most definitely kept my cup full to the brim.
Thank you all for your company, and happy birthday, George. To many more!
The post today is a great example of how it’s good for young or developing writers to think more expansively and creatively about craft advice. We’re inundated with craft advice (well, speaking for myself, I am, from all sorts of mostly online sources). But too much of it is formulaic. What I notice in this post and other craft-y posts by George is that they tend to illustrate the messy process in which real writing actually takes place. It’s one step forward, two steps sideways, another step upside-down, then back, then forward again. But in today’s post are also some extremely useful and revelatory tidbits: Like, pay attention to when something we’re writing is off, like veggies or fruit gone bad in the fridge. Immensely useful, practical stuff.
It's funny how Story Club posts sometimes seem to be in conversation with my private thoughts earlier in the week. This week is one of those times. Thanks, George. And happy birthday!
I like the idea of cutting out keepable bits and seeing what can be built around them. Another thing I ask myself when a story isn't working is, What is this story really about? Maybe I haven't gotten a clear head around that quest and that's what's making it not work.
Great answers, as always!
I had a similar feeling with one story idea I’d been kicking around for a couple years. I had the inspiration behind it, had slowly put together the vague outlines of its plot, but I could never quite get into it. Then a professor of mine gave an assignment to write a contemporary version of ‘The Waste Land’, and for whatever reason, that story idea poured directly into writing that piece, and I was able to write it in an afternoon. All that is to say--sometimes a perspective shift, or a new medium, or basically switching your mindset from “I’ll do X” to “I’ll do X by way of Y” can be a little bit helpful.
this piece made me think a bit about what a curse it could be to a writer if everything they submitted for publication was published. what a curse! mind you, it happens, I suppose, we all know great writers who go bad. symptoms: their books get longer and longer (you
can’t edit me, I’m famous!) makes rejection seem more palatable in these terms