Here's my "let it rest" case for today. In 1974 I created a collection of short pieces (poems, mythology, historical fiction, etc) which I call my first novel. Which it was not in any way. I sent a copy to poet Robert Bly and asked him to tell me what he thought. Why him? Not sure. Maybe I had just finished reading one of his collections. Who can remember his motivations fifty years ago. He replied a couple months later with a mixed review. He like the narrative parts, but the dialog was, as he put it, "pious goo." That was all I needed to throw the thing in a box and try to forget about it. For 46 years I carried it in my box of relics from house to house until in 2020 during Covid lock-down, my wife asked, "What is in that box under the bed?" Pulling out the box and opening it, I found the rejected manuscript, read it and liked parts of it. Dislike other parts. There was potential there; and now, after three years of work, it sits with my publisher waiting to be released as a novel. So, let it be. But don't give up.
Great topic raised here - it gets at the heart of why late-stage writing is more like wrighting than muse-chasing.
It's impossible to be objective about self, but asking questions about what the piece was, what it is, and what you want it to be might give some clarity. I often find that some of the lines I seem to pull a lot of joy from on first draft are the ones I need to say goodbye to earliest in revision; the story has moved passed them, or around them. So make a hard choice, and see what happens.
"Adopt the pace of nature; her secret is patience." -Emerson
I like your insight about being attached to a certain line early in the writing process, and realizing later that it is precisely those lines which need to be cut.
There's a (likely apocryphal) story about Martin Scorsese in which, when he's filming, he often has one scene that he thinks is absolutely solid. The whole film really hangs on that one scene. And then when he's in the editing room, and he's trying to fine-tune the film, it's all struggling to come together. Something about it just seems off. And then, for whatever reason, the whole film seems to come together when he decides to cut that scene.
A great story 👏 So hard to feel like you're discarding babies with the bathwater, but I've always been buoyed by the insight (can't recall whose) that the first idea is seldom the best.
I agree that some questions might help, questions that we might much more easily apply to others' writing than to our own. What about rules of thumb like: Is there enough tension/escalation (not, "this is boring")? I can see that some readers would find no tension, a ho-hum story, while others would say "this is wild!" If we put on our editor's hat would that give us a little distance? I think such specific questions would be more useful than "Ick I don't like it." --along with patience and knowing what kind of reader you are. I agree that in the long run this art thing makes everything more difficult, better to write manuals for recharging batteries, but I do think the subconscious needs some help putting things together.
And that voice that says "and the story is bad" should be invited to sit quietly out back until it has found a more helpful way to support the writer's work.
Haha, yes, and may it stay there! I like the idea of specific questions written down to serve as reminders/self check-ins when things don't seem to be gelling: could be a good way to ground and reorient when the prose takes off in unwieldly or unwelcome directions.
I had a similar and relevant experience somewhat recently. I first wrote the story I have in mind around 2017 or 2018, brought it into a workshop, made revisions from that feedback and periodically for a couple of years until I thought it was done. I submitted it a few times, resulting in the usual form rejections. At some point, I think in the first year or so of Story Club, I read through and thought it was stale and stiff and that if it was to live any longer, I needed to completely rework it. But I was working on other things at the time and sort of forgot about it. Last spring I got it out, read it, and thought, hold on, I like this as it is! I decided to submit it once more even though it was over the word count of the particular journal. Lo and behold, they accepted it, and, unless things have changed without me knowing, it should be coming out in the fall issue. This is a very small journal, and yet a beautifully designed one, and I'm thrilled that it will find a home there. So, I guess that's all to say that this happened to me, and I did what George said and set it aside, and myself a year later or so decided it was worthy. And then, amazingly, even someone besides me did, too.
I'm wondering what happened inside of your own head that made you suddenly see that your story was bad. I mean, here you are, on the cusp of sending it out. Could it be that you're nervous about what comes next? That when you send it out, you'll be met with major rejection? Perhaps better to reject it yourself before the powers that be do so? Do you trust the people in your writing group? Have they been straight with you before? Do you think they are simply massaging your ego--and if so, for what reason? I'm with George--put the story away until you can look at it properly and without fear. Put it away until, like the poet George mentioned, you can't even remember writing it. Work on something else for now. Or, alternatively, trust your prior self and your group of trusty readers and just send it out and see what happens. What's the worst that could happen? It gets published?
I don't trust writing groups to provide good critique. My opinion would be ditch the writing group, at least for that function, and the writer learn to depend on herself to decide what they think is "good." I know groups can be great for company and community and so on, but... Agree about putting the work aside. Maybe forever, who knows? There's a bazillion things to write, and sometimes moving on might be the best thing. Yes, one wants to finish things of course, or not. Maybe the piece is, after all, a trial run. I don't think any writing is ever a waste of time, no matter its fate. Something of the process of present writing will manifest in the next story, and the next, and so on, until, like George says, at some point you grow into a place where you trust what's good for you And even then, it will resonate with some, and not with others. So it goes.
Your public likes it - you don't. A music story then.
Harpo Marx was in a hotel room next to the composer Rachmaninoff, whose noise was irritating to Marx. To get rid of Rach, Marx got out his harp, and, presuming that Rach's prelude in C# minor, adored by the public, was not Rach's favorite, played it non-stop for an hour next to the wall. Rach checked out the next morning.
Oh, Questioner, give yourself a break! Sounds like you've worked long & hard, maybe too hard to the point of exhaustion & to where your judgement has become clouded. Can you take a bit of a rest, put the thing away for a while? Anyway, exactly how reliable is this judgement?, as George asks in his response. A good & necessary question & one that doesn't always yield a reliable answer. Which is why I'm a big believer in just accepting it all, all of the good & bad and the indecisiveness & the frustration because this love-it-one-day and hate-it-the next thing is simply part of the process. It's the nature of making just about anything. So, would it do any harm to put the project away for a bit longer until you're better rested & maybe clearer-headed? Anyway, I don't think a story is ever really done so much as it reaches a point at which it can be released. Which is definitely not the same as done. Your question put me immediately in mind of the great Irish short story writer Frank O'Connor who could not for the life of him keep from tinkering with his stories even after they were published, and in the New Yorker no less. The NYer versions & the stories as they appeared in collections were often not the same. He may be an extreme example but the point is that often stories aren't so much done as they are abandoned. I don't believe this is a bad thing, just a thing as it is.
Tobias Wolff says, in a preface to one of his collections, that he is not the same person he was when he wrote the piece and he will always work on it before it goes into a collection.
I agree with George…I would say that time is your friend. It’s the faith in time and patience that one must muster. That’s not easy.
On a more practical level, I would advise you to send the story to someone else that you trust and see what they have to say. My experience with writing groups has been they are a place for encouragement rather than a true challenging critique. I’m not saying they’re wrong or right about your story, just that you seem not to have exhausted the avenue of having an extra pair of eyes look at it. Maybe this new reader will tell you something that clicks with you and send you on the next phase of writing this particular story.
For a long time I have been intrigued by this idea of patience, which might also be called 'not doing.' Not trying so hard to fit into the mold, usually an imagined mold. Not trying so hard to please others, even editors, though they are the gate keepers to a land most of us wish to enter. I try to tune in more and more to something like 'knowing.' I realize this sounds a little too much like pop mysticism, but I find as I get older, if I'm listening, deeply, accurately, the answers really do come into focus. So, how does this help the writer and questioner? I guess it could be helpful if it helps them shift to listening to their heart/muse/intuition more and seeking approval from outside less. Who knows if the readers group was accurate? Who knows if that's even possible. Accurate for what audience, other than a group that was likely already drawn together by a certain sameness. And who knows if ourselves today would agree with ourselves tomorrow. So I guess my advice, if it's worthy of being called that, is to pause and let the story sit awhile, which is the Story Club credo, but also to listen inside yourself. If this thing wants to be let loose, then do it. Don't be afraid of releasing it before it's perfect because there is no perfect. Let the thing fly and then see where it goes. You might be pleasantly surprised. Plus the world needs more carefully considered writing let loose into it. There is too much bad writing (and bad everything) being released by people who either don't care or can't even tell.
This post is timely. I'm in the middle of revising a story I thought was done. I wrote it about a year ago and took it out recently to see how it reads now. It became clear to me that I needed to go back in and tighten up the story. Cut out the parts that were fun to write but dragged down the action. Time helped me be tougher on it. I told my writing coach I was reworking it and he seemed protective, "I'm curious why. I really liked what you did." I did, too, but it's not what it could be.
This is the way I learned to draw, by the way. Look at the same thing. Take different swipes at it. Use different marks on the paper. Come back with a fresh sheet of paper on another day. Focus on a different area. Try something else. Repeat. My teacher said it was like throwing little nets over something wild that wants to get away. Over time, all that effort of trying to capture something worthwhile helps me see what I'm trying to capture in the first place. Oh, that nose isn't round but more angular. The forehead meets the hairline in an unusual way. Only by working it do I get closer to seeing and understanding it.
I also tell myself that I can't try to trap this thing forever. I need to be okay with saying I did the best I could trapping it and move on.
I started out as an artist, Leo, and your description of sketching seems apt. Lines over lines over lines until the right image comes into view. Leonardo da Vinci called this process his "discorso mentale," his inner dialogue with the drawing in front of him. In a way, the sketching is the learning.
I'm writing novels now, in which learning what the story is about on the fly seems like a reckless approach, a non-plan. However, at a chapter or scene level it applies quite well. It's remarkable how you can read what you've written—a day or a week or a month later—and discover you have no talent. My first published book was nonfiction, and when I came to the end of the final draft and read it over, I panicked. It sounded like babble. A month after publication, it rose to number fifteen on Amazon. Suddenly the writing seemed much better, and today I wouldn't change a word. Could it be that one's inner critic is not as reliable as one's inner creator?
Writing groups can be destructive to individuality and creativity. They can sometimes offer insightful feedback, but don’t let your story become their story. Write your truth your way.
Agree that there are lots of readers in us. But perhaps more simply- there are lots of emotions in us. And I find a quick journal before embarking on revision- w the sole purpose of where am I today? What am I bringing to this today? Can do a lot to clarify how I’m approaching my writing
I'm 85 years old. I have been going back and looking at the stories I have on my computer. A half dozen of them were published, but I lost interest some years ago. I have been pleasantly surprised at how good some of them seem even to the point of thinking I might get some help to make a small collection for a book. I could always give the books to my children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. I hope to find an editor.
Here's my "let it rest" case for today. In 1974 I created a collection of short pieces (poems, mythology, historical fiction, etc) which I call my first novel. Which it was not in any way. I sent a copy to poet Robert Bly and asked him to tell me what he thought. Why him? Not sure. Maybe I had just finished reading one of his collections. Who can remember his motivations fifty years ago. He replied a couple months later with a mixed review. He like the narrative parts, but the dialog was, as he put it, "pious goo." That was all I needed to throw the thing in a box and try to forget about it. For 46 years I carried it in my box of relics from house to house until in 2020 during Covid lock-down, my wife asked, "What is in that box under the bed?" Pulling out the box and opening it, I found the rejected manuscript, read it and liked parts of it. Dislike other parts. There was potential there; and now, after three years of work, it sits with my publisher waiting to be released as a novel. So, let it be. But don't give up.
Love this. Forty six years, amazing.
"Pious Goo"! A Saundersian title for a novel if ever there was. No disrespect. Not personal. Just sayin'.
Thank you for the encouraging example. With me, the book sat for only 10 years. And I thought it was too outdated to bother with. :-)
A decade is a good long rest.
Amazing! Congratulations
Same.
Great topic raised here - it gets at the heart of why late-stage writing is more like wrighting than muse-chasing.
It's impossible to be objective about self, but asking questions about what the piece was, what it is, and what you want it to be might give some clarity. I often find that some of the lines I seem to pull a lot of joy from on first draft are the ones I need to say goodbye to earliest in revision; the story has moved passed them, or around them. So make a hard choice, and see what happens.
"Adopt the pace of nature; her secret is patience." -Emerson
I like your insight about being attached to a certain line early in the writing process, and realizing later that it is precisely those lines which need to be cut.
There's a (likely apocryphal) story about Martin Scorsese in which, when he's filming, he often has one scene that he thinks is absolutely solid. The whole film really hangs on that one scene. And then when he's in the editing room, and he's trying to fine-tune the film, it's all struggling to come together. Something about it just seems off. And then, for whatever reason, the whole film seems to come together when he decides to cut that scene.
True or not, I appreciate the insight.
A great story 👏 So hard to feel like you're discarding babies with the bathwater, but I've always been buoyed by the insight (can't recall whose) that the first idea is seldom the best.
great Emerson quote! Thanks!
The man can turn a phrase! 😁 Hard advice to follow in a world making constant demands on our attention, but I try and keep it top of mind.
Only doctors have patients.
I agree that some questions might help, questions that we might much more easily apply to others' writing than to our own. What about rules of thumb like: Is there enough tension/escalation (not, "this is boring")? I can see that some readers would find no tension, a ho-hum story, while others would say "this is wild!" If we put on our editor's hat would that give us a little distance? I think such specific questions would be more useful than "Ick I don't like it." --along with patience and knowing what kind of reader you are. I agree that in the long run this art thing makes everything more difficult, better to write manuals for recharging batteries, but I do think the subconscious needs some help putting things together.
And that voice that says "and the story is bad" should be invited to sit quietly out back until it has found a more helpful way to support the writer's work.
Haha, yes, and may it stay there! I like the idea of specific questions written down to serve as reminders/self check-ins when things don't seem to be gelling: could be a good way to ground and reorient when the prose takes off in unwieldly or unwelcome directions.
Love advice Cameron. Emerson had it right when he wrote about nature and Patience. Those trees and flowers always show up.
They give a lot of truth, and respite from worry 🌻🌳
I had a similar and relevant experience somewhat recently. I first wrote the story I have in mind around 2017 or 2018, brought it into a workshop, made revisions from that feedback and periodically for a couple of years until I thought it was done. I submitted it a few times, resulting in the usual form rejections. At some point, I think in the first year or so of Story Club, I read through and thought it was stale and stiff and that if it was to live any longer, I needed to completely rework it. But I was working on other things at the time and sort of forgot about it. Last spring I got it out, read it, and thought, hold on, I like this as it is! I decided to submit it once more even though it was over the word count of the particular journal. Lo and behold, they accepted it, and, unless things have changed without me knowing, it should be coming out in the fall issue. This is a very small journal, and yet a beautifully designed one, and I'm thrilled that it will find a home there. So, I guess that's all to say that this happened to me, and I did what George said and set it aside, and myself a year later or so decided it was worthy. And then, amazingly, even someone besides me did, too.
Yay, Troy! Is there a link, or only in print?
It's only in print and not out yet, but thank you for caring!
I'm wondering what happened inside of your own head that made you suddenly see that your story was bad. I mean, here you are, on the cusp of sending it out. Could it be that you're nervous about what comes next? That when you send it out, you'll be met with major rejection? Perhaps better to reject it yourself before the powers that be do so? Do you trust the people in your writing group? Have they been straight with you before? Do you think they are simply massaging your ego--and if so, for what reason? I'm with George--put the story away until you can look at it properly and without fear. Put it away until, like the poet George mentioned, you can't even remember writing it. Work on something else for now. Or, alternatively, trust your prior self and your group of trusty readers and just send it out and see what happens. What's the worst that could happen? It gets published?
I don't trust writing groups to provide good critique. My opinion would be ditch the writing group, at least for that function, and the writer learn to depend on herself to decide what they think is "good." I know groups can be great for company and community and so on, but... Agree about putting the work aside. Maybe forever, who knows? There's a bazillion things to write, and sometimes moving on might be the best thing. Yes, one wants to finish things of course, or not. Maybe the piece is, after all, a trial run. I don't think any writing is ever a waste of time, no matter its fate. Something of the process of present writing will manifest in the next story, and the next, and so on, until, like George says, at some point you grow into a place where you trust what's good for you And even then, it will resonate with some, and not with others. So it goes.
Your public likes it - you don't. A music story then.
Harpo Marx was in a hotel room next to the composer Rachmaninoff, whose noise was irritating to Marx. To get rid of Rach, Marx got out his harp, and, presuming that Rach's prelude in C# minor, adored by the public, was not Rach's favorite, played it non-stop for an hour next to the wall. Rach checked out the next morning.
Oh, Questioner, give yourself a break! Sounds like you've worked long & hard, maybe too hard to the point of exhaustion & to where your judgement has become clouded. Can you take a bit of a rest, put the thing away for a while? Anyway, exactly how reliable is this judgement?, as George asks in his response. A good & necessary question & one that doesn't always yield a reliable answer. Which is why I'm a big believer in just accepting it all, all of the good & bad and the indecisiveness & the frustration because this love-it-one-day and hate-it-the next thing is simply part of the process. It's the nature of making just about anything. So, would it do any harm to put the project away for a bit longer until you're better rested & maybe clearer-headed? Anyway, I don't think a story is ever really done so much as it reaches a point at which it can be released. Which is definitely not the same as done. Your question put me immediately in mind of the great Irish short story writer Frank O'Connor who could not for the life of him keep from tinkering with his stories even after they were published, and in the New Yorker no less. The NYer versions & the stories as they appeared in collections were often not the same. He may be an extreme example but the point is that often stories aren't so much done as they are abandoned. I don't believe this is a bad thing, just a thing as it is.
Tobias Wolff says, in a preface to one of his collections, that he is not the same person he was when he wrote the piece and he will always work on it before it goes into a collection.
Great information about O'Connor. That's a great story right there.
I agree with George…I would say that time is your friend. It’s the faith in time and patience that one must muster. That’s not easy.
On a more practical level, I would advise you to send the story to someone else that you trust and see what they have to say. My experience with writing groups has been they are a place for encouragement rather than a true challenging critique. I’m not saying they’re wrong or right about your story, just that you seem not to have exhausted the avenue of having an extra pair of eyes look at it. Maybe this new reader will tell you something that clicks with you and send you on the next phase of writing this particular story.
Best of luck!
Alex
For a long time I have been intrigued by this idea of patience, which might also be called 'not doing.' Not trying so hard to fit into the mold, usually an imagined mold. Not trying so hard to please others, even editors, though they are the gate keepers to a land most of us wish to enter. I try to tune in more and more to something like 'knowing.' I realize this sounds a little too much like pop mysticism, but I find as I get older, if I'm listening, deeply, accurately, the answers really do come into focus. So, how does this help the writer and questioner? I guess it could be helpful if it helps them shift to listening to their heart/muse/intuition more and seeking approval from outside less. Who knows if the readers group was accurate? Who knows if that's even possible. Accurate for what audience, other than a group that was likely already drawn together by a certain sameness. And who knows if ourselves today would agree with ourselves tomorrow. So I guess my advice, if it's worthy of being called that, is to pause and let the story sit awhile, which is the Story Club credo, but also to listen inside yourself. If this thing wants to be let loose, then do it. Don't be afraid of releasing it before it's perfect because there is no perfect. Let the thing fly and then see where it goes. You might be pleasantly surprised. Plus the world needs more carefully considered writing let loose into it. There is too much bad writing (and bad everything) being released by people who either don't care or can't even tell.
Knowing, not knowing. Yin, Yang. Balance.
Once commenting on my lengthy need for the drawer time my works seems to need, a friend mused, “Be careful you don’t put yourself in the drawer”
The IFS approach to editing. Who has is that in the drawer?
This post is timely. I'm in the middle of revising a story I thought was done. I wrote it about a year ago and took it out recently to see how it reads now. It became clear to me that I needed to go back in and tighten up the story. Cut out the parts that were fun to write but dragged down the action. Time helped me be tougher on it. I told my writing coach I was reworking it and he seemed protective, "I'm curious why. I really liked what you did." I did, too, but it's not what it could be.
This is the way I learned to draw, by the way. Look at the same thing. Take different swipes at it. Use different marks on the paper. Come back with a fresh sheet of paper on another day. Focus on a different area. Try something else. Repeat. My teacher said it was like throwing little nets over something wild that wants to get away. Over time, all that effort of trying to capture something worthwhile helps me see what I'm trying to capture in the first place. Oh, that nose isn't round but more angular. The forehead meets the hairline in an unusual way. Only by working it do I get closer to seeing and understanding it.
I also tell myself that I can't try to trap this thing forever. I need to be okay with saying I did the best I could trapping it and move on.
Thanks so much for reminding me about this.
I started out as an artist, Leo, and your description of sketching seems apt. Lines over lines over lines until the right image comes into view. Leonardo da Vinci called this process his "discorso mentale," his inner dialogue with the drawing in front of him. In a way, the sketching is the learning.
Discorso mentale! I love it. Thanks for history lesson ;-)
I'm writing novels now, in which learning what the story is about on the fly seems like a reckless approach, a non-plan. However, at a chapter or scene level it applies quite well. It's remarkable how you can read what you've written—a day or a week or a month later—and discover you have no talent. My first published book was nonfiction, and when I came to the end of the final draft and read it over, I panicked. It sounded like babble. A month after publication, it rose to number fifteen on Amazon. Suddenly the writing seemed much better, and today I wouldn't change a word. Could it be that one's inner critic is not as reliable as one's inner creator?
"Doctor I'm suffering."
"Yes. Not too surprising I'm surmising. Why else would you be here? What, exactly is it that you are suffering?"
"A pile of paragraphs."
"Ouch! Piles of such kind are neither uncommon or difficult to remedy."
"What do you recommend Doctor?"
"Well that depends."
"On what Doctor?"
"What you can afford to pay Dear Boy."
Writing groups can be destructive to individuality and creativity. They can sometimes offer insightful feedback, but don’t let your story become their story. Write your truth your way.
Yes! In my experience there are some group members who try to make my story their story. This type of criticism is absolutely no use to me.
Agree that there are lots of readers in us. But perhaps more simply- there are lots of emotions in us. And I find a quick journal before embarking on revision- w the sole purpose of where am I today? What am I bringing to this today? Can do a lot to clarify how I’m approaching my writing
I'm 85 years old. I have been going back and looking at the stories I have on my computer. A half dozen of them were published, but I lost interest some years ago. I have been pleasantly surprised at how good some of them seem even to the point of thinking I might get some help to make a small collection for a book. I could always give the books to my children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren. I hope to find an editor.
I’m only 77 and I think that sounds like a great idea. Your children and their children will find something to treasure in your stories