Feb 24, 2022·edited Feb 24, 2022Liked by George Saunders
This wonderful post echoes an excellent Paul Grealish quote/meme: "Describing your writing as trash while you're still drafting is like looking at a bag of flour and an egg and saying 'My cake tastes like crap.'"
Love this! My way of thinking about the wonderfully endless drafts is in harmony with what George says. I've been studying archeology and evolution informally for a few years, reading books and watching YouTube lectures and documentaries. At some point, noting how carefully the workers remove a layer of sediment, sifting it, sorting it, examining the intriguing pieces, testing them, developing working hypotheses, etc., it came clear to me that each new layer is available for examination ONLY because the previous layer has been removed. And making sense of the under-layers was ONLY possible within the framework of what was thought before, even when the hypotheses are reworked. It came to me also that my revision process is the same. Early revisions (1 through 10 or 20?) give me a start with surface changes, maybe a few obvious reworks--the low-hanging fruit. Only then does my mind clear of these and get down successively to the under-layers. When I have removed many layers of sediment, I see the root artifacts in the text, the early developmental vectors that tell me what the story wants to be fundamentally. Much like the archeologists discover in the deep sediment what the human family was trying to be way back when. This process has also taught me that those people exploring our root stories and we writers exploring our root humanity are working hand in hand. My key learning is that you can't get to all revisions in single sweeps. They only open up to you in layers, or as George says, in waves. The obvious analogy is that the unconscious, the psycho-history of it for one piece of writing, is like the sediment of a dig.
I found myself replacing word "story" with the word "life" and feeling profoundly comforted. "A rough patch in a life is not an error or a defect... It's an indicator that our heroic, brilliant subconscious is working out a problem as it stumbles towards beauty, and is asking for our help, and what it needs for us to do, just now, is have faith." Your message of kindness to oneself, and the kindness with which you share with others, is invaluable. Much gratitude.
Hands up, who else is finding this the most enlightening writing course they're ever taken? Thanks so much George. I live light years away from any school or institution and this is like finding gold in the desert :)
Another lovely post. I absolutely believe in avoidance moments, in waiting for that inner voice to reveal what is needed. But I also believe in Completely Not Knowing Moments, which I think describes the many stories I have written over the years that turned out to be utter failures. And the reason they failed is because I did not know myself and I did not know what to write about. All I knew is that I wanted to write. And so my stories would go haywire or off track or lead nowhere. And that is because I had no idea what was way down there in my subconscious waiting, someday, to emerge. I needed to grow up. I needed to become the person I hadn't become yet. I suppose you could say I was having decades-long avoidance moments when I gave up on those stories. I hope this makes sense. Nowadays, I know that when I write something, I have been given the gift of a glance into the deep recesses of my own mind and that if i sit and wait with them, there's the chance something will come of it. (Please, God.) But again, I'm older. I've acquired that depth. Thankfully, I'm no longer (quite as much) the shallow person i once was.
The "avoidance moment" reminds me of what I hear songwriters do all the time -- when they have some melody but not all the lyrics. One of my songwriting pals calls it "vocalizing." They put in nonsense words that maybe have the sound or rhythm that feels right, but they aren't meant to be the final song. A placeholder to keep singing through until the subconscious provides beautiful resolution.
Wow, Story Club has made such an impact on my writing in such a short time. I can tell my writing is stronger, but even better than that, I am being more compassionate to myself. I know I'm not the only one!
Lol this post sounds like my life at the moment. My sister even had to move in with me after a bad car accident left me with a brain injury.
I love the description of a rough patch as "an indicator that our heroic, brilliant subconscious is working out a problem as it stumbles towards beauty, and is asking for our help, and what it needs for us to do, just now, is have faith. And wait."
I've just unearthed the following transcription, which was jotted down by a Sotheby's manuscript expert from what he recognised as a working draft of one of John Donne's best known 'Devotions':
"Perchance he for whom this kettle boils may be so ill, as that he knows not it boils for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to boil for me, and I know not that.
No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the kettle boils; it boils for thee."
Nothing more than a literary curio dating from the 17th Century, until the penny dropped with me as I read 'That's Not a Mistake'. Donne's references to kettle boiling were 'avoidance moments' which held their place in this famous piece of writing until the words he was really seeking came to mind.
Now here's a question to ponder, in passing: had the words he wanted not crossed John Donne's mind might Ernest Hemingway's novel of the Spanish Civil War in the 20th Century been entitled 'For Whom the Kettle Boils'?
Oh wow. So glad to have read this, at this very moment, only a few hours after having counted my unfinished stories. And they are fourteen. Yup, you read that right. And now I have this, instead of that little (quite large actually) voice saying discouraging things: “What’ve we got here? Let’s see what we can do. It’s going to be all right.” Needed that, thanks George 🙏🏼
I read and loved the brand new (posted yesterday) translation of Chekhov’s advice for the writer on the writing life, translated into English by Ivan of The Lifeboat Substack, and want to share it with Story Club friends here. Because it’s Chekhov, newly in English! How exciting is that?! Super exciting!
I must say that one advantage (okay, maybe the ONLY advantage) to studying with George this way instead of as a student in his MFA class, is that we get to profit from the amazing diversity of experiences of the participants. Archaeologists! Sculptors! Scientists! I have no doubt George’s traditional students are no slouches, but I love the decades of thoughtful experience many of you bring to this forum.
I am so grateful for this "Story Club." After reading your post yesterday, I resolved to just let the revision process unfold bit by bit and trust my unconscious to help "fix" my story problems. It actually happened. I am amazed because, as George alludes, the solution feels much smarter than me.
It always amazes me how harsh we are of our own work in progress. I sort of think of my stories like this scene in The Simpsons where Homer's going through his garage and finds a robot he started making. It looks at him and says father in a sad little voice before he shoves it out of the way. That's how I picture my unfinished stories, like sad little robots lying around the place. I expect them to shiny and cool, go get me some coffee, tell me a joke, cook some eggs before I've wired them up and given them legs or a head.
Bruised, unenlightened, despairing, embarrassed . . I'm glad to see these feelings dragged out into the light and named. I have felt all of them in workshop and yes, they are no fun, and more important, not helpful, not for me, anyway.
My workshop days are over.
But my trying-to-write-a-story days are not.
It's very hard to have faith in your talent under such circumstances. Even now, I'm tempted to put 'talent' in parentheses - my so-called "talent."
There is a serious erosion in faith that goes on, I believe. Having faith that your talent will work it out if you give it time - and keeping coming back to revise - is a pretty radical idea, actually. Or so it seems to me.
I think it is the erosion in faith that prevents me from the keep-coming-back-to-revise part. At some point I give up, feeling that the whole thing is somehow beyond me. Yes, I missed that essential frequency broadcast from Story Central. Guess I'm just not cut out for this. Etc..
I haven't quite made that connection before, I don't think.
Like I said, kind of radical.
I'm going to try treating my talent with a little more faith, kindness, and respect, and see what happens.
“Keep coming back to that place, with affection and hope, until it relents and pops into clarity.” This story club newsletter itself is such a jolt of “affection and hope” and always leaves me with a new sense of clarity, thank you!
This wonderful post echoes an excellent Paul Grealish quote/meme: "Describing your writing as trash while you're still drafting is like looking at a bag of flour and an egg and saying 'My cake tastes like crap.'"
Love this! My way of thinking about the wonderfully endless drafts is in harmony with what George says. I've been studying archeology and evolution informally for a few years, reading books and watching YouTube lectures and documentaries. At some point, noting how carefully the workers remove a layer of sediment, sifting it, sorting it, examining the intriguing pieces, testing them, developing working hypotheses, etc., it came clear to me that each new layer is available for examination ONLY because the previous layer has been removed. And making sense of the under-layers was ONLY possible within the framework of what was thought before, even when the hypotheses are reworked. It came to me also that my revision process is the same. Early revisions (1 through 10 or 20?) give me a start with surface changes, maybe a few obvious reworks--the low-hanging fruit. Only then does my mind clear of these and get down successively to the under-layers. When I have removed many layers of sediment, I see the root artifacts in the text, the early developmental vectors that tell me what the story wants to be fundamentally. Much like the archeologists discover in the deep sediment what the human family was trying to be way back when. This process has also taught me that those people exploring our root stories and we writers exploring our root humanity are working hand in hand. My key learning is that you can't get to all revisions in single sweeps. They only open up to you in layers, or as George says, in waves. The obvious analogy is that the unconscious, the psycho-history of it for one piece of writing, is like the sediment of a dig.
I found myself replacing word "story" with the word "life" and feeling profoundly comforted. "A rough patch in a life is not an error or a defect... It's an indicator that our heroic, brilliant subconscious is working out a problem as it stumbles towards beauty, and is asking for our help, and what it needs for us to do, just now, is have faith." Your message of kindness to oneself, and the kindness with which you share with others, is invaluable. Much gratitude.
Hands up, who else is finding this the most enlightening writing course they're ever taken? Thanks so much George. I live light years away from any school or institution and this is like finding gold in the desert :)
Another lovely post. I absolutely believe in avoidance moments, in waiting for that inner voice to reveal what is needed. But I also believe in Completely Not Knowing Moments, which I think describes the many stories I have written over the years that turned out to be utter failures. And the reason they failed is because I did not know myself and I did not know what to write about. All I knew is that I wanted to write. And so my stories would go haywire or off track or lead nowhere. And that is because I had no idea what was way down there in my subconscious waiting, someday, to emerge. I needed to grow up. I needed to become the person I hadn't become yet. I suppose you could say I was having decades-long avoidance moments when I gave up on those stories. I hope this makes sense. Nowadays, I know that when I write something, I have been given the gift of a glance into the deep recesses of my own mind and that if i sit and wait with them, there's the chance something will come of it. (Please, God.) But again, I'm older. I've acquired that depth. Thankfully, I'm no longer (quite as much) the shallow person i once was.
The "avoidance moment" reminds me of what I hear songwriters do all the time -- when they have some melody but not all the lyrics. One of my songwriting pals calls it "vocalizing." They put in nonsense words that maybe have the sound or rhythm that feels right, but they aren't meant to be the final song. A placeholder to keep singing through until the subconscious provides beautiful resolution.
Wow, Story Club has made such an impact on my writing in such a short time. I can tell my writing is stronger, but even better than that, I am being more compassionate to myself. I know I'm not the only one!
Lol this post sounds like my life at the moment. My sister even had to move in with me after a bad car accident left me with a brain injury.
I love the description of a rough patch as "an indicator that our heroic, brilliant subconscious is working out a problem as it stumbles towards beauty, and is asking for our help, and what it needs for us to do, just now, is have faith. And wait."
In the meantime I guess I'll just keep revising:)
I've just unearthed the following transcription, which was jotted down by a Sotheby's manuscript expert from what he recognised as a working draft of one of John Donne's best known 'Devotions':
"Perchance he for whom this kettle boils may be so ill, as that he knows not it boils for him; and perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to boil for me, and I know not that.
No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the kettle boils; it boils for thee."
Nothing more than a literary curio dating from the 17th Century, until the penny dropped with me as I read 'That's Not a Mistake'. Donne's references to kettle boiling were 'avoidance moments' which held their place in this famous piece of writing until the words he was really seeking came to mind.
Now here's a question to ponder, in passing: had the words he wanted not crossed John Donne's mind might Ernest Hemingway's novel of the Spanish Civil War in the 20th Century been entitled 'For Whom the Kettle Boils'?
Oh wow. So glad to have read this, at this very moment, only a few hours after having counted my unfinished stories. And they are fourteen. Yup, you read that right. And now I have this, instead of that little (quite large actually) voice saying discouraging things: “What’ve we got here? Let’s see what we can do. It’s going to be all right.” Needed that, thanks George 🙏🏼
I read and loved the brand new (posted yesterday) translation of Chekhov’s advice for the writer on the writing life, translated into English by Ivan of The Lifeboat Substack, and want to share it with Story Club friends here. Because it’s Chekhov, newly in English! How exciting is that?! Super exciting!
https://lifeboat.substack.com/p/rules-for-aspiring-authors
I must say that one advantage (okay, maybe the ONLY advantage) to studying with George this way instead of as a student in his MFA class, is that we get to profit from the amazing diversity of experiences of the participants. Archaeologists! Sculptors! Scientists! I have no doubt George’s traditional students are no slouches, but I love the decades of thoughtful experience many of you bring to this forum.
Kudos to this cadre!
I am so grateful for this "Story Club." After reading your post yesterday, I resolved to just let the revision process unfold bit by bit and trust my unconscious to help "fix" my story problems. It actually happened. I am amazed because, as George alludes, the solution feels much smarter than me.
It always amazes me how harsh we are of our own work in progress. I sort of think of my stories like this scene in The Simpsons where Homer's going through his garage and finds a robot he started making. It looks at him and says father in a sad little voice before he shoves it out of the way. That's how I picture my unfinished stories, like sad little robots lying around the place. I expect them to shiny and cool, go get me some coffee, tell me a joke, cook some eggs before I've wired them up and given them legs or a head.
Bruised, unenlightened, despairing, embarrassed . . I'm glad to see these feelings dragged out into the light and named. I have felt all of them in workshop and yes, they are no fun, and more important, not helpful, not for me, anyway.
My workshop days are over.
But my trying-to-write-a-story days are not.
It's very hard to have faith in your talent under such circumstances. Even now, I'm tempted to put 'talent' in parentheses - my so-called "talent."
There is a serious erosion in faith that goes on, I believe. Having faith that your talent will work it out if you give it time - and keeping coming back to revise - is a pretty radical idea, actually. Or so it seems to me.
I think it is the erosion in faith that prevents me from the keep-coming-back-to-revise part. At some point I give up, feeling that the whole thing is somehow beyond me. Yes, I missed that essential frequency broadcast from Story Central. Guess I'm just not cut out for this. Etc..
I haven't quite made that connection before, I don't think.
Like I said, kind of radical.
I'm going to try treating my talent with a little more faith, kindness, and respect, and see what happens.
Thanks!
“Keep coming back to that place, with affection and hope, until it relents and pops into clarity.” This story club newsletter itself is such a jolt of “affection and hope” and always leaves me with a new sense of clarity, thank you!