a repenting perfectionist

I stand with violin raised to my shoulder, dread and frustration pitted deep inside me. At every tremble of my bow, every bad shift, I cringe. By the time I finish the passage, I still have my shrieking tenths ringing in my ears.

I listen to the comments from the teacher and we drill the triplet section.  I run the passage again, and he tells me it’s better. But all I can think is, “You forgot the crescendo”. It still wasn’t good enough.

At the end of the lesson, he makes a sudden observation. “You need to not be so hard on yourself. I can see this negativity flitting over your face every time you mess up. Don’t focus on the mistakes.”

I know he’s right. On the inside, there’s a voice berating me every time I miss a note. Yet the observation surprises me.  I didn’t realize that my perfectionism was exhibiting itself so obviously.

As a musician, I’m trained to hear my mistakes. I can’t fix them if I can’t tell they’re there. But when my mistakes are all I can hear, I develop other problems. The beauty of the good parts is drowned out.

Let’s face it. I hate making mistakes. Not only in violin, but in life, and especially in writing. I hate the feeling of not being good enough.

But if my mistakes are all I can see, if I keep thinking, “you need to get better”, I become paralyzed. If I focus on my bad dialog, cruddy plot, and unemotional climax, I become so caught up in the bad that I cannot create good.

The truth is, I know I don’t have to be “good enough”. Because I have a Savior who died for me, I don’t have to be perfect. But it’s a truth I have to preach to myself daily.

Perfectionism is something I’ll not reach in this life. Sometimes I have to swallow my fears and just write.

It was Friday night. My family’s traditional movie-night. Remington Steele was on the tv. One of my favorite old shows from the 80’s. I was exhausted from an exhausting day—a violin lesson, cleaning the house, fixing dinner. All I wanted was to curl up on the couch and let imaginary characters entertain me.

But. I had written exactly zero words. And I needed—badly—to get those words in. As I dragged myself up to the computer, I wondered why I was so resistant to writing.

I’m a writer. A writer is supposed to love writing. More than talking with people. More than tv shows. Words are therapeutic to us. They make our days happy.

But I was thinking of my writing session as something I had to do, rather than something I got to do. And so the excitement was quelled by an urge to watch tv.

Don’t think of writing as a duty or a box to check on the to-do list. Don’t pressure yourself needlessly. Writing is a privilege. And if you aren’t trying to be perfect, it’s relaxing.

I made myself some tea and headed to the computer. Plugging some ear buds in, I created an Amanda-bubble. Cranking out 1000 words with a tv running downstairs wasn’t fun or easy. But I can’t tell you how satisfying it was.

the right words

What do you do when the right words just won’t come? When the thoughts won’t stop spinning around in your head and everything inside is disorganized and crazy.

I sit down and pound out sentences. Vainly trying to communicate. And the things I feel most deeply about are the ones I can’t verbalize or shape into words. I should be stroking colors into vivid sunrises. Instead, I feel like I’m splatter painting.

And I read a blog and find authors who articulate their points so clearly and I begin to fear that I’ll never get there.

And the only thing keeping me going is my passion. Because I love words and I love writing. My passion is to use them to help others, to portray light and hope and everyday, ordinary, amazing life.

But why won’t the thoughts and emotions stop swirling long enough for me to grasp onto  a solid topic? If there some secret I’m missing?

I know the secret is hard work and endurance. Guess I need to work on the endurance part.

On the days when the words won’t come and when they do, they’re jumbled and garbage, I have to push through. Keep working. Depending on a calling, a passion, a goal.

 

 

 

It is amazing how life rolls on. Every morning the alarm goes off and I drag myself out of bed. Even on days after the Election, we’re all still faced with a rising sun and another normal day of school and work and to-do lists.

In a way, every day life is very ordinary. At time it feels mundane. Boring.

But is it?

Sometimes it feels like that. Sometimes it feels like my life is a very poor pool of inspiration for great stories. After all, my life is pretty normal.

But inspiration doesn’t work like that.

Inspiration, creativity, wonder…they don’t depend on an “exciting” life. You don’t have to travel the world or go to an amazing college or have a spontaneous day in order to cultivate the skills of creativity.

Cultivate creativity with wonder.

In reality, there is no such thing as an “ordinary” life. When God gave breath to man, there was nothing ordinary about it. When He gave us each our personal assignment in life, there was nothing ordinary about His sovereign wisdom.

Normal is just a word. My “normal life” is really a story of miracles and amazing, unfathomable, knowable grace.

Believing that life is mundane and boring will kill inspiration and creativity.

Believing that life is an amazing, undeserved gift will open eyes to see reality in a different light. And that seeing will give life to a creative soul.

 

“I want to be a noticer, a studier, one who looks into all these questions of life and sees into the corners of every speck of dust and shaft of sunlight.  But in practice it isn’t so easy.  It takes practice to learn to see to the heart of life, to find all the miracles around us.  How much easier are the busy tasks that keep us wandering around our homes, snatching handfuls of snacks and wondering nothing more than where all the time went.”

confessions of a slow writer

Right now I feel like the slowest writer in the world. Recently, getting 500 words down has felt like an accomplished day. I don’t remember my last drafts going this slowly.

To finish Kyri’s draft before December, I need to write over a 1000 words a day. And that’s ignoring my weekly “rest” day. It’s a lot of words that need to be created. Now the panic starts to set in.

A lot of the writing world is doing NanoWrimo this month…writing 50,000 words in November. They have to write 1667 words every day to reach that goal. I have a lot of friends doing it and they’re all banging out the words. So I know it’s possible. It has to be possible.

I’m trying to use some techniques to speed up the draft, to help me just keep it on paper.

1. Outline – it will be an easier journey if you know where you and your characters are going. At least familiarize yourself with the story goal and the final climax.

2. Brainstorm a scene – this is obvious. But it helps me if I jot the scene and what happens down on an index card before I start. Sometimes I’ll take a walk, thinking about possibilities for this point in the story. When I come home, I’m usually rearing and ready to write.

3. Use a timer – I do this at the library, which is where I do my most productive writing. I set a timer for 20 minutes, put on music, and write fast and furious until the timer beeps.

4. Delete distractions – this is another reason the library is my favorite place to write. But I can strive to create this environment at home too. Even a web browser open is a distraction. It’s so easy to just click on “one thing.” So I try to listen to music in my iTunes library and keep my browsers completely shut.

5. Tea – this is pulling at straws. But for me, making a cup (or pot) of tea and heading to my writing desk sends “writing time” signals my brain. It gets me in a mood. Preps my subconscious. This strategy is different for everyone. But for me, there’s nothing like some good Tazo to get me writing.

6. Don’t edit. At all – I’d like to tell myself I don’t do this. But if I’m honest, I do like to make “pretty” first drafts. I don’t like to leave red squiggling lines and bad description covering my pages. But pretty first drafts take forever to create. So I’m trying to break myself of the habit of pondering non-cliche words to replace cliches.

a snapshot…

Life is rushing by so quickly. If only it would slow down so I could enjoy every moment.

I wanted a little snapshot of my writing life to remember this time by.

I’ve been feeling…a struggle between feelings of failure and the knowledge of grace. Incidentally, this is something Kyri is struggling with as well. It’s cool how I get to work out my struggles through the lives of my characters.

I’ve been reading…Wuthering Heights, To Kill a Mockingbird, and The Four Loves. I have lots and lots of reading to do.

I’ve been listening…to the October Baby Soundtrack and lots of Audiomachine for long writing sessions.

I’ve been learning…that performancism is a tendency hiding in my heart and it makes me depend too much on myself. That stress is the symptom of a heart problem and trust and gratitude are the answers. That moments when my life feels out of control point me to the One who is in control. That I don’t have to be on top of everything or accomplish all my writing goals. That I’m free to write imperfectly because I was freed by the Perfect One.

I’m excited about…the OYAN Winter Workshop. It’s 60 days away and I’m waiting for an email with my pre-workshop reading assignment. And frantically drafting a novel which needs to be ready. The nerves and the exhilaration mount daily. So much to do before January.

I’ve been playing…character conversations through my head continually. As I flesh out Kyri’s personality, her unique voice gets clearer…and louder. Still have a lot of character analysis to go for my minor characters.

I’ve been drinking…tea in warm mugs throughout long days of typing and tests and practice. Chai tea lattes, Tazo Refresh, Constant Comment, Sleepy time, Tazo Zen.

I’m thankful…for warm fingerless gloves and moons that shine through my bay windows. For deadlines and grace and typing words late at night. For stacks of books on my bedroom floor and the 13 I’m currently in the middle of.

I’m wishing…that time didn’t spin by so fast. I was with my sister when she early voted today and everyone kept trying to hand me forms, not realizing that I was underage. I guess I look eighteen. And that scares me. My senior year is rushing past. I want to savor it.

I started the school year the way I start everything. An idealist. All my dreams in a row, my goals scheduled out.

Some have stuck. Some are starting to slide.

I had a goal to write and post a short story every week. It was hard, fun, and challenging while it lasted. But my writing time has been sucked up by my novel. My poor little weekly short stories have been neglected.

There’s a part of me that feels like a failure for not staying on top of my goals. I’m trying to remember that I am learning. I’m growing, making progress. I don’t have to be perfect.

So today, I decided to post something I wrote a long time ago. I introduce my first ever story.

 

“Once upon a time, there was a little girl who loved hot air balloons. She wished she had one.”

“Are we there??”

 

“They went back to the hotel and went to bed.”

 

Like most of my first literary attempts, it was left unfinished. And horrible.

 

just keep trudging

Kyri’s status: 14,000 words down. Circa 35,000 to go. Deadline for finished first draft is end of November. Lots of character research left. Lots of long hours of writing and typing and outlining.

I have a very long road in front of me.

I don’t even have a name for this thing yet. I’ve already poured in so many hours, so many waking nights with my mind plagued by these characters.

I know I’m making progress. I can tell I’m writing a better story than I have before. New concepts and techniques are becoming clear to me.

But it doesn’t negate the long hours of work left. Gritty, messy work. The words don’t get out on paper unless I spend the time…every day. You can’t write a book by dreaming about it. You can’t attain a goal without the sweat.

This is no time to get bogged down or discouraged. I’m trying to keep my head up, keep my eyes on the goal. Drafting is exhausting work. But hopefully it’ll be done in about a month.

digging deeper

You can never know your characters or your story world too well.

In each of my previous books, I’ve had a main problem–not digging deeper into characters and story world and setting and plot. In each book, I’ve gotten a little better. I’ve spent longer figuring out what makes characters tick, what my world looks and feels and smells like. But I’ve never dug deep enough. Because it’s hard, exhausting work.

Last night, I sat at the computer far too late, researching the core personality type of Garen, one of my support charries. I typed notes in a word doc, detailing his strengths and weakness, quirks, and personal values. For the first time, even after drafting him for months, I began to know his character.

It’s exhilarating. That moment when you realize you’ve reached a new level. Looking back and recognizing that you’ve grown.

getting low

{This is a short little piece I wrote from my stargazing I did last week. Enjoy!}

I had only been asleep an hour and a half when my first alarm woke me at 2:45.  I woke with a start and was immediately awake. My second alarm sounded. I turned both off. It took me five minutes to remove myself from the warmth of my covers.  I pulled myself to the side of my bed. Finally I was standing, pulling on leggings, yoga pants, a long sleeve shirt and two jackets.

Complete silence ruled the house. My arms were full with blankets and a pillow. My footsteps sounded like they were amplified by a sub-woofer as I tip-toed down the stairs, even though I was wearing two pairs of socks. Thankfully a light was already on in the kitchen. I peeked at the thermometer in the window.

It was cold outside. Well, only 45 degrees. But for a southern girl, that temperature warrants gloves and hot chocolate. I soon procured both. I had set my hot chocolate ingredients out the night before. Cocoa powder, sugar, and spices mixed; milk and pumpkin measured in the refrigerator. It didn’t take long to heat and dump in a thermos.

It took two trips to get everything outside and dumped on the grass. Even with a sleeping pad I snagged from our camping stash and a picnic blanket spread over the cold ground, my pillow, and two fuzzy blankets, I was still cold. The hot chocolate helped.

I’d never seen a meteor shower before. It’s quite a sad fact when you realize that my dad is an Astronomy geek, we own a nice telescope, and we live on five acres of woods, perfect for stargazing.

I lay quite still, pressing my gloved hands together in my hoody pocket. I found Orion in the sky and what I thought (incorrectly) was Venus—one of the brightest stars in my view. I stared at the Pleiades, trying to fathom how far apart those tiny specks really were.

Then I saw the first streak. I caught my breath, almost missing it. It was so fast. At first I couldn’t tell if my eyes were playing tricks on me.

By the third streak, I knew what to look for.

Last week, a man space jumped from 24 miles above earth’s surface. He said in an interview, “Sometimes we have to get really high to see how small we are,”

Well, I don’t have the guts or the capability to space jump. So getting that high isn’t really an option. But here, freezing my butt off, lying on the ground in late October, I’ve found a viable alternative.

I couldn’t get high. So I got low. Above me, the stars shone and twinkled like glow-in-the-dark dots on a ceiling. I felt like I could reach up and touch them.

But I just lay there and thought about the size of each of those shining dots, about how many light years away they were. It was almost inconceivable.  A whole universe was above and before me. So huge, so glorious, so wonder-filled. And yet there I was, acting like this puny little earth and my puny little problems were all that mattered.

I had been out for an hour and a half. Getting really cold. But I was addicted. Every time I looked away from the sky, I felt like I was going to miss something. I kept my gaze fixed upward.