Timewaster's Guide Archive
Local Authors => Writing Group => Topic started by: 42 on April 19, 2007, 09:15:20 PM
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WARNING: psychology discussion ahead.
So the other day I was talking about how writers/artists/musicians see themselves in relationship to their projects. We talked a lot about how projects can be an extension of that person. This then moved into discussing how authors might feel towards their work and how they might feel towards to criticism of their work.
So I thought I ask about people here about how they feel about their writing. Two areas in particular: attachment and separation.
Attachment, as I'm referring to it here, is when the writer becomes attached to his/her writing. Attachment is when the writing become part of the author. It also seems to be what keeps the writing wanting to write the story.
Separation is when the author detaches him/herself from the writing. Separation happening too early leaves the story unfinished as the author works on other projects. However, separation also has to happen successfully at some point so that the writer can edit, revise, and accept criticism. If the author doesn't separate from the finish product, then moving on to other projects can be difficult.
So with those concepts in mind, how do you attach yourself to a project or separate yourself from a project?
Or, if you would rather argue about the concepts of attachment and separation towards writing and if they apply at all, that would be fine.
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Attachment is when the writing become part of the author.
I think this statement is missing the point. The very act of writing conveys something of the author into the work. Therefore, I don't think that there is ever a point when the writing "becomes" part of the author; I think that is the essential nature of writing. I also think that is one reason why people who are inspired to write are so driven toward it. Writing is a way of conveying a part of oneself. People are social creatures; we weren't meant to keep everything inside our own minds. In many ways, writing can be a substitute for a good conversation.
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I disagree, Archon. I don't think that writing is necessarily a part of the writer, as in, wrapped in his identity. Anymore than any other work I do is a part of me. My identity is not wrapped up -- even partially -- in fixing a laptop at work. While I think I have invested ideas and time in a writing, I dont' think that means that it is a part of me at any point. There are things that are a part of me, or that I value so much that I would feel personally criticized if it were criticized. But I write a lot of throwaway fiction that I can work on or continue as the situation requires.
I don't think that attachmentis necesary to a work. Like carpentry or other crafts, it can be worked at by someone with the correct discipline if they are not attached.
However, if attachment has occurred, separation for the edits will be required in most cases. Though there are those people who are mature enough to recognize that like some surgery, an edit will be necessary for improvement and they can remain attached.
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I have to admit up front that this is a very interesting topic and one that is integral to artists/musicians/writers (but most specifically writers in my case, because that's what I'm attempting to be). It is actually one that (sort of) came up in a conversation I had with some friends the other night. I had asked them if they'd be open to reading a few of the short stories that I've written. They said sure, and one of them asked what kind of response I wanted back because he knew a lot of people that had the opinion "so, read this, but if you don't like it... don't tell me" attitude towards responses. I kind of chuckled and told him to be as brutally honest as possible. When it comes to things like this, I want to know what you really think. I'm not worried about negative comments... as long as they don't take the form of personal insults to my intelligence or heritage.
Anyhow, I have a hard time believing that ANYONE can put something like this together (painting/song/story) without the result being some part of them. And that if they can, then I think that they have, unfortunately, just learned to do so for some reason or another. It has become a job to them, instead of creative meandering, which it should be. I think that SE's comment about working on laptops falls directly into this category. Fixing a laptop at a place of employment isn't something that I'd place into the "creative meanderings" category. It's something that you do, and get paid for it. Something like that doesn't create a connection. The creative process though, I believe, does. For instance, if SE were to, say, build a laptop from the ground up, I think that that particular laptop would hold special significance, unlike the routine fixing of something that is not a part of him.
I really don't think (again this is all imho) that an author needs to make that separation when the edits come, and is actually important that he/she doesn't allow that to happen. The attachment needs to stay, and the maturity level (as so importantly expressed by SE) of the author is shown in how those edits happen. Just as in our personal lives, if someone gives us a suggestion on what we should or should not be doing, it shows a certain level of maturity to be able to take that information and use it, should we agree. We do this to become better people. I think that if detachment were to EVER occur in the creative process, we might as well throw away the whole piece entirely, because if we allow ourselves to become detached and not care what happens to our work of art/music/literature, it then becomes someone else's to mold and form to what they want to see. As creators, we need to understand that what we do is not perfect, and can always be made better through suggestion and revision, but still keep the attachment to the piece, which is so necessary to its survival.
The idea that I put forth earlier, that creators can sometimes become detached from their creations, I think happens sometimes in the writing field, when an author has to write so much (for one example, to keep to the strict publishing schedule as set by their contract with a publisher) that their writing becomes more and more a job, and therefore less and less a part of them. Their whole heart doesn't go into the project and we (the public) end up with books that, quite frankly, aren't that good. I think that this regularly happens because authors write while detached from the story. They just want to bang it out and let it fly instead of forming something that is more a part of them. That's frustrating for readers. Of course, there are always exceptions to the rule, but I think that in the wide view of things this is true in just about every discipline. The quality of work is diminished considerably if you are not attached to what you are doing. If you want a rocking chair that is going to last, are you going to go to a carpenter or are you going to take a trip to Walmart?
If an author cares for the story that he/she is developing, then it is incumbent upone them to make sure that that essential connection between creator and created is there. That is, if you want the story to do something other than moulder in your desk drawers, gathering dust and cobwebs. Granted, if you're going to just write some throwaway fiction, then don't worry about it. It's not going to go anywhere anyhow, and therefore doesn't need the connection.
The point is, if you're serious about telling stories, make sure that you're attached to what ends up on the paper, and realize that to make the story everything that it can be, changes will have to come. Just don't allow those changes to break the connection to what you've written. It is, after all, just an extension of who you are. Or at least, it should be.
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On the other side of the coin, though, the editor or commenter needs to know how to couch their feedback, good and bad. You don't just tell someone, "This is such a mess! There's nothing right with it!" which is what I've gotten from some friends who apparently don't know how to critique. You just don't do that. You have to know that even if they're not personally attached to the writing, you need to acknowledge that their personal effort is worth something, if that makes sense.
So I, as an editor, always make sure to acknowledge the good before pointing out places that need to be improved. It's a "sandwich" idea--start positive, end positive. That way, the writer--who has, as acknowledged above, put at least a little of themselves into it--doesn't come away so frustrated with the critiquer as to be unable to hear their critique.
Really, any kind of teaching moment should be that way, though. Would you want your math teacher to tell you, "This is a mess! You can't get anything right!" before telling you (perhaps even again) how to do the problem? A carpenter's work might not be master level yet--do you say, "This is a mess!" or do you say, "Wow, he's progressing nicely from his beginner status. Here's what I'd do next time..."
I don't think it's detachment vs. attachment that applies here, so much as how any interaction about someone's work probably ought to go. Consideration, kindness, and diplomacy.
And I expect enough detachment from their work from my writers that when I do give the kind of feedback I would expect from someone looking at my own work, they can see what I mean and be able to discuss it--whether or not they agree. I've had authors so attached to their own words that they couldn't see anything wrong with the first draft, and wouldn't listen to a word I said until they'd cooled down enough to detach. So at that level, yes, detachment is utterly necessary.
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when an author has to write so much (for one example, to keep to the strict publishing schedule as set by their contract with a publisher) that their writing becomes more and more a job, and therefore less and less a part of them.
That's a false dichotomy. Writing should be a job, if you're going to be a professional in this field. You have to know how to hit a schedule and write from your heart. I know there are writers out there who only publish one book a decade, but they either are so ridiculously wealthy from a bestseller that they don't have to, or they are not supporting themselves on their writing. Either way, if you want to be a writer for a living, you have to be willing to be a professional.
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actually, if I built the computer from the ground up I don't think that I'd have any more of an attachment then simply repairing one.
Like I said, I put together fiction pieces all the time that I don't fell are a part of me. I can bang out 3-5 paragraphs at a time that I don't feel is part of me. If someone rejects those pieces, I don't care. If they love them, then good for me, but I don't have anything invested in it.
When you say that writers (as a blanket category) inherently put something of themselves into everything they do creatively, you're transferring your own (perceived) action onto everyone else. Even if it *were* universally true of EVERY piece of creative writing you do, that does nothing to prove that it is the same for *every* writer out there.
I also reject the notion that this view of detachment necessarily results in bad books. I have a very hard time believing that Stephen King put any significant amount of himself into some of his books, yet those same books are mega-sellers. I don't like them, but that doesn't mean someone else does.
The same with some of Stan Lee's work. There are stories (most of them, I should think) that he has just pulled out of no where. Some of them turn out to be pretty neat.
I think you are confusing emotion with skill. There are some writings that emote very well, but are otherwise pretty horrible. Then there are writings that are written with incredible skill, but don't have any emotional power. The best are probably both. However, that doesn't mean that the other two are horrible. And I honestly believe that you can write with skill without investing yourself (other than the time to write it) into it. I think that much of Thoreau's work, for example, was written this way.
I think that if detachment were to EVER occur in the creative process, we might as well throw away the whole piece entirely, because if we allow ourselves to become detached and not care what happens to our work of art/music/literature, it then becomes someone else's to mold and form to what they want to see.
This is another confusion. You mix the reaction with the creation. I don't *have* to care what the reaction is. That *is* someone else's to mold and form -- and it may be something for them that it never could have been for me the creator. What's so wrong with that? What about that turns the creation into garbage?
Is the reaction of the reader completely in the control of the author? Can the reader have an emotional investment in a work that is much greater than the author? I think so. I can actually think of examples -- Eastman and Laird liked TMNT, but their enthusiasm was hardly indicative of the overwhelmingly positive response of the readership). If the reader can have a reaction disproportionate to the author's investment, why can't it follow that the author's personal investment in the work must exist at all?
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I guess I see separation from the work as being a sign of maturity.
One of the aspects of a person's self is the things he/she does. So writing a short story reflects part of the person's self. Writing a novel may represent a larger part of that person's self. Therefor, it really is impossible for a writer to not be attached in some way to the story he/she wrote. Some attach a lot, by putting their life experiences, deepest beliefs, and personal traits into their work. Others don't attach as much, simply writing a product he/she feels will be enjoyable.
Separation comes when the author can remove themselves from their work. Healthy separation comes when the author can accept that his/her self is no longer wrapped up in the writing project. Somehow the writer sees that it is time to move on or that his/her self have progressed past the project.
Anyways, I find the concept to be fascinating since it could explain things like how writers feel motivated to write, how they excel in their writing, how they accept criticism, how they learn to write better, or how they might become defensive of their work. Yes, this is compairing writing to parenting styles in many ways. Parenting styles, oddly, correlates with a lot of other activities, so it could make sense that it has some correlation to artistic endeavours.
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If you're going to use that definition of self being invested then yes, the self is. However, if the only part of the person going into the story is that he is the kind of person that will spend x amount of time putting the words down, I think we can say that the amount of self invested is negligible.
A story certainly does not need to directly, or indirectly, reflect the author's experiences, beliefs, traits, energy or anything else. Nor does it need to be something the author cares about. To me, that is essentially saying that there is nothing of the person's self in the story or reflected by it.
Your last paragraph I can agree with, however, with one minor change. I would say that it could *help* explain, or *partially* explain those behaviors.
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And thus it comes to my attention (as it has so many times before) that I defintely don't think in similar veins to most people and that when I try to explain something, I usually end up garbling it something fierce.
First specific replies:
Stacer:
I agree about the giving feedback bit entirely. I think that the level to which you can be "blatantly honest" needs to be controlled and that for some, no matter what you say they're not going to agree. Also, I guess that I'm seeing this whole attachment vs. detachment thing differently. Instead of "detachment with feedback" I figured that "attachment in maturity with feedback" is the best way to handle it. Also I agree that
Writing should be a job, if you're going to be a professional in this field. You have to know how to hit a schedule and write from your heart.
I should have refered to an overly ambitious contractual schedule. And it was just as a possibility. I'm sure that there are any number of other reasons that people decide to just write with a detached perspective. Something doesn't have to be written slowly to be part of the author, but I think that there comes a point when it becomes increasingly more difficult for a writer to become attached to something as the timeframe to finish gets shorter and shorter. There is definitely a balance here.
SE:
I guess that I came across wrong here too. In my comments (at least in my mind) I haven't included the reader at all. I was just talking about the creation. I agree that readers can take creative works to a whole new level of understanding that the writer never intended in the first place. That part of sharing is up to them. Entirely. Authors that purposefully try to manipulate emotions usually just tend to annoy me.
I guess on the whole that I feel that things that are created (written) by people can't help but contain pieces of the author because everything comes from their head. If someone else were to write the exact same story in different words, then the story would affect readers differently.
42:
I think that the crux of my argument is wrapped up in what you said. Maybe I should have just pulled your comment from the, at that time, future, and post it. I need better time travel skills. When I mention separation though, I'm thinking in absolutes. Some degree of separation, I think, is good and needs to be part of the creative process. Just don't chop it off and forget about it though. Some attachment needs to still be there.
Funny you should mention parenting. I think that this parallels very well, and can be compared to having to boot a child out of your house. Part of you is invested in that child, and you're not going to just cut them off and forget about them. But you know that having that child move out will help them to grow and make them better. It's for the best. Just don't become totally detached. Don't forget em. That's my point. (At least, I like to think that it is. Hope it came across better this time...)
Later.
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SE:
I guess that I came across wrong here too. In my comments (at least in my mind) I haven't included the reader at all. I was just talking about the creation. I agree that readers can take creative works to a whole new level of understanding that the writer never intended in the first place. That part of sharing is up to them. Entirely. Authors that purposefully try to manipulate emotions usually just tend to annoy me.
I guess on the whole that I feel that things that are created (written) by people can't help but contain pieces of the author because everything comes from their head. If someone else were to write the exact same story in different words, then the story would affect readers differently.
I only brought up readers because it demonstrates an non- correlated relationship: The quality of the writing is not proportional to the amount of "writer" put into it.
I agree with "If someone else were to write the exact same story in different words, then the story would affect readers differently." But if the SAME person were to write the exact same story (to the extent that is possible) in different words, then the story would have a different effect -- or, more exact, if another person happened to write the same story with the SAME words, it would affect in the same way (assuming similar social contexts for the writing -- arguably part of the writer but also arguably external). It doesn't necessarily WHO writes the story so much as HOW the story is told. Shakespeare plays aren't great because they were written by Shakespeare. They're great because of the words that were used to tell them and the skill with which the words were used.
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I don't have to try to separate myself from my novels. The separation happens naturally.
A novel is like a roommate who you really love, but hate to live with. In the beginning, things are fresh and new. You are having fun. Then, little by little, you start to hate things about it. Little things start to bug you. You wish you could just ditch them and live with someone else for a while. Yet you stick with it, because you have to. When your contract is up and it is time to move on, you are so freaking sick of living with them that you are GLAD to see them go. But you can't live alone, so it's on to the next roommate, and the next, and the next.
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Thanks Fish for that bit of insight.
Now I could be wrong, but it seems like it might be that when you start a project you are quickly and fiercely attached to it until its. That might explain the gradual separation process as the bulk of you energy gets used more towards the start and less towards the end. Does that sound right?
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I think so...I'm very attached to my ideas at the end, and resistant to change. After I've been writing and then workshopping for a while, I slowly get less attached, I think. And then I have to force myself to keep investing energy in it, until eventually I'm done. Revisions take a ton of energy for me, because by that point I want to be done, but it's energy I have to force, because I'm no longer caring about the idea.
Perhaps this is why I hate revision so much.
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I think, though, that this varies from author to author. I know authors who love the revision process because it gives them a chance to make the book even better. They wait impatiently for my feedback because they want to get back into that world and they've thought of all these things they want to attack when they get it back in their hands.
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I do think it would vary for each author. However, I wonder if there are general categories that the writers might fall into.
For example: one category could be like MsFish--invest a lot and become very attached at the start, then become slowly less attached over time.
Another category could be where the author pushes to get started, becoming attached very slowly then become reluctant to separate, wanting to revise over-and-over again.
I suspect there would be other categories too. I just haven't done a lit. review or gathered any further data beyond this thread.
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Well, the authors I speak of have at least a healthy detachment, or are able to detach enough to come back and look at their work with colder eyes, saying, "this needs more development," and "perhaps this scene should go," that sort of thing. I think, using your model, the idea of once-attached, once-detached is really too simple, because the authors I work with get enough time to detach, look at it with fresh eyes, attach long enough to want to work on the revision, but are also glad for it to be done--despite knowing it's not perfect, despite thinking of multiple ways to "fix" it later after it's out of their hands. There comes a point when it's done, no matter what tinkering they'd rather do.
Then there's Robin McKinley, who rewrites a perfectly good novel 20 years later.
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I'm the type who the first time I write something is good enough, if I didn't want to say something the way I did I wouldn't have said it that way. I useally don't even read what I've written since I'm satisfied it's good enough, this doesn't mean there aren't grammatical errors in what I do and I sometimes send things out to be edited, but I useally don't.
And yes, before anyone steps up to say something, I do get paid to write for another website ran by my employer and that money is in addition to what I get paid to work there.
So ya, outside of EUOL I think I'm the second highest paid author here...kind of scary if you ask me.
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So ya, outside of EUOL I think I'm the second highest paid author here...kind of scary if you ask me.
Perhaps, but you might not know about my magazine freelancing (writing and photography). Though as a regular job I imagine it does pay better than an occasional freelance gig.
The problem I see with submitting a first draft as "if I didn't mean it that way, I wouldn't have written it" is the fluidity of language, and how hard it is sometimes to express what's in your mind to another person coming from a completely different perspective. Even if I know exactly what I'm saying, it doesn't mean I've expressed it well on paper in a way that will communicate what I mean to another person, or for that matter to a large number of readers.
Speaking of that magazine, it brings up a good example: I know what I mean when I say "armature" because that's what the guy I interviewed called whatever it was he was pointing to. But then the engineering editor looks at the context and says, "that's not an armature, that's a whatever-it-really-is," or "that's not the way that motor really works." I need to be willing to return to look at that article--which I usually am far from attached to, due to being nearly uninterested in the subject matter--with enough attachment to care about getting the details right in a way that my readers will understand.
It probably depends on the writer's knowledge of the subject matter, but I would say it's just as true when I write about family history (a subject I've studied and researched for 15 years now) in different ways.
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A few years ago, I spent a glorious three-day weekend at the beginning of summer hiking around in the forest up north. My last day there, some faint noises and an unexpected flash of color from off the side of the trail led me to a tiny fledgling, newborn and nearly blind. It had apparently fallen from its nest, and was now dragging an injured wing.
A nature-lover since the school camping trips of my youth, I recognized the bird as a very rare -- indeed, endangered -- species. I had seen the species in books on occasion, but in person only a few times at a distance. As a fledgling it was unremarkable, brownish gray feathers with a few streaks of bright color that had attracted my notice. I knew though what it could grow into, and I was seized then with a desire that it should grow, that this injured fledgling, rare and precious yet alone and forgotten, should have the chance at becoming full-grown. I gently scooped up the fledgling in a nest of pine needles and returned to my car, holding it close against my chest.
My first step was directory assistance. Placing a few calls with my mobile phone, however, I learned that none of the nearby animal shelters or hospitals would take this fledgling. If it were an adult bird, fully-grown, maybe; if it were some other species, more popular, certainly; but an injured fledgling, however rare...I sensed they just didn't want the risk of it dying on their watch. Well, "if you want something done right..." and all that. I picked up a cage, some seeds and a water bottle on the way home, and welcomed the bird into my life.
Or at least, I tried to. It was tough going at first, for both of us. I did happen to know a specialist who was able to give me advice in stabilizing the injured wing with a gauze wrapping, but I worried constantly for the first week that I was causing the fledgling greater injury. It proved a worrisomely finicky yet voracious eater, too: it soon had me digging in the dirt of my backyard morning and night for all manner of long worms and odd comma-shaped grubs. In-between I had a job I loved that kept me busy, but a random word or comment could distract me with thoughts of the bird at any time. The odd hours I kept during the summer seemed to influence it, as it often remained silent all day only to jerk me upright with its calls for attention just as I was beginning to drift off to sleep late at night. Some few visitors to my house it welcomed with affection -- the quieter, more considerate sorts -- but most it treated with a cool disdain. I actually had to remind myself not to treat those friends with any disdain of my own, just because they didn't understand my obsession.
Because oh, as it grew under my care, it became a stunning sight. No longer a fledgling, it had burned through a progressively larger series of cages over the months as summer turned to fall. When its new growth of feathers came in, and the browns and grays were replaced by a brilliantly vibrant pattern of red, white, orange and blue, it was like a living flame. The gauze wrap was long since removed and while it might always favor one wing over the other ever so slightly, it seemed quite capable of flight when I let it out of its cage to exercise (invariably a messy proposition). It was enormously satisfying to see it grow, but it also became clear (I thought) that it had no further need for me.
It was then that I placed another call, this time to the forest warden. I explained that I had a bird to release back into the forest, and asked what that entailed. The warden had a number of suggestions, training to ensure my houseguest was able to survive on its own once in the wild: I realized my self-appointed task was not yet complete. That bittersweet work took the balance of the winter, knowing that our ways would soon be parting but understanding that I was doing my best to prepare it for the world outside my door.
And so it was that the following spring I returned to the forest. And so it was that I released the bird that I had spent so much of my time nurturing. It was my gift back to the forest that had given me such pleasure all my life; my gift back to fellow nature-lovers. Most people will never see it, many will not recognize it for what it is. But every now and then, I get a post card, or an e-mail, from someone who saw it during their own journey in the forest: "we recognized it because it favored one wing over the other" they say with a wink; "we saw it foraging for odd comma-shaped grubs"; or "we recognized it because we heard its call just as we were falling asleep in our camping bags." The best note I ever got, though, was from someone who said they saw it nesting. I had done my part to ensure that the species, so very rare, had a chance to live on.
MattD
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So ya, outside of EUOL I think I'm the second highest paid author here...kind of scary if you ask me.
I am, technically, still a writer in my position. And I am paid more than EUOL last time I checked, I believe. Though I'm sure that will change and my position in intensely less glamorous.
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Anyhow, I have a hard time believing that ANYONE can put something like this together (painting/song/story) without the result being some part of them.
(imho)
The more of we put into our artistic creations the better they are. I think this can be unconscious. You might not even be aware of how much of your writing is a reflection of yourself. And sometimes doing it in a rush is better than being slow and thoughtful. You can rush right past all those inhibitions and get the words on the page.
I hope that there are a lot of really cool things in my imagination. When I write I try to open a conduit that moves those images to a written form. The success of my writing, the opening of the conduit, depends on my skill as a writer not on what I have to say. I'd like to be a skilled but the 'me' that is on in the writing is the source, not my skill at putting it on paper.
My worst writing comes when I'm trying too hard to impress or trying to hard to be a great writer. When my writing fails it's because the conduit gets fouled up with a bunch of junk. But it's my lack of writing skill, not the source, that is flawed.
Looking at it this way makes it a little easier to handle criticism of my work. I try to think of it as criticism of my writing skill, not criticism of 'me.' In that way I do feel a bit detached from my work. But I still get frustrated at not being able to express myself the way I'd like to.
Also, at his writing workshop Tracy Hickman said that it helps to hold up your manuscript and say "This is my book." Then point to yourself, "This is me." Make the distinction and then it's easier to listen to feedback on the manuscript because it's not criticism of you. It seems like you want to be strongly attached while writing and editing but you need some distance when getting feedback.
McFish, do you ever do sequels? (ie. a "roommate" that you've had a break from and now you're ready to spend some more time in the same world with the same characters?)