Inner World, On Writing

Which Draft Is This

We went to a show, my friend and I.  It was full of flashes of brilliance — beautiful gems that could be pulled out, polished and made into an even better show.  But it was a one-time-only experience.

It was unique, rare, and temporal.  It was deeply unsatisfying.

As we pondered these truths, imagining the new and gorgeous work of art that could happen if this section came out and that one expanded and it all had a more coherent frame structure —  we also pondered what it was that was so deeply unsatisfying.

“You know what it is?” my friend said, “They stopped at the first draft.”

And of course that was it.  We watched a first draft, knowing there was no possibility of a next draft, and still seeing the potential that a next draft could be.  Frustrating.

So, of course, I will quote that Anne Lamott line about “sh*tty first drafts.”  Here is whole quote:

“Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life, and it is the main obstacle between you and a shitty first draft.”

It’s a great line, and a great sentiment.  Just get the words out.  Just work.  What happens too often, what happened in that show we saw, is that people get out the first draft and stop there.  The effort of putting forth that much feels like enough.

As Anne Lamott, or any other writer, would tell you — it isn’t enough.  There are revisions and reworkings and next drafts to go, long before something is all the way done.  Some things are never all the way done.  Construction on Sagrada Familia, Gaudi’s adjective-defying cathedral in Barcelona, began in 1882.  It is projected to be completed in 2030.  Maybe.

On a more local scale, I’ve been contemplating my professional life, and how it has shifted and changed over the years I have been a massage therapist.  I’m on, I think, my third draft at the moment.  And several people I know are still on their first draft.

I’m becoming aware that it is part of my mission as a massage educator to get people (and maybe the profession?) to move through whatever draft they are in right now.  It’s so easy to get comfortable with a limited repertoire.  Are we doing things because they are intuitively and scientifically effective, or are we doing things because we always do them?

Every new draft grows under the skin of the old draft, and when it pushes through it is often familiar enough to be recognizable.  So why are we sitting with the old drafts, afraid to move through it into the next best version?

Let’s get to the next draft.  Let’s start by making space for each other’s mistakes, blind spots, and outright incompetence.  These things are temporary, and necessary if we are to move into something new.  Just work.

Hey — Speaking of work — Did you know I host a monthly webinar series called The Interdisciplinary Clan of Mystery?  It’s where my friends at Healwell and I interview someone who is doing excellent work in health care, and we try to learn how to break out of our silos and step up our service game.  If you’re a human who has ever interacted with health care, this might be for you.  Check out the episodes here.  (And while you’re there, take a minute to look at the wonderful goodness Healwell is putting out into the world.  These people are the best, the brightest, the funniest.)
Inner World, Oncology Massage

Into the Rabbit Hole

I have a writing task.  A big one.  I am choosing to take the advice of The Little Book of Talent and keep the biggest plans secret.  It’s not important to know exactly what the task is, just that it is.

 

I have been a writer since second grade.  Our teacher told us to write a Halloween story, and I went to town.  I had elaborate costumes, a haunted house, multiple plots coming together, and a hero facing certain ruin by ghosts.  I also had what I later learned was a deus ex machina — an ending dropped from the sky where the hero of the story got to survive and get away all in one piece.

 

Okay, it was a ghost extinguisher.  I gave my hero a ghost extinguisher.

 

So, maybe plot-wise, it wasn’t my best effort.  But for sheer love of the process of writing, it was enough to keep me hooked for years.  I can still feel what it was like to sit at the dining room table and write that story.  How I could hardly move my pencil fast enough.

 

As many things do, writing became both easier and harder as I grew up.  I learned about plot and foreshadowing.  About the nuances of character and exposition.  I also started writing essays, nonfiction.  I practiced translating facts into a readable story.  I found that this worked best for me if I had piles of facts and supporting facts that I could pick and choose from in the process of writing.

 

I felt most comfortable drawing from a deep well.

 

close up of rabbit on field
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Which brings me to today —  my writing task, based in fact and research and looming large over my life for the next several months.  I am breaking it into smaller pieces, and finding that each piece comes with its own rabbit hole attached.  These pieces sit before me like tiny cyclones, and if I’m not careful I could get sucked into the vortex of each one, disappear for a while, and come back with not even a pair of ruby slippers to show for it.

 

Today I am perched on the edge of a rabbit hole, trying not to dive in.  If it weren’t so fascinating, if every piece of information didn’t lead to twelve others, if I could just write one crappy sentence —

 

There it is.  The thing I keep banging up against is the first sentence.  More precisely, allowing the first sentence to be crappy and moving forward anyway.  Because, as I used to tell my writing students, revision is more than half of the writing process.

 

It may help me to look at this craft the same way I look at the craft of a massage.  Prepare.  Deeply and thoroughly prepare.  Then, when the person is in front of me, empty my mind and trust that the training is there.  Right where I left it.  Just make contact and go.

 

Just write that crappy first sentence and go.  Forward.