Thoughts on Writing
#26: A Matter of Perspective
by Seanan McGuire
Everyone in the world has their own point of view, on just about
everything. I sleep in a room that's painted to look like the inside of
a big pumpkin, and my pillowcases glow in the dark; I find it soothing,
while other people complain that they'd be able to see the walls even
after they closed their eyes. Neither of us is wrong. We just have a
different perspective on things. Here's today's expanded topic:
People are going to act like writing is easy, because that's
all they know; they're not writers. People are going to say you're
being a snob when you say "I'm sorry, I have to work," because they
can't understand why you'd choose reworking chapter three over going to
the roller derby. Try not to take it personally. I'm sure they do shit
that seems crazy to you, too.
Things that make sense to us are baffling to others; things that make
sense to others are baffling to us. That's human nature. That's the way
we're basically programmed, as a species, to operate. I don't get you,
you don't get me, and neither of us quite gets that guy sitting over
there. The trouble arises when one of us has a trait or
tendency—like, say, the desire to work a second job in your
free time, for which it is unlikely you will ever receive above minimum
wage—that the majority just doesn't understand.
What's the answer? Well, unfortunately, if there were an easy answer,
I'd be making millions as an advice columnist, and I wouldn't have time
to write this essay. But there may be some coping strategies. Let's
begin.
Human Behavior For
Dummies.
Before you get insulted by this section title, please understand that
for this purpose, I'm calling the entire species a bunch of dummies. Or
maybe you can just get insulted about that, since it's a bit
pejorative. The trouble is, it's also true. We are all, each and every
one of us, dummies. Most of the time we can fake being reasonably
smart—maybe even really smart, if we're good at what we're
doing—but we each have a situation or circumstance which we
are totally unprepared to deal with. That's why we spend so much time
staring at each other and going "did you really mean
to stick your hand inside the alligator?" The
answer may be yes. The answer may be no. Either way, odds are good that
at the moment of hand-sticking, somebody was being stupid.
So here's some information on human behavior which may come in handy.
First off, people like things that are like them. We are drawn to the
herd on a basic, instinctive level. Maybe it's because we figure we're
safest from the lions when we're surrounded by people whose stripes
look like ours. The phrase "safety in numbers" came about for a reason,
and it's not because we're a species of loners. We like to have
company, and we like that company to be at least superficially like us.
But wait, you might say. I have lots of friends who aren't like me!
You'd be right...but you'd also be wrong, because I'd be willing to bet
that you can almost always find a point of commonality between yourself
and your friends. What's more, if that commonality were entirely
removed, the stability of the relationship would become dependent on
the commonalities you'd managed to form since you first met. Rae and I
became friends because we both liked the same show. That show is off
the air now, but we've remained friends because we used that initial
point of "same" to find more points of "same." Yes, we enjoy one
another's company, but if we took out all our standing similarities,
we'd drift apart pretty quickly. It would be sad. It would also be
human.
Even as humans like things that are the same, they are often made
uncomfortable by things that are different. It's like peer pressure,
only it can work in both directions—sometimes the person
who's pressuring you to change is doing it because they feel like your
very difference is putting pressure on them, like
they aren't allowed to stay the way they are unless you stop presenting
a challenge to their reality. It doesn't help that not everyone's
definitions match up. I, for example, think a house that is painted
entirely in shades of orange is very soothing and harmonious. Kate
thinks one brightly colored wall per room is more than sufficient, and
wouldn't want every room to have the same bright color. We're totally
fine with this difference in opinions...but we don't live together. If
we did, there would be a brief, bloody war over the interior design,
and the winner would be whoever brought the bigger guns. Our realities
can stay unchanged as long as they don't collide. If they ever do,
heaven help us.
People like to do things with other people. (Yes, I realize this is a
massive generalization, but work with me here.) Oh, there are things we
may want to do alone—I genuinely like to take multi-mile
walks when there's nobody else around, and I consider the invention of
the iPod and personal playlist to be proof that the robot revolution is
an acceptable risk—but on the whole we are, again, a social
species. Why does this matter? Because writing, even co-authoring, is
essentially a solitary activity. It's something you do alone, probably
with your door closed. There are very few things people regularly do
with the door closed that they would willingly discuss in mixed
company, so the very nature of writing can seem a little, well,
questionable at times.
We are all programmed in our own special ways, and those special ways
are a lot more similar than we'd usually like to think they are. It's
useful to keep that in mind, when you're getting ready to kill your
best friend for trying to make you go out shopping on the night you
have set aside for doing edits.
Anyone Can Whistle.
If you have graduated from any form of formalized schooling, you can
probably write. If you can read this, you can almost definitely write.
Ninety percent of the people in your social and family circles are
almost certainly literate to some degree. Almost all of them can
probably write, too, even if they can't really manage anything more
complicated than "hate you, hate Kansas, taking the dog, Dorothy."
Anyone can whistle, and anyone can write, and just like the rest of us
microwave addicts watching the Food Network and thinking "I could do
that," there's an assumption in a large percentage of the population
that anyone can write a novel. Or a short story, or a poem, or...
The thing is, it can be difficult to realize how wrong this assumption
is, no matter what side of the equation you're
standing on. I mean, I wrote a sonnet every day for the entire time I
was in high school. I can write sonnets in my sleep. I admit, I find it
genuinely difficult to understand why people, smart
people, consider sonnets to be complicated. They're just math and
rhyming, right? At the same time, my housemate has shown me how to
operate the DVR six times, and I still can't make the damn thing work.
We're all wired differently, and something that looks easy isn't
always, nor is something that's easy for you always going to be easy
for me.
People who try to write fiction when they aren't equipped for it often
look surprised by how difficult it is. A novel requires hundreds of
hours to compose, complete, and correct. Maybe even thousands. There
are people who work for twenty years to finish a single book. There are
people who finish three books a year. That goes back to the whole
"we're all wired differently" part of things...but it's also an
eye-opener for folks who think this is somehow easy. I admit, parts of
it are easier than others. Parts of it are even downright fun. But the
majority is hard labor, and the only way to get better is to do as
constantly as possible.
The Snob Factor.
Remember when we discussed the fact that many people regard writing as
being a "glamorous profession"? It's something you do because you want
to be Stephen King or Michael Crichton or another of those big authors
who make the cover of People Magazine. Never mind
that they're a tiny percentage of the overall population of authors,
they are, for better or for worse, our public face. Unfortunately, that
means that sometimes, when we say "I want to stay in and take care of
those revisions," our friends may hear "I am a big-time awesome author
who does awesome author things and you're just not good enough to spend
time with." Think I'm kidding? Sadly, I'm not. My friends have watched
me struggle long enough to hear the words I'm actually saying, but new
friends might not. People who've never hung out with a writer before
might not. Hell, people who've just had a lousy day and want someone to
see the damn Hannah Montana movie with might not
hear the words I'm actually saying, because they want my attention
already.
There are two ways of coping with this. One requires work on your part.
One requires work on the part of your friends. I recommend using both
ways, as this is the most likely to result in a positive outcome.
First, your assignment: make it clear to people that your social life
is, to some degree, curtailed by your writing. You can be as precise or
imprecise as you like. I usually say that I write "a lot," and that
sometimes, I have deadlines. You might set aside a specific block of
time, or be aiming for a certain number of hours per week. Make your
needs clear, easy to understand, and as up-front as possible. For extra
credit, do not, ever, use writing as an excuse to
get out of a commitment that you have made to a friend or family
member. Yes, last minute deadlines come up, but much like boy who cried
wolf, if you claim to have a deadline every time I want you to go to
the flea market with me, I'm eventually going to stop believing you.
That real deadline could wind up being the last straw, and that would
be a shame.
Now, the assignment for your friends. Guys, you're friends with a
writer. That's awesome. Please understand that for someone who says "I
am a writer," writing is a job. It may be a second job, or even a third
job, but it's still a job. Now, since your writer friends probably
don't drop by the office at two in the afternoon and poke you until you
agree to play hooky with them, you should really respect the "working
hours" of the writers you know. Make sure to take "I can't" as an
answer, and offer other suggestions if you really want to spend time
with them. And writers, just to intrude on this second assignment a
bit, you should be doing the same thing. If your friends ask you to
come out during writing time, propose another outing later. We're
social beasts. We need the contact, or we'll gradually run out of
things to write about. And that would be sad.
In Conclusion...
We're all weird, we're all crazy, and we're all going to need to take
care of business before we go to the roller derby. Okay? Okay.
Cool.
© 2010 Seanan McGuire
Seanan McGuire is an author, poet, and musician who lives in the San Francisco Bay area with two cats and a small army of plush dinosaurs. She has recorded two albums, Stars Fall Home and Red Roses and Dead Things, and has published four novels. In 2010, she was awarded the John W. Campbell Award for best new writer in the field of science fiction and fantasy.
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