Why are we writers, again?

The following is an instant messaging conversation with my friend Patricia who died in 2012 long before her time.

I am having the @##$est time trying to get back to work on the novel. Everything looks just stupid. I've been trying unsuccessfully for two days.. ISH, as they say in Minnesota...xx PM

There are X's and O's to type. I kind of hate to tell you this, but I learned over the years not to read back until I had a complete draft. When you said you fixed a word here and there I was a little worried you had done that and might be talking yourself out of the worth of the project. To get back to it, all I ever found I could do was try to stifle the past (of the project) and start off in a new direction. Maybe just for a flight of fancy take off on a bit of a sub plot. and, there is always the shower

I actually have a full draft done. I'm into the revisions. I have about half revised. I put a personal deadline of Jan 1 to get it done, and I think it's doable, if I can ever make myself believe I should spend my time this way. I know a lot has to do with momentum, and I lost that by taking a month off. I tried to work while traveling but that did NOT work. I have to be home to concentrate. Writing sucks, you know? What a stupid way to spend your time...ugh..PM

Just think of the joy of one well-turned phrase. You can do this. Maybe a sip of wine, maybe not. One thing I have done in the past, too is look carefully at one character and see how I could flesh that person out.

Ah, that is an idea. I would take some wine to help jump start except I've got yoga in two hours. I did make a few tiny changes that smooth the text. I know from past experience if I can just keep butt applied to chair for long enough, I can get momentum going again. Right now inertia is going in the other direction!! xx PM

One of my favorite phrases: this inertia is getting me nowhere.

Now imagine my dilemma: do I keep responding because I enjoy our talks, which would be selfish as it also encourages you to procrastinate, or

do I say um well this: I have a New Yorker cartoon where I write at the cabin. In it a writer is slumped over his typewriter holding his forehead. He is on a porch probably in the Hamptons and his wife is standing over him. She says Picture this, the rush of publication, store windows filled with your work, a nationwide publicity tour which puts you on Leno sandwiched between Sandra Bullock and an ocelot from the LA zoo, all this while the paperback bidding and movie rights soar to insane unimaginable amounts.

NOW HIT THOSE KEYS

OMG You have that cartoon? I had it on my office door for years. HITTING THOSE KEYS

There is another one.

Same scene, but this time the wife is holding a sandwich

She says. Try this: A woman spends her summer waiting on her artist husband, sublimating her own life while she supports his creative drive until one day she cracks, turns into a sado-maso killer whore. Now eat your sandwich.

Okay, I never cut that one out, but I saw it. I once performed in a line dance singing "nympho lesbo killer whore! nympho lesbo killer WHORE!" at a women's conference. Okay, now even I know I am procrastinating....

haha what do you mean NOW? Am I going to have to haul out the Updike poem?

Yes you are!!

All right! heavy artillery

I always have a copy of this wherever I write

MARCHING THROUGH A NOVEL

By John Updike

Each morning my characters

greet me with misty faces

willing, though chilled, to muster

for another day's progress

through the albumen quicksand,

the marsh of blank paper.

With instant obedience

they change clothes and mannerisms,

drop a speech impediment,

develop a motive backwards

to suit the deed that's done.

They extend skeletal arms

for the handcuffs of contrivance,

slog through docilely

maneuvers of coincidence,

look toward me hopefully,

their general and quartermaster,

for a clearer face, a bigger heart.

I do what I can for them

but it is not enough.

Forward is my order,

though their bandages unravel

and some have no backbones

and some turn traitor

like a head with two faces

and some fall forgotten

in the trenchwork of loose threads,

poor puffs of cartoon flack.

Forward. Believe me, I love them

though I march them to finish them off. 

It is now in my arsenal. PM

THE VERY NEXT DAY

I got a teeeeeeny little bit of writing done today. One thing I do know, if you keep at it, you usually wind up getting something done. xx PM