I Am Trying to Break Your Heart: Thoughts on making art

Point Wilson Light, Fort Townsend, WA (Diana+, Kodak 400VC-3)

This week I watched "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart," the documentary about the band Wilco. The film got me thinking about art and art-making. I decided to collect them here. I hope you'll share your thoughts in the comments if anything sparks your interest.

1. The film was shot in grainy black and white, which had the effect of focusing your attention and eliminating distractions. It also gave the movie a certain nitty-gritty feel that fit the subject matter. I'm wondering: What would it mean to write in nitty-gritty black-and-white?

2. As the band's manager points out, there are two types of potential: artistic and commercial.

3. I want to make collaborative art. What would a band of writers look like?

4. I wonder what it's like to perform songs over and over again, playing with them, tweaking them as you go, responding to the mood of the audience and the mood of the muse each time? Is there any equivalent in writing? Maybe during the editing phase, or if you give live readings of your work. But I can't find a one-to-one correlative here. Maybe the closest thing can be found in live storytelling (which is different than giving a reading). (note to self: will you please finally listen to that burning desire to tell stories on stage? find a venue, already. or create your own if you have to, dammit!)

5. David Fricke, the senior editor of Rolling Stone, said the following while describing Wilco's album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. I like what he says about having to "sit with it." I think we need to sit with more things., both in the making and in the receiving of art. "There's pretty stuff in there. There's hard stuff in there. There's mystery in there. There's really sweet tunes in there! And there's an abrasion in there, as well. But it's all there, and you really have to kind of sit with it. You have to allow yourself the time to get something out of it. ... We expect everything to happen like that. ... People are just so impatient. And as a result, we're looking at things in ways like, 'Well, how much time do I have to devote to this?' And it's really sad, because music, art, literature, poetry, even great technological inventions -- they're not meant to be done and done with that quickly."

6."It's hard to be working with somebody that needs more than you can give them. I'm more interested in playing music with people I can share with than give things to." ~Jeff Tweedy, lead singer of Wilco, speaking about a band member who was asked to leave

7. Making collaborative art sounds beautiful when it's all flowing and grooving. It sounds grueling and heartbreaking when the group dynamics sour. Like life, then.

8. I posted this next quote in my last post (about editing as a creative act), but I love it enough to post it again. There's something so freeing and alluring -- and frightening! -- about creating something and then pulling it apart to make it more interesting. "We generally go for a pretty straight definitive version of what the song sounds like it should be, and then, deconstruct it a little bit to see if there's some more exciting way to approach it. There's no reason -- at all -- not to destroy it. We made it, so it's ours to destroy. And that's liberating and exciting in a really creative way." ~Jeff Tweedy

Editing is a Creative Act (In The Word Cellar)

Diana+ (Kodak 400-VC3)

"We generally go for a pretty straight definitive version of what the song sounds like it should be, and then, deconstruct it a little bit to see if there's some more exciting way to approach it. There's no reason -- at all -- not to destroy it. We made it, so it's ours to destroy. And that's liberating and exciting in a really creative way." ~Jeff Tweedy, singer/songwriter (in "I am trying to break your heart," a documentary film about the band Wilco)

The writer's worst nightmare: The blank page.

The writer's other worst nightmare: The editing process.

Both have a reputation for intimidating writers and making us long to get up and do some laundry. Personally, I think the blank page is way scarier than editing. The beginning of a project -- those moments (or years) before a word is written -- can paralyze me with possibility. I'm working on changing that, trying to see the blank canvas as an invitation rather than a terrifying wasteland.

Maybe you think revision is worse. Maybe you consider it a dark monolith squatting between you and the joy of a finished piece of writing. I say it's not so! I like revising. All those written words to cover the blank page! All those sentences and punctuation marks to ward off bright white panic! Revising is often one of my favorite parts of the writing process.

Look at the word revision: Re-vision. That's not so scary. In fact, it's rather nice. I think of it as rewriting. No matter what you call it, editing is a creative act.

Yes, there are two different mojos that go into the writing process -- the creative and the critical -- but I think both can be creative acts. On one hand, you have the purely creative mojo, during which you should quiet your inner critic and analyst and let the words fly. On the other hand, there is a time for your editorial, critical eye to rove over your work. But I don't mean critical in a mean-spirited way. I mean critical in a creative way; use your thinking skills to make the work rock.

The only thing your critic and analyst should be doing is helping your creative mojo to better serve the work. If they start ranting or whispering about the value of the work -- about how good or bad it is -- rejigger their wiring until they understand that they're part of the creative process, not part of a panel of judges. This will quiet their cynicism and bitterness, and engage them in the process of making art, which is probably what they've secretly wanted.

Reshaping a work after the first pass of creation is part of the creative process. You move paragraphs around, change words, delete sentences and then sometimes put them back in. You play with the words as though you're shaping wet clay into something beautiful. Until the very end stage of proofreading, all editing is simply rewriting, or, writing again.

Don't be afraid to dig into your writing. Get your soft writer's hands dirty. Plunge them down into the loam of your words, all the way up to your wrists or elbows, however far you need to go. Stop fearing the rewriting process. It's all writing. Dig and move and sing in the pages of your creation. Own the editing process. Be brave enough to change things. You created it. Allow yourself to deconstruct it and put it together again in a new, more interesting way.

A word on a practical issue: Keep copies of vastly different revisions, in case you want to pull something from one version into another.

One word of caution: You could rewrite forever. Don't. Allow yourself to finish things and enjoy them.

I've completely revamped essays four or five times before I began to find their true shape and the story they were trying to tell. I loved the process of rewriting them, of unearthing something new and true, of discovering the art as I was making it.

I know some of you are still having a hard time believing me, but I invite you to try re-envisioning what the editing process can look like. During your next editing session, tell yourself that you're just writing again.

And let me know how it goes.

**Post your writing questions in the comments or send them to jennifer{at}thewordcellar{dot}com.

In The Word Cellar runs on the second and fourth Wednesday of the month. Read other posts in the series here.

Ways to Enliven Your Writing (In The Word Cellar)

Carousel beneath Space Needle, Seattle (Diana+; Kodak GC400)

This week's nitty gritty writing tips are short and sweet, or maybe they're quick and dirty. (You decide which cliché you like better.)

How can you make your writing more lively? If you're bogged down in a section of writing that drags its feet and bores you, try a few of these tips to perk it up. In fact, they're good techniques to use all the time.

1. Avoid clichés. Wait, that tip itself is rather cliché, isn't it? Sometimes a cliché can be funny or drive home a point as a sort of cultural shorthand. But if you use one, be aware of it. Use it because it's the best way to say something, not because it's the easiest and quickest way to say it.
2. Use active voice. In active voice, the subject of the sentence does the action. In passive voice, the action of the sentence happens to the object. This is passive voice: The omelette was dropped on the floor by the chef. This is active voice: The chef dropped the omelette on the floor. Passive: The baseball was thrown by me. Active: I threw the baseball.
3. Use good verbs, not adverbs. Strong writing uses strong verbs, not weak verbs modified by adverbs. Don't run quickly out the door; sprint or dash out the door. Don't cry profusely; weep or wail. Don't call out angrily; shout or yell or scold. Some writers swear against adverbs at all costs. I'm not that strict, but I believe in the power of lively verbs to strengthen writing.
4. Use fewer "to be" verbs. To be verbs include the following: be, am is, are, was, and were. Sometimes you need to use a to be verb. But often you can find a much more interesting way to write the sentence.
5. Avoid word bloat. You probably need fewer words than you think you do. Remove unnecessary phrases or replace them with shorter, more direct phrases. Less is more. (Hey look, another cliché!)

Do you have any favorite tips for enlivening your writing? Any questions on how to handle specific sluggish sections? Share in the comments or email me: jennifer{at}thewordcellar{dot}com.

In The Word Cellar runs on the second and fourth Wednesday of the month. Read other posts in the series here.

Writing Masquerade: Finding Your Voice (In The Word Cellar)

my shadow (with crazy pigtail buns in my hair)

(Scroll down to the end of this post for a finding-your-voice prompt called Writing Masquerade.)

I have to be honest with you: I've started to dread writing these "In The Word Cellar" columns. This is only the sixth post in the series, and already I feel overwhelmed and worn out. Today I finally figured out why. I'd lost my voice. So today, I'm going to write about voice. (Ever hear the adage that we teach what we need to learn?)

Sometimes, when I really-really care about something, I freeze up. I get twitchy and over-analytical. I worry myself into a state of paralysis. Or worse, I start acting like someone who isn't really me. That's what happened with these posts about writing, because I really-really care about them. I'd seized up with too much caring.

I wanted you to trust me as a writer and a guide on this writing journey. But I was worried that you wouldn't. My go-to move when I feel frightened or insecure is to use logic. So I allowed my analytical left-brain to take over. And that darling leftie told me that I should sound smart for you. And then you'd trust me, right? Ugh. Is there anything worse than someone trying to sound smart? Oh, wait, there is: Someone trying to sound smart while simultaneously pretending they're NOT trying to sound smart. Ugh-ugh.

I love language. I thrill at the thought of telling a good story, of connecting with people through words, of creating something beautiful. Writing is my art and my passion. I wanted to share it with you so much that I lost my voice while trying to do it.

So enough. I'm not going to try to sound smart anymore. I'm going to share what I've learned about writing from my mentors and through practice. I invite you to share, too. You are an important part of this equation. This community can learn from its members. So share what you've got: questions, answers, observations. All of those things help us learn and grow as writers.

This is what I know about voice: We write best when we write in a voice that's true to ourselves.

But how do you find your writing voice? How do you develop a style?

You write. And write. And write. You practice the art and craft of spinning stories, of stringing together words to create meaning. You can also read writers that you love -- not so you can copy them, but so you can see what styles and topics interest you, what makes your heart sing. Follow the energy of what enlivens you. Be inspired to write with that energy.

Over time, your voice will emerge. It will be like that saying about pornography: You'll know it when you see it. You'll probably also find that you have more than one possible writing style. I have one basic voice here on my blog, but I have a different voice when I'm writing lyric essays. We're multifaceted people; it makes sense that we'd have different writing moves. Style, like language itself, is a living, changing entity that can evolve and morph over time.

Writing Masquerade
Here's a prompt to help you try on and tap into a few voices. Pretend the blank page or computer screen is a masquerade ball and you get to dress up your writing any way you like. You can play around with your words and your style, see what fits and what excites you.

(It might seem counterintuitive to talk about masks and pretending when the goal is to find our true voice. But trying something new or out of character can give us access to parts of our voice that we didn't realize we had.)

1. Pick a topic or event to write about. It can be anything. (A few suggestions: your favorite part of the day; an encounter with a stranger; a childhood memory; your high school prom or graduation; the moment you realized that you were a grown-up.)
2. For this experiment, you can write as much or as little as you like, but a few paragraphs is probably a good starting point.
3. Now write about your topic in whatever style comes to mind at first. Don't think about this. Just write.
4. Next, try on a few different writing voices. Write about the same topic again, but put on a different mask:

• Be a Jester: Could you be funny in the piece? Play and have fun. Even sad topics can sometimes handle humor.
• Be a Poet: What if you tried writing about your topic lyrically, with beautiful sensory details, imagery, and metaphors? Take a flight of fancy and see what gorgeous ideas you can string together. 
• Be a Vixen: What's the dark, shadowy side that you're not telling us? Pull on this mask and let your inner bad-girl come out and play on the page. Let her be as sexy, as mysterious, or as mean as she wants to be. (Remember, no one else has to see it.)
• Be a Queen: Own it, sister. Write like you mean it, every blessed word of it. Be strong. Write with authority. Write what you'd write if you ruled the land and could say whatever you wanted without consequence.

I hope you'll share your thoughts on voice and style and maybe a few of your masquerade experiments in the comments. And if you post something on your blog, please link to it!

**Post your writing questions in the comments or send them to jennifer{at}thewordcellar{dot}com.

In The Word Cellar runs on the second and fourth Wednesday of the month. Check out other posts in the series here.

Don't Stress About Verb Tenses (In The Word Cellar)

image by Banalities

So far, most of these "In The Word Cellar" columns have looked at theories and ideas behind writing. I love that stuff, but it's time to get down and dirty, to dig into the rich soil of language. I'm talking about the nitty gritty tips that help you find the sweet spot where technique supports, expands, and deepens inspiration.

And nothing is nittier or grittier than verbs. Verbs create the action in your stories. Verbs are action. Good verbs tickle and caress your nouns. They make your writing sing and sizzle; they impact your story's mood and movement.

There's so much to talk about, but today we'll look at verb tenses.

Past or Present: What's better?
You already use verb tenses without thinking much about them. Past, present, and future -- all very simple. In fact, these are called the "simple tenses." Many stories (fiction and nonfiction) are told in the simple past tense. This is an easy, straightforward way to craft a story.

Alternately, you can write a story in simple present tense. This technique infuses your writing with energy and gives it a sense of immediacy. It helps to pull your readers into the scene so they feel like they're part of the action. On the other hand, present tense can be a bit tricky to maintain in a long piece of writing because it can begin to feel contrived. But it's a great option for some blog posts and essays. I think present tense works well for humorous stories, but it can also work well in stories with poignant emotion.

TIP: If a piece of writing feels flat or just doesn't seem to be "working," try rewriting a small portion of it in another tense. Then see if it flows better in the new tense.

(You'll usually stick with past or present tense for this. Writing a whole story in future tense creates a much different feel and isn't usually the best choice. But it could be a fun experiment, so give it a try and see what happens. You might like it for certain pieces.)

EXAMPLE (past tense): I woke up and looked over at Marie's beach towel. She wasn't there, but her romance novel and bikini top were. I scanned the beach for her. When my eyes reached the water line, I saw Marie running in the surf and laughing, like a bare-chested Baywatch beauty. I thought to myself, "It's going to be a long week."

There's nothing wrong with this little scene in past tense. But for fun, let's see how it feels in present tense.

EXAMPLE (present tense): I wake up and look over at Marie's beach towel. She isn't there, but her romance novel and bikini top are. I scan the beach for her. When my eyes reach the water line, I see Marie running in the surf and laughing, like a bare-chested Baywatch beauty. I think to myself, "It's going to be a long week."

In this example, both tenses work. The present tense version feels more immediate, but the past tense version works just as well. In a case like this, you'd choose your tense based on the rest of the story and the effect you want to create.

Whatever tense you choose, be consistent. Using verb tenses consistently helps to create clarity. In other words, don't start a story in one tense and then randomly shift into another unless the action of the story warrants it. 

When would a shift in tenses be warranted? This is where the perfect tenses can come into play.

Past Perfect: Deeper into the past
First of all, what are these so-called perfect tenses? For a thorough overview, check out this handy explanation from Purdue's Online Writing Lab (OWL). If you just want the fast and dirty version, here are examples of the perfect tenses.

Past Perfect: I had skinny dipped.
Present Perfect: I have skinny dipped.
Future Perfect: I will have skinny dipped.

Since past perfect is the one that trips up a lot of writers, let's look at it. Here's how OWL explains it: "The past perfect tense designates action in the past just as simple past does, but the action of the past perfect is action completed in the past before another action." Before your eyes glaze over, read this tip.

TIP: What if you're writing a story in the simple past tense and want to refer to something that happened before the scene of the story? You need to go deeper into the past. This is when you use the past perfect tense. Think of the simple past tense as the "now" of the story. You use past perfect to indicate action that happened before the scene at hand.

Here's an example: I woke up and looked over at Marie's beach towel. She wasn't there, but her romance novel and bikini top were. Marie had said she wanted to try a topless beach, but I'd thought she'd meant next week in France, not here in New Jersey!

The first two sentences are in simple past tense. They set the simple past tense as the "now" of the story. The last sentence uses past perfect tense. Marie made the comment about trying a topless beach before this scene in the story. Using the past perfect tense ("Marie had said") makes this clear to the reader. 

If I had written that last sentence in simple past ("Marie said she wanted to try a topless beach...."), it would seem like Marie was saying it in this scene. But Marie is running around half-naked down by the water and not saying anything in this scene.

I know this might seem nitpicky. But remember: The nitty gritty details create the texture of your writing. Readers may be able to handle a few verb tense slip-ups, but too much inconsistency will give them verbal whiplash. Using consistent and appropriate verb tenses creates clarity and smoothness in your writing. When the sequence of events is clear, your readers won't have to think about verb tense at all; they'll just enjoy the ride.

TIP: Verbs -- and their tenses -- work best when they are clear, concise, and consistent.

Summary
1. Be clear, concise, and consistent with your verb tenses.
2. Past tense is easy to use and works for a lot of different stories.
3. Writing in present tense can add urgency, immediacy, and intimacy to your story.
4. Try rewriting a piece in a different tense to see if that improves its flow and feel.
5. Past perfect tense takes you deeper into the past. It indicates action that happened before the "now" of a story that is already being told in simple past tense. 

Question: Is all of this old hat to you? Or did you learn something new today? I want to tailor these columns to you, so tell me what you need!

**Have a writing question? Send it to jennifer{at}thewordcellar{dot}com.**

In The Word Cellar columns run on the second and fourth Wednesday of the month. Check out other articles in the series here.