I’ve been thinking lately about the mysterious marriage of craft and intuition.
Both for myself and for my students.
I think writing without intuition lacks heart, but writing without craft lacks an open door for the reader — no matter how magically intuitive the idea is. You need both, the way a firefighter needs a hose and a heat-proof suit. The problem is, the one that can be taught and practiced doesn’t seem to compel the budding writer as much as the other.
Most folks would love to be visited by the muse — dressed in diaphanous gowns — and left with a story that just unwound itself on the page. Who wouldn’t?
I have to say that the books I’ve sold have all been born of very gut-level, semiconscious tugs that took hold of me like freight trains in a melodrama.
But.
It was the next many weeks — spent taking words out, putting them back, cutting here, tightening there, reading aloud, reading aloud, reading aloud — that really took those tugs and turned them into books.
And I wore leggings and old t-shirts. Not diaphanous gowns.
Still, I have a hunch that it’s the exhilarating taste of those tugs — like some sort of sublime confection — that keeps us nose to the grindstone, craft-wise. It’s not really that commas are that much fun (although somedays I cannot stop with the tweaking) but that we think we may be on the verge of true passion, any day, at any moment. That can sustain a person for a good long while.
I know, because I’ve been in deadline and revision mode lately and it’s been kind of like cleaning the bathtub.
Hard, repetitive work.
The occasional glint of futility.
Unappreciated.
But I kind of liked it anyway.
Because maybe I’m on the verge.
Right?
Meanwhile, I have students — some of whom say they’ve been waiting forever. (It really feels that way sometimes…)
Or that they’ve been visited for years, but as soon as they were asked to write for a class, on deadline, it all dried up.
Or that their ideas can’t find their way to paper.
Tomorrow night is our last class and I want them to leave feeling inspired.
With the energy to carry on.
I want just a little bit of sweet confection to offer them….
Leave a little of that candy here, too, won’t you?
I’m with you on this. The two pieces I’m most happy with came fast and intuitively. And while they needed revision, they wasn’t hard revision because the guts were there.
I finished another piece more recently that needed much more in the way of conscious revision. It was hard. But completing that has given me some confidence that I can do it again. That’s the best bit of sugar, I think.
You are sooooo right. Nothin’ like a little confidence, and a little momentum.
BTW, I just re-read Crooked to my girls and cried AGAIN. Sheesh, you really know how to do a girl in…
Thank you, Liz. That means a lot coming from you.
No diaphanous gowns? Really?
Well, ‘least not usually…
I love those moments when time gets away from me, and I look up and I’ve been working for hours. Either inspiration OR craft can do that for me.
And I’m sure your students will leave with brighter burning sparks than when they started your class—because of posts like these, and discussions like these, and because of you, their teacher, Ms. Oxygen herself. 🙂
I hope you’re right, Ms. Wide Open Window…
Diaphanous gowns are over-rated.
🙂
Jules, 7-Imp
Right?
The muse might wear jeans…
Ack – I read this on my phone and forgot to come back and respond. This post really touched me. We do need that tug of the heart to make us race to the computer each time we have a spare moment. I think you nailed it – it doesn’t take much – just a glimmer that clues me in that I am on the verge – and then I am willing to do all the grune work I need to do.
But first there is the tug.