One of the best pieces of advice I have ever been given on
writing came towards the end of a creative consultant’s 18-page assessment of
my novel in progress Unspeakable Things.
It was under the heading ‘Suggestions for the Revision Process’, and it read:
“Distinguish between
the loud, bullying voice that sneers, ‘You’ve got no talent! You’re making a
fool of yourself!’ (this is the voice all artists must strangle into silence)
and the quiet, persistent voice that says, ‘Chapter 10 still isn’t right, you
know,’ which is the one you must always listen to.”
I had never read such a profound, knowing description of the
split personality of the writer. We all hear that bullying voice, and it make us
cringe, plunge into despair, freeze into inaction or even give up altogether. At
the same time, when we have spent a lot of time and effort on a piece of
writing, a strange arrogance can take us over and make us wilfully ignore the
quieter, doubting voice that niggles away, telling us we need to make changes.
This advice came to mind this
week, when I was on holiday with the extended family in Wales. I had taken the
previous week off work to finish the revision of my novel so that I could
prepare it for entrance to Mslexia’s Women’s Novel Competition – Mslexia Women's Novel Competition 2013
– deadline September 23rd. Having a look through the entrance criteria, I found
that the novels are initially judged by the first 5,000 words only. Meaning
that the first 5,000 words need to be the most compelling, striking,
impressive, publishable words in the whole novel. Having finished a revision
that, after over a year’s work, I was pleased with, I was suddenly plunged into
doubt. The bullying voice was as loud as ever. I had no talent. I was making a
fool of myself. My first 5,000 words were no good. Yet even as I agonised, the
other voice muttered that I just needed to do another, stringent revision on my
first 5,000 words to get them up to scratch. But no, I argued. Those 5,000
words were inextricably linked to the rest of the novel. To try to change them
after all that work would only undermine the whole thing. I should leave them
alone and then if my novel didn’t get shortlisted, I could feel aggrieved at
the unfairness of being judged by your first 5,000 words when all your really
good writing is near the end.
I didn’t write at all on holiday, and to be
fair, I probably needed to get a bit of distance between myself and the
mood-swinging, doubt-filled writing process. Then during a walk on a Welsh cliff,
my 19-year-old son, who had recently read my first chapter, remarked that he
couldn’t stop thinking about the characters and wondered what was going to
happen to them. I was filled with sudden hope. One of the reasons I have stuck
with this project for so long (I started the screenplay it grew out of when I
was pregnant with the very same son!) is because I feel so compelled by the
characters. Dare I hope that this actually came over in the writing? Would the
competition judges feel similarly haunted by my creations? I pictured one of
them getting up in the middle of the night and stumbling downstairs in her
dressing gown, to take my first 5,000 words off the ‘rejected’ pile and give
them another go.
My son and I began to chat about the first
chapter. He gave me his view on which bits worked, and I admitted to parts I
wasn’t sure about. We concluded that it wasn’t clear enough at the outset that
Sarah is the heroine. Two of the other characters have quickie sex in a hotel
room at a wedding during the first chapter, so she has a lot to compete with! I
began to think the chapter through in my head, and I was amazed to find how
completely it was stored there, despite the fact that I had gone away to forget
about it. I was able to re-order and tweak it as I walked along, enjoying the
view.
Today I have had another crack at those first 5,000 words. I stifled the
first, bullying voice, but I listened to the second voice, the one that says, You haven’t finished. This still needs work.
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