It’s Time to Move Forward
Finishing a piece of writing is leaving behind a stone marker along my creative path. The biggest stone I want to unload is my first novel. And yet, as I sit here today, I’m on the precipice of a fourth (and hopefully, final) revision. Really, it’s a complete overhaul, and exactly as daunting as that sounds. For the last month I’ve added a new magic system, developed a more cohesive plot, and reworked the characters. A lot is different because it had to be. Yet, it’s a scary time. I want to get it right. I want this final draft to be the one that sticks. And the worst part is that I can’t afford failure. I need to get this stone that’s weighing me down off my cart so I can keep doing badass shit.
For the last four years I’ve planned, wrote, workshopped, revised, and rewrote so many times that it feels as if I’m spinning my wheels. Stagnation is the death of an artist. The more I bash my head against the wall, the more my failures weigh down upon me – the more the stone that is my first novel weighs down upon me. In The Creative Act: A Way of Being, Rick Rubin adeptly summarizes this crisis: “Art exists in the same cycle of death and rebirth…When consumed with a single work to the degree that we believe it’s our life’s mission, there’s no room for the next one to develop.” If I do not put down the pen and shove that stone off the cart, no one will do it for me.
Here’s a challenging question for any artist: at what time do we move on to the next creative act? As someone beginning their authorship journey, I’ve long viewed revision as an opportunity to finish, yes, but also hone my craft. As long as I keep the stone on my cart, I can keep shaping it into the perfect monument. You see, I don’t have a MFA. I’m learning as I go, and the class is as rigorous as I want it to be – and let me tell you, I push myself. I read how-to books on writing. I read fantasy novels that I like. I read fantasy novels that I don’t like. I read old fantasy novels. I read contemporary fantasy novels. I read history books. I listen to college lectures on writing. I go to two different writing groups (and am picking up a third group, this one on scriptwriting). Most importantly, I write every day. And still I haven’t finished my novel. Is this life’s work consuming me? Is it time to kick this damned thing off the cart?
“While the artist’s goal is greatness, it’s also to move forward.” – Rick Rubin
Rubin goes on to state, “While the artist’s goal is greatness, it’s also to move forward. In service to the next project, we finish the current one. In service to the current project, we finish it so it can be set free into the world.” It’s time to move forward because I can’t afford not to. I have to leave this rock in my trail as part of my history and move forward to the next turn in the road. But it’s a hell of a rock. I’ve honed it. I’ve polished its rough surface. The thing sparkles, or at least it will when I’m done with it. I want to produce the best novel that I can.
So where does this leave me? A vision. I will have a rough draft of the novel completed by year’s end. I will feel that this draft has the possibility of being great. I will know this, because I will have had beta reader feedback. And if these things don’t happen, I need to push the stone out of the back and move on to the next one before it consumes me.
This leads me to an interesting encounter I had last night at the scriptwriting group. I had a conversation with a man that had written 16 novels, several screenplays, poetry books, etc. 16 novels. He spoke with me for some time about his art. The pride he had for his work was evident. He created them with his own bare hands, and now they exist in this world. 16 novels. That’s a lot of characters. A lot of words on paper. A lot of climaxes. A lot of introductions. A lot of plotting. And a lot of ideas. And a lot of time and effort. This man is dedicated to producing his creative art, and not anyone else’s.
This of course begs the question, are his novels any good? As I sat there listening to him, I realized that the answer to that question doesn’t matter. Is it good? Maybe, although I have my suspicions. But who cares if his novels are any good? What matters as an artist is the doing. You must craft. You must work. You must make it an everyday ritual. If you don’t bow to the gods of creativity, you will never see your dream come to fruition.
“Catch and release”
Working and doing are important, but they only manage to spit-shine the rock that’s weighing down your cart. What impressed me about this man was his ability to move on, to throw a rock out the back and say, “that’s one novel, now how about that second one.” And this brings us full circle to Rick Rubin’s ideas on The Creative Act. I am stuck in my own cycle: plot, write, revise, rewrite. But this cycle is not the act of creation: plot, write, revise, let go. You see, I’m constantly stuck in the life of my work, and never willing to let it die so that my creative impulses can birth something new and better. Rubin sees it as “death and rebirth,” but you could just as simply state the cycle as “finish and begin,” or “catch and release” (to use fishing terminology).
This man doesn’t let the stone weigh him down and neither will I. I have a deadline. I have a goal. I have a vision. And that’s all anyone needs to be successful. It’s time to move forward, because I can’t afford not to.
