I’m writing a novel like I’ve never written one before. The ones bulking up my filing cabinet in various stages of rough draft all came to fruition when I started on page One and stopped on page End. Because of the nature of studenthood, I haven’t found a way to do that with my current project. I use the chapters for my workshop classes and then must revise them for a portfolio grade. It’s forced me to rework as I go, and in some ways this had been great because it helps me crystallize the foundation of the story. For the first time in my writing life I feel confident that I will be able to revise the final work effectively.
But after turning in four of the five chapters I’ve written, revising them at least once each, and then condensing these five chapters into three chapters… I’m losing momentum. I’ve been stagnant for a couple weeks, even with the energy that gathers from sharing my work in a non-academic writing group. The critic is noisy and takes up space. I am bogged down. I want to be reckless, spontaneous, alive like I only ever could be in a creative work. In my daily life, I am quiet, well-behaved. Making art, verbal and visual, is where my rebellion lives. The critic is valuable, makes sensible strength out of my crazy ideas. But I’m done with mucking around in the same puddle of words. I’m ready to get into some trouble.
photo credit: http://flic.kr/p/58nDm9