This Is Crazy

I plan on spending the morning editing the scenes I've 'blown up.' (Three parts for editing: does it need trimming, cutting entirely, or blowing up further to make it fuller, richer.)

Had to go through emails and blogs I follow first. I found this great quote from Peter Jackson, filmmaker, multiple Academy Award winner, and entrepreneur. (Edited to make room for my own meanderings!)

We always find there are three distinct phases. First, it exists before the film starts shooting. Then you start shooting and things come more into focus -- actors bring their skill to the roles and we see the characters in a more vivid and tangible way -- constant script revisions to meet the renewed potential these characters now have. The third has to do with the final cutting.  http://www.thehobbitblog.com/

I am inspired when I see that the different disciplines of art all use the same process. PJ's ruminations confirm that with another discipline. I've got artists friends whose modus operandi is the same, too.

So – what I do is write the draft. Set the characters. And then let them grow. Each editing phase fertilizes the characters and they become more than I ever expected. What a delight this is. To grow myself and learn who my characters really are, what they value, who they love, etc. is such fun. Hopefully, by the final edit there are no surprises left. My characters and I know each other in intimate detail.

Life is interesting - bold and fun.

No Expectations - Part Three of Three

(I stopped keeping notes after the first evening. I know the morning had a speaker, but I don’t remember who it was, nor what he/she talked about. Probably because I was focusing on what I was going to say/do when Les critiqued my story. I’d sent him the first twenty pages about a week before the conference. I was on pins and needles.)

No expectations helps. I keep chanting it as I wait for my time slot.

I sit down in the big dining room with the uncomfortable chairs and shake his hand. We chat about inconsequentials. He takes out my story pages and begins.

He says he likes my style of writing. I take a breath. Good start.

He says he never did figure out what the book was about. I take a different breath this time.

‘Twenty pages,’ he says. ‘Is it a fantasy? Or is it present day?’

I sit back. I know I have to cling to ‘no expecations.’

The ten minutes take ten hours. I thank him and leave the room. Pulling on my coat, I walk with determination towards the lake. No, not to jump in it, but to feel the cold spring air on my face.

At least this time I didn’t weep. A good thing.

When I return, a woman I know from a writing class asks me how it went. She has been part of my critique group in the class.

When I tell her, she smiles. “He doesn’t know the fantasy genre,” she says. Kindness drips from her mouth. “Your book is really good, but you always pick the wrong people to critique it. Take the ‘I like your writing style’ and then leave the rest. He doesn’t know the genre.”

I take a deep breath and smile. She’s right. I always do pick the wrong critiquer.

I took my first book to an SCBWI conference last fall. The editor who critiqued it spoke to the entire group right before my time for her critique. She said she hated violence. Well, the first two pages of the book I presented to her are of a huge battle with much death and destruction. I wish she had sent it back and said she doesn’t read violent stories. Would have saved me her horror. In her defense, she did like my style of writing. She liked my characters, she liked the world I had created.

Got to focus on the positives and keep going.

Sometimes, writing resembles the tryouts for American Idol. These people audition who shouldn’t be there. I often have wondered if they have friends or not. Their singing is atrocious. Don’t their friends tell them, ‘Don’t do it?’ They can’t keep on key. The tempo flees from them. Yet, bless them, they stand there and sing with gusto. 

Is my writing like that? Do I not ‘hear’ the truth?

Nope. People I respect say I write well. So, I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep going to seminars, workshops, and conferences.

But I’ll have NO EXPECTATIONS.

Life is good – unexpected – but good.

No Expectations - Part Two of Three

I walk into the main lounge area. It is lovely and bright. White wicker chairs are pulled around the perimeter of an area rug. At least a dozen women sit about, holding drinks in their hands.

I say hello.

There is no response, though all look at me.

I expect nothing. I get nothing. I am not crushed. Thank God for no expectations. It worked this time.

The group gets up, prepared to take a walk. I am asked if I want to join them. I decline.

I find the coordinator of the week-end. She shows me to my room. I’d already viewed it online and found it charming. There is a lyre on the door that chimes every time it is opened. I love music and welcome it. There is a twin bed by the window and a daybed on the wall. I take the daybed.  The blessing of the room is that it has a private bath. Tiny. A screen hides the sink and toilet.

I sit and read the week-ends itinerary. I pull out my children’s book. It needs a couple changes. I’m excited about this book. Expectations are high.

Here we go again.

I find I can have no expectations for me – but my expectations for my writing are high. Beyond the moon. Good or bad – not sure.

Dinner is simple but tasty. I chat with the woman who stole my seat when I went for coffee.

It’s fun listening to others. I listen to the two women next to me. As they speak, I think, “These two should collaborate on a book.“ I have no idea if they knew each other before this event.

We gather for our first talk. We are to share about ourselves and what we write.

Agreement # 2: Don’t take anything personally

I am cut short by the moderator. I don’t blush, thankfully. I expect nothing.

A touch of anger runs through me. It doesn’t matter. I will get what I need from the week-end. That is my focus. It is simple. I have no expectations.

Now – if I could just let go of my work. Let it fly on its own. Or is the passion necessary?

Our first speaker shares his story. It is a good one.

As the night wears on, folk begin to go to their rooms. Some sit in the dining area writing. I take this occasion to soak in people. I spend a lot of time with a four-year old and need to be around adults. I need to broaden whom I watch and listen to.

I have a one-on-one with Les Roberts tomorrow. I already have expectations for this time. This is good practice. Really!

TBC

No Expectations (TBC)

The Four Agreements by Miguel Ruiz.  http://www.amazon.com/Four-Agreements-Practical-Personal-Freedom/dp/1878424319

1. Be Impeccable With Your Word.
2. Don't Take Anything Personally.
3. Don't Make Assumptions.
4. Always Do Your Best.

I’ve talked about this book before. I’ve changed #3 to No Expectations, due to the fact that if I assume something is going to be great or awful, then I’ll probably be disappointed, one way or the other. Which to me means – have no expectations.

This is my mantra, when I remember. It works every time, when I remember.

I drive to Lakeside for the conference and push all thoughts of what I am about to experience away. No expectations. Whatever happens will hurt/heal better.

I relish the ride. I love the open road. I’ve always said, ‘Give me a highway and I’ll be happy.’

I want to buy some wine. I am assailed by doubts. Will the B&B let me bring wine in? Will the religious ‘summer resort’ kick me out if they find me with a bottle? I fight the good fight. I’m no longer a child and bound by a child’s rules. I can drink a glass of wine if I want to. The storekeeper at the local farmer’s market is fun. We giggle about being adults and able to live our lives as we want. I buy two bottles of local wines, some cheese, and crackers. The bill is more than expected, but we are out in the middle of nowhere. High prices are to be expected.

Whoa! Did I use the ‘E’ word?

The countryside has changed. Long years ago, this area of the lakeshore felt like Cape Cod. Pleasant, cozy, serene. There are huge new marinas that blot out the lake view. New houses have cropped up – for those who will be lucky to spend one week-end a year at the lake.

Never the mind. It takes me back to before my husband died. What fun we had. The memories are not bitter-sweet. I had expected my heart to be sorrow-filled. It’s not – there is a quiet joy surrounding it.

Whoa again! That blasted ‘E’ word!

Finding Lakeside is easy, due to the directions from the shopkeeper. Finding the B&B is a little more difficult. I didn’t bring the name or the address of the place, but Lakeside is smallish. I didn’t expect any problems finding it.

Ok. So my mantra’s a little rusty.

Early spring means there are few people here. I find one kind man who points me in the right direction when I ask for something that I hoped resembled the B&B’s name. I find a good parking space – unexpected.

Yikes!

I will continue this tomorrow. I didn’t expect it to go this long.