The More I Write the More I Write

1. I tweeted the subject line above the other day: "The more I write, the more I write." On the surface, it sounds foolishly obvious. I mean, yeah, duh, if you write more, you've written more. But there's another side to the coin: the more I write, the more ideas strike me. The more I write, the more I notice details I want to write down. The more I write, the more I remember how much I am drawn to the act of writing. The more I write, the more I sit down and write some more. Sometimes if I've gotten out of the habit, the first sitting my rear in a chair and putting pencil to paper or fingers to keys takes a major act of willpower (and acceptance of mediocre grist), but from there, it gets easier.

I'm really hoping the extra bits of writing this month will prime the pump and help me coast through however much of NaNoWriMo I'm able to complete this year.

2. Because I don't have enough things to distract me from NaNoWriMo this year, I started a second blog.

A brief back story and explanation: when I originally started this blog, I figured on writing a bit about what I was up to in life in general, but also sharing my thoughts and reflections on life as a Catholic. Hence the name of the blog, actually, and the selection of St. Therese of Lisieux as a patron. But I also started this blog just as I met various typewriter folk and then fountain pen and pencil folk, and got into doing more fiction writing and etc., etc., etc., and also went through some times of struggle that took me away from my original purpose. And so this blog became somewhat schizophrenic, and as time went on, it seemed like pouring my reflections into the mix would only make it more so.

To that end, I felt prompted to launch a sort of sister blog to this one. I imagine music and pens and pencils and writing of various sorts will be mentioned there--they are a big part of my life and my thought processes, after all. But its primary focus will just be a place to record moments of enlightenment, insights--and some spiritual struggles. The journey of faith is not all roses; hence the name: Thorns and Blossoms. (I actually wanted to name it the opposite: Blossoms and Thorns. That name was already taken. Consider that the thorn that tipped the balance!)

It's mostly all for meeeee (sorry, folks). However, do feel free (not obligated) to check it out!

On this, my blog's patron's feast day...

I yet again utterly failed to come up with anything momentous to say. Instead, I direct you to an article on another blog:
Mystic, Comic, Everything | From "Saint Thérèse of Lisieux: Her Family, Her God, Her Message".

And in addition, I say...TGIF! It's been quite a week.

On Writing: The Agony and the Ecstasy

The writing process can feel as though you're riding the waves of a stormy sea: one minute you're being tossed up into sunlight and warmth, the next being dragged down into the breathless dark, where you wonder if it's really worth the effort to fight your way back up again. You finish a project, feel on top of the world, feel like you've done something real this time and want to share it...but that feeling can't last. There's always a sort of postpartum downturn, when the gloss wears off and the seams show--or just because you come to the realization that you can't fully share that elation with anyone else in the world. No one fully understands what that story felt like to write and how you feel about having completed it.

Writing, perhaps more than any other creative activity, is often a lonely outlet. You don't see every reader, you don't know what every reader thinks, you rarely get feedback or even know how many people you reach. I'd guess this is a frustration for anyone who has ever composed a paragraph, from people posting on forums or listservs all the way up through best-selling authors. So often you pour out your heart and soul into your work, and it goes into a great blackhole: there's no way of knowing just where your words—all those pretty little lined up words you were so proud of—are going or what they're up to out there.

The Internet is a wonderful horrible place that compounds this issue many times over. Any Joe Schmo with a keyboard can now reach thousands of people—or more—with a few keystrokes. Oh, the power! But we have even *less* knowledge of who we're really reaching. Yes, there are such things as hit-counters, and some sites like Flickr and Scribd give you some vague numbers. But having those is perhaps worse. Watching a number go up without getting any comments or other feedback, you start to think, “Who are all you people???” And you wonder, do people not comment because they have nothing nice to say?

I think these things, despite knowing how many blogs I cruise on a daily basis without ever commenting. In the typosphere, there aren't many blogs I don't follow continuously, but a lot of the time I feel like I have nothing worth contributing, or as if the writer has already said all there is to say, and I wouldn't have anything to say aside from, “Right on!” which seems kinda lame, honestly. (That said, I treasure every “Right on!” I get on LFP, even while I—DuffyMoon-like—sometimes question the sincerity of the Right-on-ians...)

And then, feedback is just one piece of the puzzle. The truth is that the writing process itself is a matter of ups and downs. Some days you love what you're writing and think it's actually pretty good. Some days you hate it. Some days it just seems so pointless that you can't muster up anything as strong as like and dislike. The never-ending instability of it all can drive you crazy. I can understand only too well why so many authors and poets have led troubled lives, many with unhappy endings.

This month, I've been rereading bits and pieces of St. Therese's autobiography, Story of a Soul. She is someone in whom many of us, regardless of religious beliefs or lack thereof, would find a kindred spirit. She talks a great deal about her struggles with desiring the approval of others and the anxiety that can bring, as well the ups and downs that one experiences in spiritual life, when at times you feel nothing but dryness, unable to pray or concentrate: very much mirroring what we may feel in other areas of our lives. Without putting words in her mouth, I think I can say that the trick is to accept the “consolations” when they come—those moments when an encouraging word or a burst of creativity lifts us to those glorious heights—without clinging to them too hard, treasuring them in retrospect without expecting them as the norm; and to take the difficult moments as just a part of the path rather than the end of it all, knowing that the next bend may bring another breathtaking vista.

Empty.

By rights, today I should be posting something deep and thoughtful about the young woman who inspired my blog's name, the Little Flower herself: St. Therese of the Child Jesus. The first of October is her feast day. I did go so far as to spend some time reading a few passages from Story of a Soul, but I'm once again unable to write.

It's so painful to have the drive, but nothing to say. I know it's mostly just a matter of doing. I need to start sitting down again in the mornings with pen and paper or what-have-you and letting whatever happens happen, good or bad. It just feels like nothing I have to say matters at the moment, ya know? I hate to even post to other people's blogs, 'cause I feel like all I can do is babble right now, and I'm just endlessly annoying everyone by existing. :-\

In happier writing news (perhaps!) the great NaNoWriMo forum purge is occurring as we speak, and in short order here we'll be barreling toward the starting line. If that doesn't get you excited about writing, what will?