On Writing: A Permission Slip to Get Sh*t Done
"I Was A Teenage Grave-Robber" or "I Was A 24-Year-Old With Ego Problems"
Today's Word Count: 759
I'm kicking off a few days early, but that's mostly because I've assigned myself too many books to read for this first month and want to get a head start with the ones I already have on hand. Plus, On Writing is one of those books that every writer should read at least once every two years.
General thoughts: International editions are weird
I have an international edition of the book that I bought in 2015, toward the end of my four month study abroad program in Limerick, Ireland. (God, Maggie, you're so cool and traveled and cultured.)
Once I got past the single-quotation marks and the spelling of "practise" instead of "practice," I fell in love with this book all over again.
The first half is all memoir, explaining not necessarily Stephen King's life but the events within it that led him to become a writer — and a horror writer in particular.
I think I read it for the first time when I was thirteen or fourteen.
I remember not understanding the jokes about "Dave's Rag" and fluttering my handkerchief in shock whenever King let loose with his delightful vulgarities. I've reread it probably a dozen times since then, and the memoir section probably twice that, so diving back into the book was like coming back to a comfortable seat by the fire after a long walk in the snow.
(How's that for a simile, Steve?)
The important stuff: Reflections — if you will — on writing
One of the biggest things this book represents for me is a kick in the pants.
King closes the educational section of the book by offering a "permission slip" to go out and write: "you can, you should, and if you're brave enough to start, you will. Writing is magic, as much the water of life as any other creative art. The water is free. So drink. Drink and be filled up."
I reread that section probably four times before I closed the book. I almost read it out loud too, but it was like 2am and I don't want my roommate to think I'm a total loony (yet).
I think that's what I've been waiting for this whole time: a permission slip to do what I'm meant to do, although I've known all along that "being a writer" is as much a part of me as being obnoxious, being five foot six, being pale and freckly and addicted to sour cream and onion chips.
Closing thoughts: I'm a dweeb, but an inspired dweeb
It's not the most literary book on craft ever written — although it's certainly one of the most prolific — but On Writing affected and continues to affect me as a writer in ways that are both encouraging and a little bit exhausting every time I read the book.
It's a reminder that not only am I a damn writer (and a pretty good one at times, if I do say so myself), but that nothing is holding me back from sitting down and writing besides fear.
I'm not going to write a 150,000-word novel overnight, but I'm not going to write anything unless I show up to the page.
Pow! Super!
Thanks for the reminder, Steve.
A few side notes...
I'm adding two new things to this project. The first is the addition of a longhand scene book, and the second is an additional book on craft because I don't know what "reasonable expectations" means.
Longhand scene book
I write 3 longhand pages of mindless psychobabble every morning (or 2pm, depending on when I wake up) thanks to Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way.
I've been journaling pretty religiously since December of 2020 and gone through almost two full notebooks in that time.
I bought my first one from the grocery store in a fit of creative rage (it happens), and my second from a used bookstore in Missoula, Montana when I went up to visit in February.
My third notebook, an electric-green softcover Moleskin, is ready for my daily Morning Pages once I finish my current journal (a light blue hardcover notebook with glossy, thick pages and a penguin on the front).
I bought the radioactive Moleskine in a cowboy-themed book store in Cody, Wyoming a few weeks ago, along with three 92-page notebooks inspired by "Native American artistic traditions."
These three notebooks are too thin to use for daily Morning Pages (and honestly, the ruling is a little wider than what I like in a notebook), but I've decided to turn them into longhand scene books. In the same way I write 3 pages of longhand ranting each morning, I've got these little notebooks now to pencil out whatever random scenes are bouncing around my mind that day.
(When I'm a famous novelist someday, note that March 21st, 2021 was the day I finally wrote down the "Lipton onion soup mix" scene.)
Made by Pendleton Woolen Mills, the one I started today is inspired by a Chippewa fire legend:
"The story of Manabozho, the Chippewa trickster hero who disguised himself as a shivering rabbit to steal fire from an old man' daughters, unfolds in this warmly colored pattern of hearth fires, combs, and shawls."
The notebook is gorgeous, and the inspiration is, as Hemingway once said, "Dope as fuck."
The Elements of Style
The second item is that I (finally) ordered a copy of William Strunk's The Elements of Style (I seriously don't know how I got through two NaNoWriMo's and a bachelor's degree in creative writing without owning a copy of that book, but I digress). I'm adding it to my list for April since it's pretty short and I know I'll feel like a total poseur until I read the damn thing.
Side note — Why the hell is it snowing again? It's March 21st. The first day of Spring. C'mon, Utah, work with me on this.
Side side note — Why doesn't Wix automatically change two dashes to an em dash? C'mon, Wix, work with me on this.
And that's it for today!
Tune in next time when I have a nervous breakdown over Mick Kelly and rant about my all-encompassing love for John Singer. Carson McCullers fans, you know what I'm talking about.
Til then,
Maggie