Winter started today. Friday the temperature reached sixty-six degrees, so the shift was overdue. Nothing worse than Florida weather at a Jersey elevation. Might even see some snow overnight. Good times.

The surrender mantra whilst writing helped quite a bit this weekend; I chanted it often. Funny how the simplest tokens often make the biggest differences in productivity.

Though I planned alternating between a brand new project and another manuscript shelved last January, after a few false starts with the abandoned tale earlier in the week, I decided to let the story roll on longer. While the ending exists on paper, as it has from nearly the beginning, I have no idea how to reach that point. The fun is letting the characters drive there, instead of placing them in a car on a collision course with their nemesis, scene after scene.

Saturday night a faculty member celebrated a birthday and marked the occasion with a party on campus. Talking to another faculty member–this one working on a MFA in Creative Writing–I remembered why I’m so poorly suited for formal instruction, as I avoid analytic or critique based discussions about what I love above all. I’d rather write–even badly–than figure out what the hell a writer meant by their work or how their catalog stacks up against the masters.

This is not to suggest that creative writing instruction is foolish, or unnecessary. Certainly teachers must demonstrate proficiency in those areas. How else can they lead inspiring discussion if they themselves do not have the tools for devising them? For a writing instructor to draw from the critical process makes sense. For me the prospect is not very palatable.

I’m no writing teacher, is all I’m saying.

Had an interesting–and lengthy, my apologies to his wife–phone call last night with someone about why we write. We do it for different reasons, but one common stumbling between us is telling a story for its own sake, versus working with a specific outcome for the piece in mind. In other words, worrying what might become of a manuscript once it’s finished. That is, if it ever is truly done. Along the path, we question the worth or time invested into a piece, and so forth.

The futility of concerns like those sunk in, and I understood at once why I waste so much time on forecasting thoughts–what could happen, how people might react–rather than staying in the moment and letting the characters tell their story. I won’t speak for my colleague, but I indulge those concerns because I have no control over them, therefore they scare the hell out of me.

Sitting down to write on the other hand, is a choice under my influence. I work; I don’t. A simple formula, and wholly about my actions. Yet despite the fact I wield this control, my mind fixates on the very matters I can not change, and knocks me out of the moment. And once the mind is loose, the story suffers and takes longer to finish.

I’m trying a mantra for the next few days where I find myself straying. Surrender the universe. Finish the sentence. That way it’s not about what might happen to the manuscript, just about me writing one line. And how hard is that really?

Perhaps if I do this long enough, I’ll have a long string of sentences behind me.

Maybe even another novel.

Shifted through the idea hopper of possible projects tabled while working on the novel and surprised myself. The first unexpected realization: the sheer number of text files loaded with ideas, which I welcomed. The wrinkle was the second surprise. Recording the ideas in a collection of separate files had understated the true count. Initially believed total landed near the dozen mark; it was eighteen.

To organize them, I copied one sentence blurbs about each into a spreadsheet, then sorted the ideas by format. Or what I thought would be its logical format, that was. In other words, based on the situation which approach–novel, screenplay, or short story–would make the most effective backdrop to develop the story arc. At least based on what I think I know about the story so far, anyway. This also takes into account a self-assessment of my skills. Perhaps a project could work as a short story or a screenplay, but in my hands, I only see a screenplay. Another writer could forecast the opposite, or maybe both.

With an idea of what type of an investment each idea implied–novels take a lot longer than screenplay or short stories–I ranked them based on my interest level. That eliminated half the contenders. Five others were set aside because although the drive might exist, I had trouble visualizing a story based on the situation synopsis. Cast two more to the curb because their subjects demanded a serious time investment, more so than I wanted to make at this point.

Which left two strong candidates.

It was a tough call. One project I began last year during a lull, and only because I wanted to, but stopped after thirty-five pages. Yet the situation was in the pocket. Still is. Something about it got me interested last January, and I could be very interested again. Another case for that project was that I dislike collecting undone manuscripts. I’m too old for sure-I’ll-get-back-to-that-one-someday rationalization. Better to finish following a vision and fail, than to never let it breathe. And even reaching for the wrong idea might just reveal insight necessary to execute on the right one.

Yet the last idea definitely tugged the strings of imagination. Most intriguing about the last contender to me was that I could see the idea working in all three formats, and that I could develop the idea regardless of the chosen form. A few scenes played in my mind, which I also interpreted as an encouraging sign, since it typically happens when I’m knee deep in a manuscript, and not before I commit to paper.

But in the end, I elected to do both. For the time being, I’ll run with the new idea one week, then visit the unfinished one for another. If I can’t make up my mind by Christmas Break, I’ll continue working on both, alternating projects by weeks. Still, I bet one idea wins out.

The challenge will be letting the process happen until it does.

After finishing the draft and passing it off to the Final Three, I granted myself a two week writing vacation; it ends Friday. Until then, only blogging and reading–no new material or revisiting older manuscripts. My self imposed exile has a precedent.
A few years ago I finished a draft of one novel and immediately dove face first into another. Maybe it was more like fist first into face. Two months into the new manuscript I became so frustrated, I almost stopped writing for good. Not sure if I would have stayed that course forever–likely not, I think–but the thought of quitting was very tempting and seemed absolutely reasonable in the moment. My mind wanted to wander a little bit, explore other areas, tackle issues beside those conflicts my characters devised. Racing ahead without pause proved a disaster, though this presumptive crusade served up a great lesson: Let the batteries discharge completely before fueling them back up for another big project. The manuscript that I almost quit writing over due to frustration, by the way, is the very one in the hands of the Final Three. Lesson learned.
Still, the respite begs the question: what’s next? Well, something different, thanks to the idea hopper. A focusing technique, the hopper a mechanism for capturing the spirit of ideas as they arrive without derailing a project in hand. Each time an interesting–and oh so unrelated–seed takes root, intriguing enough that it threatens to divert my attention away from the story in progress, I draft a synopsis and save it for later reference. Right now there’s twelve ideas in the idea hopper.

Now I just need to pick one.