In this installment of How To Be A Hack Writer Like Me…we’ll discuss how you flush out and
resolve a question or an idea itching at your brain.
One of the biggest stumbling blocks to being a writer
(and this is true for a hack writer like me) is the enormous presence of the blank
page. Where to write? What to write? How to write? Some like to brainstorm: mapping,
clustering, listing are a few of the techniques people employ to generate
ideas. Once that’s done and you have some shiny idea you want to opine about
many like to keep organized with that old edifice, the outline. But, as far as
I’m concerned you should probably skip all that and just write about the thing
that’s itching at your brain.
When my mom passed I came to realize I didn’t know her
beyond our parent/child relationship and I was determined not to repeat this mistake
with my own children. Since my children and I always found common ground through
music I isolated some big events in my life and wrote about them using songs
that were meaningful to me (look here for examples). I had one big organizing
principal, not knowing my mom, which spawned eighteen essays (that remain in
limbo for the time being). The same was true for the Molly book. I always had this love/hate thing with South Buffalo. The
place and the people were equal parts magical and frustrating. And, like not
knowing my mom, this love/hate thing itched at my brain so I set out to resolve
it. In each case I had no outline or steadfast rules, just an organizing
principal. In Molly, one chapter
pointed out some absurdity, followed by a chapter were there was magic. In
those chapters a family and other characters were introduced, which spawned new
ideas on how to express what was magical and frustrating. After three or four
chapters like this, I just got out of the way and let it happen. And, it grew like
weeds in a vacant lot.
To further demonstrate, here’s a little
something itching in my brain that I’m working through right now: With my first
book coming out many people have asked if I’m excited. I just saw on Facebook a
local TV personality with a book coming out and not only was this person excited…they
were soooo excited. That’s not me. At
the risk of sounding like a complete ass, I have to say, I’m not excited. I’m
something but it’s not excited and it’s itching at my brain.
When I read the email that my book had been pick up
for publication late last spring during lunch at work I afforded myself one
overly zealous, gratifying fist pump like I had just drained a putt at the
Masters for my first Green Jacket. I was alone and after the moment passed I
went back to work intrigued and frankly, a little scared with what would come
next. Gratified and scared, but not excited.
When I told family and friends I had signed the
contract with the publisher there was a sense of validation in the
congratulations I received and in particular from a note sent by my sister that
said: "I'm so proud of you." Since then its been pretty cool when
someone at a barbecue or out having a beer asks and wants to chat about the
book. Again, though, this was gratification and validation, not excitement.
Going through the process of putting the actual book
together from the editing process to the art work has been a great and at times
overwhelming learning experience. But meeting and resolving each new challenge
just brought relief and a sense of forward momentum, but not excitement.
Excitement for me is when I'm grilling and tune pops
up that makes me want to do my white man dance or when she says,
"Yes," or when I punch that clock on Friday afternoons. And, as I
build toward a launch. I've come to the conclusion that all of this: the
thinking, the writing, the pitching of the writing, the putting together is
mostly just plain old work.
My first true musical hero was Todd Rundgren. I
can't really explain it other than "Hello It's Me,” spoke to me after my
first girlfriend in the sixth-grade dumped me because I was afraid to neck with
her. A few years later one of my older sibling’s friends left the lush synth
laden masterpiece "Initiation," in our funky half-finished basement
and that was it for me, he was my guy. So I was thrilled a few years back
when Paul Myers put out the book: A
Wizard A True Star: Todd Rundgren In
The Studio. Finally, I would learn about the weird, wonderful creation of
Todd’s music and the music he produced for a litany of other artists. What I
found though, which was sort of disappointing, was not magic, but just this
very earnest guy working really hard at his craft. It was laying down a drum
track, working up a piano part, finding a bass line and when satisfied with the
music he would mumble out lyrics to the melody. Those iconic lyrics that so
stabbed at my heart started out as mumbles. That doesn’t mean they aren’t
sincere or inspirational, it just means, almost nothing falls from the sky and
everything needs a shoulder put to it.
So. how we went from people asking if I was excited about
my first book to TR’s creative process was a twist I didn’t see coming, but I
think along the way that thing itching at my brain was resolved. Beyond
gratification and validation, if there’s anything magical about any of this
it’s all the hard work it takes to piece a book, a song or anything else of
value, together. That’s what’s exciting, the work.
And, what nut job gets excited about work?
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