This is part of a blog flurry about writing with my friends Susan Piver, Hiro Boga, and Mahala Mazerov. Partake of their posts today please.
To be a writer is to be a translator.
Think about it—when writing, you attempt to translate the shadowy bits that dart and loop around your brain, that whistle for your attention and then immediately hide—you attempt to render them into black marks on a white page.
Black marks on white paper that capture the feelings, images and memories that made you want to write in the first place.
Only you rarely (very) get the translation exactly right. There is almost always a gap between what you want to write and what actually comes out.
An extreme example of this gap is when I was in college and I would smoke pot and then be oh-so-certain my ideas were beyond brilliant… this was going to be the best screenplay - better than Chinatown- until I read my nonsense chicken scratch the next morning.
Big gap.
A more subtle example is the copy of Rilke poetry on my desk. On the left hand page is the original German, on the right, an English translation. Each says something similar but not exactly the same.
Small gap.
One of the most freeing things I teach writers at my Taos retreat is that every writer has to learn to live – and even thrive– in the gap.
Creating actually happens in the gap.
You actually can’t create any place else. So it behooves you (love that word) to learn to tolerate the discomfort of being in the gap, to see it as business as usual, to understand that hugging your Ugly doll, pacing, and making soft grunting noises while in the gap is not only normal, it can be highly helpful.
But what do most of us do? We tell ourselves that being in the gap means that something is wrong.
We tell ourselves real writers never struggle – they see a scene and record it, like watching a movie. Good writers get a flicker of an idea and render it whole, like a pig on a spit. Successful writers do not take three hours to write a short blog post. (sigh.)
The main difference between a productive writer and a tortured one? Productive writers understand they will rarely (very) make an exact translation and they keep writing anyway.
They also understand that asking, “Is this any good?” is an urgent invitation to eat an entire Sara Lee pound cake.
Instead, they focus on what they can do. “I will keep my butt in my chair for 45 minutes and each time my attention wanders to if what I’m writing is any good, I will bring it back to my writing.” Or “I will read poetry for fifteen minutes before bed twice this week and copy one poem out.” These are examples of Conditions of Enoughness. They help. A lot.
By focusing on what you can do, that is dependent only on you, you build the trust to hang out in the gap where wild, wonderful and really fun stuff happens.
You can always write; you cannot never predict how well because well is an assessment. As is good, brilliant, fantastic and I’m a good writer because I got 45 blog comments.
Back away from the assessments, get comfortable in the gap, bring a cookie if you need one but not an entire pound cake, and most of all:
Focus on what you can do and you’ll be amazed at what you get done.
P.S. Be sure and check out what Susan and Hiro and Mahala have to say because they are brilliant. And yes, that is an assessment. Info on Taos retreat here – only two spots left. Conditions of Enoughness are explained here.
13 responses so far ↓
1 Tweets that mention Story Week: How to Be A Writer who Loves the Gap | Comfort Queen -- Topsy.com Jun 8, 2010
[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Jennifer Louden and Jules George, Elana. Elana said: RT @jenlouden: Story Week: How to Be A Writer who Loves the Gap: This is part of a blog flurry about writing… http://goo.gl/fb/7746A [...]
2 Hiro Boga Jun 8, 2010
Jen, I love your very sane, very wise and funny voice. (And yes, that’s an assessment too!)
My own post took a couple of days to write. Because it had its own shape and being-ness and these could only unfold in the gap.
The gap is a lovely place to be, so long as I’m not thinking about what’s on either side of it. The gap is freedom and structure, spaciousness within boundaries.
Thanks so much for the reminder that it’s a friendly place to hang out.
And thanks for playing Blog Flurry with us today!
Love, Hiro
3 There is a way to write that solidifies story lines–and a way to write that liberates you from them. | Susan Piver Jun 8, 2010
[...] vs truth telling), check them out. Hiro Boga: Tsunamis in the House of Wholeness Jennifer Louden: How to Be a Writer Who Loves the Gap Mahala Mazerov: When Stories [...]
4 Jeannie Jun 8, 2010
Thank you! This is *so* getting printed and posted right next to my desk.
Your first paragraph is exactly why I love writing so much, and why I was never able to speak well. (I’ve gotten infinitely better, but it’s still very awkward for me. Thankfully it doesn’t usually show. Anymore.
)
Thank you for filling in this gap for me.
5 Jennifer Jun 8, 2010
Hiro, this is so wise: “The gap is a lovely place to be, so long as I’m not thinking about what’s on either side of it. The gap is freedom and structure, spaciousness within boundaries.” Thank you for that wisdom!
And Jeannie, so glad this helped!! YEAH for filled in gaps so we can be in the gaps with more ease, if that makes any sense!
6 Andrew Lightheart Jun 9, 2010
You know what I like?
When you’re in the gap thinking you’re going to write one thing, and the real thing comes out.
And it is like it coalesces (!) like candy floss on a stick, not a pig on a spit.
(Pig on a spit? Beautiful.)
And we’re back in the land of fantasy-perfect again – that shadow life that our mind thinks we should be living, we *could* be living if only we tried harder.
When I’m teaching people to talk to groups there’s often the same thing. In the end, there’s only what you *actually* said (or wrote) not what you wanted to .
I love being more conscious of holding the space for the gap – thanks!
7 Spike Jun 9, 2010
Wow. Your timing is impeccable.
In January, I decided to prove ONCE AND FOR ALL that I could not write a whole novel, that I was stuck in short story land. I picked up _No Plot No Problem_ and had at it, figuring that I couldn’t produce 50,000 words in thirty days.
I was right. It took 25 days.
Then I “needed” a break. Ooops.
I know how it ends, I know (kind of) what happens, I just need to fill in the actual happening. (You know, the idiosyncratic notes where “Leroy confesses that he’s an alien to Jen, and is responsible for the spate of cattle mutilations. Monica is revealed as the cat burglar. And Tricia gives the amazing stump speech that catapults her to the presidency.” Now all you have to do is record the conversation, perform the reveal, and write the stump speech. After you flap your arms and fly to the moon.)
So earlier this week, I set some conditions of enoughness–fifteen minutes a night with fingers on the keyboard producing words.
There’s a lot of “Man this sucks. If these characters were wood it would be an improvement–at least they’d be organic!” And there’s an occasional breadcrumb, too. (Hey, what if Monica breaks into Trisha’s room and steals the notes for the speech . . .and then Leroy uses them in the plot to take over the world?)
Thanks for the reminder that crumbs are enough.
8 Mahala Mazerov Jun 9, 2010
Love your metaphor of being a translator.
As the most beloved person in my life does not speak english, I am fully dependent on translators much of the time. Some of them are excellent in conveying the meaning, the word to word translation. Rarely, there is one who conveys the heart essence of my Teacher’s words.
I think we have to be in the gap, be *trance*lators to discover the essence of what we have to say.
Delighted and honored to be part of your blog flurry.
Mahala
PS: You inhaled?
9 Jennifer Jun 9, 2010
On no Mahala I never inhaled! Just wanted all the stoners to know I had compassion for them. Love “trance” lators!
Spike thank you for your comment as I am in the gap right now and noticing how much i want to – and then did – pop out of it. So knowing you are there is so helpful.
Andrew, this is so helpful to me! “And we’re back in the land of fantasy-perfect again – that shadow life that our mind thinks we should be living, we *could* be living if only we tried harder.” that is so important, so vast, so key! Thank you for that this morning!
10 Willie Hewes Jun 10, 2010
Thanks for this. I should keep this somewhere and read it again a few times.
I’m thinking of once again trying my hand at fiction (it’s been a while) and man, I am poop-scared. Hang out in the gap. Yes. That sounds like something I can do.
Spike, your novel sounds like SUCH a riot! Ha ha! Sorry, that’s probably unhelpful. You made me laugh though.
11 Susan Piver Jun 10, 2010
Jen, your words are inspiring and way uplifting. Reading you, my self-doubt dissolves because you give me back my neurosis as simple humanity. You help me to be more gentle toward myself. I am so grateful for that!
12 Lisa Jun 12, 2010
WOW, Jen…. no words other than a HUGE, juicy, sparkling, THANK YOU.
13 Lineage of Women Aug 10, 2010
[...] Jen Louden writes: “…every writer has to learn to live – and even thrive– in the gap. Creating actually happens in the gap.” [...]