… writing really is kind of like a passionate romance, and writers (even the married ones) are serial flingsters. (Except for those wanton multi-project floozy writers out there. You know who you are). Story, novel, screenplay, it doesn’t matter — it always starts with those lingering glances exchanged across a crowded brain with an irresistible character. Or more than one (oooh, those crazy pantextual writers). And before you know it, there you go again, slipping away from your sweetie to rendezvous with the story. Oh, by the way, I started working on something today…
And then the fun really begins.
I will let Maggie Stiefvater explain this part to you, because she does it so well. If you are a writer, this will help you explain the daily drama to all the people who look at you funny when you’re working. If you’re a person who thinks Someday I’ll write that novel, well…. the thing is, writing is like romance. If you fall hard, no one can talk you out of it. Just don’t fool yourself into thinking it’ll be any different for you.
Enjoy your Monday.
That is awesome, thank you. I’m in the ‘I’ve got a great first chapter and characters and know who the killer is but now I have to outline it so I know where the hell I’m going’ phase.
Yep, & I really need to romance my work in progress bigtime right now!
It’s the same for readers, serial adultery, serial monogamy, orgy, (temporary)true love, coupe de foudre with particular characters. What a roller coaster ride!
I almost missed it. You’re working on something new!
Not working exactly, not yet. We’re just making goo-goo eyes at each other and wondering what if…. (grin). We’ll see what happens.
I realized this was true just in time to save my relationship. Actually, Donna figured it out before me—that being with a writer (a serious one, not a dabbler) or any dedicated artist is like being in a triad. The art is the functional equivalent of an entire other person deeply involved in the relationship. It requires time and attention, patience, and more than a little understanding and, yes, love. I think this explains why so many artists seem to have such shitty personal lives. Mainly, I don’t think most of them realize that the nature of their calling is emotionally the same as being in love with someone.
Mark, yes, it certainly does require a lot of understanding, especially when partners aren’t artists. Maybe even more than understanding… I remember studying religion in high school (as in, a survey of world religions and an overview of theological concepts). The thing that’s always stuck with me is theologian Paul Tillich’s discussion of “the leap of faith” required in every religious practice.
True for art, too. And love.
We talk about this often in one of my classes: writers having to fight with family members for the space/time they need to work on their stories. The “lover” analogy keeps coming up, except for the time when the teacher compared it to being a single parent: “Whoever you date, needs to understand that they’re getting into a relationship with someone who already has family, and probably will always have. They need to respect that, because if we are forced to choose between our own children and a new lover, the choice we’ll make is almost obvious.”
I don’t know… I’ve never had any kids, but this writing thing really does feel more like a fling/crush/lover. Its nature is too hot, sexual, obsessive to fit the parent-child model. I guess it’s different for everyone.
I never thought of it quite like this but I think you’re on to something, Kelley. I write a little bit of a story every day. I think I’m paying attention to character and plot and all the rest but to be bare naked truthful, I think I’m putting up with all of that just to have the opportunity to write about (be in love) love. If there is a better job than being a writer, I don’t know of one.
I’ve only ever been a student, but I think the idea applies to any intense career—writers, scientists, mathematicians, doctors, etc…any work that requires love, care, concentration, and risk. The archetype of the obsessive, hard-to-live-with scientist is difficult to distinguish from the archetype of the obsessive, hard-to-live-with artist.
Karina, I suppose the core issue is that asking someone to choose between two things they love and need, two things that are central to identity, is a recipe for disaster. We tend to privilege humans over other things, and so whereas people may understand that you don’t “ask” someone to choose between their children and their partner, they don’t always get why you can’t “ask” someone to choose between writing and the partner. One of the very real benefits of being married to another writer (assuming a lack of competition) is that there is little confusion on this issue.
Jan, it took me so long to give myself to the process, to really allow myself to fall in love with it that way. I wish I’d done it sooner.
Adrian, you may be right, although I suspect both scientists and artists would raise eyebrows at being archetyped together. I certainly did, until I stepped back and thought about it. The common denominator isn’t even the intensity, it’s the identity connection. That’s what so much of passionate love is — a resonance, a feedback, in which our sense of identity is simultaneously reinforced and expanded. I think it’s possible to be intense about work without having that sense of identity/vulnerability around it.
Don’t know if I’m being clear about that. Perhaps I require more tea.
No, that makes sense. : )