Writer’s High
July 18th, 2007 by Dave Duggins
Please forgive my lengthy absence. The latest issue of Spacesuits and Sixguns provided a very strong lesson: I’m a computer geek, but I don’t know crap about nameservers. Do you know anything about nameservers? Oh. Good. I’m not alone, then.
Onward.
Last time I asked what we’re doing; this time, I’m asking why. Seriously. It’s sort of rhetorical, but then again not. If you’ve never asked yourself this question and you hope to one day experience something resembling peace of mind, you’d better ask it.
Writing makes you broke. It makes you feel unloved. Slighted. Depressed. Worthless. Why would you punish yourself and keep doing it? If there is anything on God’s sweet earth designed to make you feel inadequate, it’s writing. Particularly writing as a profession.
A profession! Hah! Is there anything more laughable, less respectable? You might as well be a mime (irony unintentional, but there it is). Didn’t your mom tell you to get a real job? She did? Well, why the hell didn’t you listen to her?
You can probably think of lots of reasons. Lots of answers to the question. I have a voice and I need to be heard. I have something important to say. I have a story inside me and I’ll go crazy if I don’t get it out.
The truth? None of the above. The truth, like love, is so simple it’s often missed: writing is fun.
Yes. When you’re not staring at a blank page that refuses to give up its words, when you’re not drumming your fingers on your desktop thinking I have three loads of delicates that simply must be washed today, you’re in the pool. Getting wet. Bathing in it. Washing with it. Creating.
Oh, my brothers and sisters, is that ever fun. And it’s supposed to be fun. The act of creation is joy. It is a high. It’s like a drug. When the writing is going well, I want more of it – more good writing, yes, definitely that, but I really want more of that feeling.
That feeling of being a god. A colossus. Designer, creator, orchestrator, originator of lives and (in my business) killer of worlds. What a rush.
You might be thinking, oh, that’s not it at all, I have a grander purpose, it’s a far greater thing than just chasing the thrill. You’re a writer, and because you are, I love you. Because I love you, I will tell you that if you are saying that, you’re lying to yourself. Stop that. Bad writer.
Lie to anybody else. Daily. Never to yourself. If you do, it comes out in the work and makes it something nasty.
Fun. Big, major fun.
Okay. It’s fun. So what? Did you just blather for a page to tell me writing is fun?
I did not. I have a point. It just takes me awhile to get there. I’m an introvert. We move slowly.
My point: the act of writing is like a drug. Have you ever done drugs? I’ll have Therese bold this and highlight it in big red letters: I am not saying you should do drugs. What I am saying is I was a teenager in the late 1970’s. Are you with me? Are we tracking?
When you’re high, it takes a little while to come down. When you finish a writing session, you feel fantastic. You’re elated. You’re still drunk from the creative process, which really does release endorphins. It also relaxes you, centers you, and does all kinds of other semi-mystical things to tickle your various pleasure centers and fill you with that undefinable sense of well-being.
You think what you just wrote is gold. It’s the best thing anyone’s ever committed to paper. We all think this, we all do this, so don’t feel bad. It’s a very necessary part of the process – the part that keeps you coming back to the notebook or the computer or the crayons and butcher paper every day.
We all think what we wrote is great immediately after writing it. But not all of us shove what we just wrote into a manuscript envelope, address it to our latest favorite market, and send it off the same day it’s finished.
There’s a technical term for this. It’s called a bad idea. You need to wait until you come off the mountaintop, where the air is rare, and look at the work again in the cold light of day. This uses a different part of your brain (or, if you’re like me, a completely different personality).
It is also necessary, but much more difficult to do, because it is not nearly as fun. Sometimes it’s absolutely no fun, because you go back to that amazing piece of inspired prose you cranked out in a white heat two weeks ago and discover that it’s … well, it’s not quite as amazing as you thought it was while you were still stoned on creativity. But that’s when you have to kick in the craft, get out the pick and shovel and make some conscious decisions about the kind of work you’re trying to do here. You want the energy intact – the spark – but the prose will need work. Unless you’re one of those rare geniuses among us, you will need editing. Even Neil Gaiman needs editing, and he’s one of those rare geniuses.
I get a lot of stories for Spacesuits and Sixguns that have that “just taken out of the oven” flavor. That might be good for cakes and cookies, but not for stories. Stories need to cool. I always wait a minimum of two weeks. I start something else, so I’m still working, but I don’t look at a story I’ve finished for at least two weeks. It helps.
This disjointed, overtired and overstimulated public service announcement is brought to you by Writer Unboxed and Tales from the Trenches.
wow - EXCELLENT advice!! ‘lot of stories for Spacesuits and Sixguns that have that “just taken out of the oven” flavor. That might be good for cakes and cookies, but not for stories. Stories need to cool. I always wait a minimum of two weeks. I start something else, so I’m still working, but I don’t look at a story I’ve finished for at least two weeks. It helps.’ thanks, WU etal
I’ll admit it, I write for the creative high. My brain is addicted to the rush I get when I slam down a really compelling block of words.
I also liken editing to self-mutilation. You don’t want to do it, but you’re compelled because there’s something in front of you that’s unworthy. It hurts like hell to cut into it, but it has to be done (please note: I’m not into what the kids term “cutting” nor do I condone it).
Thanks for a great post, Dave!
Ain’t that the truth.
Excellent post, Dave. I don’t get that high all the time when I’m writing, only occasionally. When I do it usually means what I’ve written will survive even the cold-blooded examination of the ‘low’ phase.
PS, the Neil Gaiman link isn’t working for me.
I don’t know what the problem with the links is lately (grr), but I’ve fixed the Neil Gaiman one. Thanks for the head’s up, Juliet.
I love the writer’s high, Dave. I especially love it when you’ve written something that just seems to come from the ether - beautiful and surprising, like a bud showing up in a January blizzard.
Thanks for the post!
This post was so awesome. I love that feeling of being high after writing something glorious (well, at the time it is glorious). In fact, I’ve been experiencing that a lot this week with my novel-in-progress and it is exhilarating.
What I love the most, however, is when I come back to that particular scene a day, a week, or even a month and it’s STILL good - rare that this happens, but when it does…ahh, bliss.