To Stir in your Juices or be a Flash in the Pan
Before I start this tirade, I should let you know right off that I understand every writer is different. The way you choose to dig up ideas, execute them to the page, edit your work and publish them to the world is all your business. It’s your baby, after all. And rest assured, this article is just as much for you as it is for me, because while I see some writers twittering about what they are writing, how many words they’ve written that day and practically giving the story away through social media, I admittedly have a tendency to do the exact opposite. Reason being is because I have a focus problem. I admit it.
I tend to work on several stories at once, never able to finish one completely and wholly without the distraction of other stories getting in the way. And when I do finally finish one, I tend to put it aside, and move on to the next idea I have burning in the back of my head, usually without editing and applying the polishing final touches that are needed while in the heat and passion of writing the story. In doing this, I’ll usually lose the story's drive, feeling it sputter like an airplane, before the sputter becomes a powerless glide through the air, which leads to the eventual freefall back to earth with less than desirable consequences. No, my stories don’t explode in my face, and I think I’ve tamed my pen from writing myself into a corner, but, unfortunately, some of those ideas tend to remain grounded for a while before I'm able to rekindle the same spark that made them fly in the first place.
Now, in spite of this, I do believe a rolling stone gathers no moss, but that should never mean you can’t stop and enjoy the scenery at all. Just know the difference in stopping to smell the roses and setting up camp to live. To me, giving yourself and your work a breather shouldn’t be frowned upon. It should be encouraged. This sort of ties in with my Nanowrimo blog post a few months back when I alluded to waiting on the story and letting it, not so much fester, but simmer in its juices. You are the writer after all, so you are the chef, the one serving up the story steaming and delicious to the reader’s mental palate.
Factoid about me: I’m no vegetarian. Not by a long shot. I love ribs and roasts and what I think any meat lover will agree with me on is the best kind of meat is the kind that falls off the bone. The kind that tastes like it could melt in your mouth, tender and succulent. How does that happen? Well, in Casa de Ratliff, we have a slow cooker. After applying the right amount of spices, water, bouillon cubes and broth, we wait…very…very patiently. Soon, the smells begin to fill the house, creeping into the air like a discreet morning fog. You’ve employed everything you could think of when you were prepping the meat, adding all the right fixings and setting the temperature just right.
Now, as you wait for the food, do you sit right by the slow cooker, peering in every couple of minutes? No, you go do other things: prepare the sides, bake the rolls, get the plates out, do a load of laundry, network online, feed the hippos, flirt with your supermodel wife, engage in some yoga, work on a story, bend time and space… Oh, wait. That’s me.
Anyway, you get the point. But what is it that you have to do with that roast? You have to check on it. You have to turn it over so one side isn’t dry and the other is a juicy perfection that would bring Vikings to their knees, tears streaming down their faces, claiming it’s a celebration in their mouths and all of Valhalla is invited. Sure, that one side is great, but you don’t want that. You want all of it to be perfect, don’t you? You want every bit of that roast to be delicious and tender, not just one side. If you haven’t stopped reading by now and ventured into the kitchen, you’ve probably figured out that this is how I write.
In that same line of thinking - not to justify a stagnant work ethic - let’s not think that it’s ok to let the roast sit for too long either. If you do, the meat will be tough and hard to work with no matter how much sauce you add, no matter how many other garnishes you make, no matter how sweet the tea is. Such a disgrace would bring a Nordic massacre of bloodshed and plunder upon your house. What I'm saying here is Mind Your Meat. That’s all I’m asking.
When readers come hungry to the dinner table, or the couch or the porch or the lanai, they’re looking for a good meal, something to sink their teeth into and enjoy. Do you want them to struggle with it, crewing vacantly in an attempt to think of something else other than the catcher’s mitt they’re eating? No. You want them to take that first glorious bite, roll their eyes into the back of their head, lean back in tongue slathering ecstasy and allow the food to declare war on their taste buds. That’s what I do when I finally eat something I’ve been craving. I slowly close my eyes, blocking out all other senses to allow my mouth to relish in every single flavor. And I expect that down to the very last bite.
If you’ve never experienced that with reading or even your own writing – which given the platform I’ve presented this piece on I think it’s safe to say many of you have – you need to find something that will. Writers, are you giving your story away, raw, undercooked, and still way too pink for human consumption? Or is it tough and chewy and old? Or is it that picture perfect color, tinder, juicy, the words falling off the page? Because, if you think about it, why else would the pages of some novels be "Bone-colored"?
Dig in, everybody.
I tend to work on several stories at once, never able to finish one completely and wholly without the distraction of other stories getting in the way. And when I do finally finish one, I tend to put it aside, and move on to the next idea I have burning in the back of my head, usually without editing and applying the polishing final touches that are needed while in the heat and passion of writing the story. In doing this, I’ll usually lose the story's drive, feeling it sputter like an airplane, before the sputter becomes a powerless glide through the air, which leads to the eventual freefall back to earth with less than desirable consequences. No, my stories don’t explode in my face, and I think I’ve tamed my pen from writing myself into a corner, but, unfortunately, some of those ideas tend to remain grounded for a while before I'm able to rekindle the same spark that made them fly in the first place.
Now, in spite of this, I do believe a rolling stone gathers no moss, but that should never mean you can’t stop and enjoy the scenery at all. Just know the difference in stopping to smell the roses and setting up camp to live. To me, giving yourself and your work a breather shouldn’t be frowned upon. It should be encouraged. This sort of ties in with my Nanowrimo blog post a few months back when I alluded to waiting on the story and letting it, not so much fester, but simmer in its juices. You are the writer after all, so you are the chef, the one serving up the story steaming and delicious to the reader’s mental palate.
Factoid about me: I’m no vegetarian. Not by a long shot. I love ribs and roasts and what I think any meat lover will agree with me on is the best kind of meat is the kind that falls off the bone. The kind that tastes like it could melt in your mouth, tender and succulent. How does that happen? Well, in Casa de Ratliff, we have a slow cooker. After applying the right amount of spices, water, bouillon cubes and broth, we wait…very…very patiently. Soon, the smells begin to fill the house, creeping into the air like a discreet morning fog. You’ve employed everything you could think of when you were prepping the meat, adding all the right fixings and setting the temperature just right.
Now, as you wait for the food, do you sit right by the slow cooker, peering in every couple of minutes? No, you go do other things: prepare the sides, bake the rolls, get the plates out, do a load of laundry, network online, feed the hippos, flirt with your supermodel wife, engage in some yoga, work on a story, bend time and space… Oh, wait. That’s me.
Anyway, you get the point. But what is it that you have to do with that roast? You have to check on it. You have to turn it over so one side isn’t dry and the other is a juicy perfection that would bring Vikings to their knees, tears streaming down their faces, claiming it’s a celebration in their mouths and all of Valhalla is invited. Sure, that one side is great, but you don’t want that. You want all of it to be perfect, don’t you? You want every bit of that roast to be delicious and tender, not just one side. If you haven’t stopped reading by now and ventured into the kitchen, you’ve probably figured out that this is how I write.
In that same line of thinking - not to justify a stagnant work ethic - let’s not think that it’s ok to let the roast sit for too long either. If you do, the meat will be tough and hard to work with no matter how much sauce you add, no matter how many other garnishes you make, no matter how sweet the tea is. Such a disgrace would bring a Nordic massacre of bloodshed and plunder upon your house. What I'm saying here is Mind Your Meat. That’s all I’m asking.
When readers come hungry to the dinner table, or the couch or the porch or the lanai, they’re looking for a good meal, something to sink their teeth into and enjoy. Do you want them to struggle with it, crewing vacantly in an attempt to think of something else other than the catcher’s mitt they’re eating? No. You want them to take that first glorious bite, roll their eyes into the back of their head, lean back in tongue slathering ecstasy and allow the food to declare war on their taste buds. That’s what I do when I finally eat something I’ve been craving. I slowly close my eyes, blocking out all other senses to allow my mouth to relish in every single flavor. And I expect that down to the very last bite.
If you’ve never experienced that with reading or even your own writing – which given the platform I’ve presented this piece on I think it’s safe to say many of you have – you need to find something that will. Writers, are you giving your story away, raw, undercooked, and still way too pink for human consumption? Or is it tough and chewy and old? Or is it that picture perfect color, tinder, juicy, the words falling off the page? Because, if you think about it, why else would the pages of some novels be "Bone-colored"?
Dig in, everybody.
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