Maybe that Internal Critic Wasn't Completely Wrong

Good writing is rewriting ...

                                     Truman Capote

I have often written about my internal critic, that voice inside my head that tells me my writing is crap, that tries to convince me to give up, that tells me I will never succeed.

Most experts and experienced writers tell you to ignore that critic, make it go away. They even suggest making deals with the bugger, telling it to go away until after the first few drafts. I struggle with it. I can at times let it overwhelm me with fear and negativity.

I’m wondering now if I shouldn’t embrace my internal critic and start listening. No, I’m not thinking my writing is crap, well not today at least. But I have to admit there has been something bothering me for quite some time as I work on revisions of the first draft, or rather, don’t work on revisions of the first draft.

  

I have felt stuck, as I said, lots of fear, anxiety and generally feeling rather lost. But, I am starting to name what is bothering me. I have been reading more, particularly since giving up one of my part time jobs. A couple of books just for the fun of it (confession: I love Kathy Reichs’ books and devour them as soon as they are released). I also have been reading a couple of memoirs. I am in the midst of “Lit” by Mary Karr and recently raced through “Mennonite in a Little Black Dress” by Rhoda Janzen, which made me laugh aloud at times.

What I have realized is that I have not been honest, with myself or with my writing. I am a pleaser, have been for a long time. Want to fix things for other people, want everyone to be happy and particularly want people to like me and not be mad at me.  So, I wrote my first draft, constantly editing myself so as not to piss anyone off.  It stifles the writing, it makes the story flat and like I’m reporting it instead of living it.

I may be starting anew, writing honestly. I’m going to be making some people mad probably. I hope my family will understand that what I write is my story, my memories and my feelings, it is never meant as a judgment of them. There are others, people I long considered my friends in law enforcement who aren’t going to like what I write (and I don’t mean just because they don’t like my style of writing). I have to remind myself that my real friends, the people who should and do matter the most will understand and will support me in telling my story honestly.

Maybe I have reached this point partly because I have begun to examine what it really means when you talk about friends, who are friends and who are acquaintances? That, however, is another post for another day.

While my internal critic cannot keep me from writing, I think that maybe it was keeping me from being satisfied with not telling the story from my heart.

Starting over is not what I had in mind when I started the revision process, but then being content with something not good enough is not what I had in mind either.

September 11

I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when the planes hit the twin towers in New York on September 11, 2001. Like those who remember exactly where they were and what they were doing on November 22, 1963, or December 7, 1941. Like many people I know and love, for me today is a day of remembrance and reflection.

I heard about the first plane hitting one of the twin towers and then watched on TV as the second hit. I was standing in the booking room of the Placer County Jail, only three months or so after I was promoted to Lieutenant.

Even now, in remembering that moment, that day, that time I get that same feeling …. and this is what I miss most about my career in law enforcement. The moment -- the images that are burned most clearly in my memory is of emergency workers as they ran towards the disaster while thousands fled in panic. It is that “family” that I miss and those “brothers and sisters” that I never knew that I mourn.

All I really wanted to do that day was to be there, to help, to join that law enforcement family as they grieved the loss of their brethren and continued to work tirelessly to help survivors. I felt helpless as I watched on TV from 3000 miles away.

With deepest gratitude to those who made the ultimate sacrifice.

All gave some …. Some gave all.

Frozen by .....?

I love comments from people on this blog. My last post about not winning the writing contest (I will not call myself a loser) garnered some of my favorite. Some of those comments are from people I don’t even really know except for virtually through She Writes. @Word Actress (Mary Kennedy Eastham) is one of those. But, her words touched me. I sometimes need someone to give me some clear direction and she did.

Unfortunately, I feel frozen. Is this what writers block really is? I don’t think so. I think this is just plain old fear. Someone suggested I work on my short stories and let the memoir sit for a bit after not winning the contest. Others suggest climbing right back on the horse and moving on with the memoir. I can’t seem to do either one.

I sit here wanting to know what needs to be done to the memoir. I have read excerpts from almost all of the finalist (the last three will be posted tomorrow). There are some incredible works out there and I can see why they were picked. But, I don’t know how to learn from that, how to turn some of that into figuring out what didn’t work about mine. Is the writing just not good enough? Is the story not that interesting to those “in the know” about publishing? Do I need to start from scratch? I want to ask those that read the excerpt for the contest. Although, obviously, it wouldn’t do much good. They looked at 300 entries and have their own work and careers and I’m not paying them so I don’t think they would sit down and give me a critique of my entry. But, it is what I want most of all.

This isn’t just about being published. If that were my only goal, I would have likely tried to write something more commercial. I write truly for me. But, I also would like to see it out in the world, my story, my memoir. How do you learn whether it is something that will ever be good enough, or whether it was just not what they were looking for this time?

I am trying not to turn my not being chosen into a personal beating.  I am still struggling with understanding. I want to move on, whether it be to keep working on the memoir or work on my fiction but I feel like I can’t until I learn something from the loss.

I am struck immediately in reading the finalists entries, particularly their cover letters that I didn’t get that part. I asked questions and researched what the cover letter was supposed to look like but mine looked nothing like any of theirs. All the ones I have read from the finalists looked like the blurb on the back of the book.

I don’t like being frozen. I know I have to do something, the memoir, my fiction, something … but it is like I don’t want to be doing it if I am just really doing it wrong.

This is a common issue for me. I want to learn and I am willing to try to fail, but if I fail, I would like some help in learning why I failed so I don’t fail again. Where do I get that?

Oh and if I didn’t already, thank you so much to @Word Actress, @coffeelvnmom, @BurgMa, @Kathy Johnson and of course @ mendid. Your words were wonderful and encouraging and truly make me want to continue and succeed, and certainly helped me feel better. Just maybe, @Word Actress is right; I should just enter the memoir in another contest and see what happens.