Freezing Up

Posted on March 13, 2003 in Gratitude Writing Groups

I had to do it again on Monday night. I had to look a fellow writer in the eye and point out to him that his writing, though technically perfect, fell short when you looked at how he handled the subject matter.

I’d describe the piece as a “jerk gets his comeuppance” story. Neither the jerk nor his foil were particularly likeable. I found myself wondering why he’d written it. I asked “Do you like these characters?” He hesitated a moment, then stuttered that he thought he did. I ached. The next words would hurt. “I don’t feel that it comes across that you do, M,” I said.

A writing teacher of mine likes to say that the best stuff that you write is that which makes your hand freeze when you want to write it. I found my voice freezing on Monday night. I often find it freezing when I overhear someone gushing on about the war or how good their son looks in their new military uniform or when I have to tell them that the piece of writing that they have presented is just no good.

Just as I started to deliver my message, I caught myself. I flipped quickly through his pages. I mark the drafts I read in three colors of ink: red for the stuff that needs definite correction (spelling and grammatical errors); green for things that I liked (mostly a turn of phrase that I found particularly elegant); and blue for things that I felt might be changed. I was about to deliver him a speech filled with the blue, but then I remembered the green, you see. The places where he took some risks and inserted a bit of poetic description in the piece. As I flipped through, I found several such spots. I decided to put that up first. To tell him flat out what I liked about his story. Only then did I deliver my assessment of what I thought were the principal deficiencies of his work (I compared it to the “soft porn” I see in certain internet groups — complete with a pair of wet panties at the end — , I am afraid) and told him to think very hard about what he was aiming to do. Was this the appropriate vehicle?

After the session, I walked into the back of the bookstore. Part of my mind was attacking my own writing. Had I been true to my principles? Partly I wondered if I should be part of this group. I was freezing up and when I freeze up, I snap at people. I managed to corner the group leader and talk with her. I don’t know if Nannette knew how close I was to tears. In part because I have serious doubts that I will ever write anything marketable. In part, because I dreaded that my critiques wounded people. I didn’t talk about this second one — but I will confess to you that it would hurt me if someone stopped writing because of something I said. I would rather have them scream “Fuck you, Joel, I’ll write what I fucking please” so close to my face that I felt the hot wind coming out of their mouth on the tip of my nose than to never write another word.

I believe in encouraging people to keep writing, even if what they write is bad. I’ve never met anyone who was totally without hope as a writer unless they were severely brain damaged and beyond all awareness. There are a couple of people who I have to keep repeating myself on certain points, like “use images wherever you can” and “tell us the story“. But they’re not hopeless and they keep coming to the group.

Back to Nannette: I think there’s a friend to be cultivated here. In my fiction, I write to entertain my friends, especially Lynn. I was stuck, frozen in place. The night before, I’d been up until five a.m., cutting — mercilessly cutting — most of a short story that I’d been working on since I finished the semi-final draft of that other story that some of you have been kind enough to read. I don’t talk about my stories with Lynn because that’s like telling her what’s she’s going to get for her birthday or Christmas. (It looks like stories might be what she’s getting for her anniversary….) I need someone else.

Those minutes Nannette spent with me helped me so much and I want to publically thank her for spending them with me. I decided to stick with the group, if for the time being. I trotted out a few ideas that I was working on. I realized that in this new story, the entire first eight pages needed to be cut entirely and the whole things recommenced from a new point. And in those other eight pages, there was another story begging for completion. We parted laughing. And I shook her hand and said, quakily “You know, I don’t have many friends in life. I’m scared to have them. But I trust you. You helped me.”

I smiled a fast smile and rushed out the front of the bookstore. I wanted to get out of there before I skidded over some emotional black ice or something.

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Note: I’ve been thinking about these things long before I got around to reading Natalie’s list of “10 annoying habits of bloggers”. (I am violating Rule 6. I am also fond of violating Rule 8 when life events get to me.) I must offer additional gratitude for her for breaking the ice and helping me to talk about them.