Just For Writers

I Give Myself Permission to Flounder: At last, I've cleared my calendar, put fresh paper in the printer and, like a pianist poised for a concerto, plant my hands on the keyboard. My head is crammed full of ideas accumulated during the past hours and days. But I have no idea where to begin. I agonize over the opening sentence; once it is just right, I tell myself, the rest of the projected novel will flow. But it doesn't so much as gurgle, because that first sentence refuses to be perfect.

So instead, I dash off any old first sentence, then make myself a promise: When the book is done, I will revise it. Also, I will revise the first paragraph, the first page, the first chapter, if I want to. After all, it isn't until I reach the end of the book that I can write a proper beginning. Why bother perfecting what I will only throw out? The purpose of the first sentence/paragraph/chapter is to propel me into the story, get the juices up and running. The actual words are irrelevant.

I Give Myself Permission to be Bad: With a Master's degree in English and years of teaching literature under my belt, I hoped to write high quality stories. However, my early attempts were pathetic. Writing, I quickly learned, is not the same as critiquing or dissecting. Looking back, I realize I had an unrealistic picture of how writers work. Of course, I would never expect an engineer to construct a bridge without first learning the skills to keep it from falling down. Nor would I expect a plumber, bus driver or actress to practice their respective professions without learning the ropes. Yet that is exactly what I expected of writers. So I decided to take a period of time to learn the writing ropes: ten years. That sounds like a long time; many of my students complain that they don't have ten years--they need to write that bestseller NOW. For me, ten years felt like a comfortable period. Even though I sold two books in the third year, I still considered myself an apprentice.

I Give Myself Permission Period: Most of my students believe that writing is not a legitimate pursuit unless it earns money and lots of it. Spinning stories nobody reads or pays for appears self-indulgent, unproductive, un-American. There are worthier ways to spend one's time: collecting for the Cancer Society, for example, fixing dinner for a neighbor in mourning, cleaning up a stretch of highway. I admit it--there is no good excuse for writing, except that you want to or can't help it. Now, having fessed up to the truth, I say, "Do it anyway." "Yes," you may say, "but who has time?" Truth be told, nobody gives you time to write. You have to take it. If you can't bring yourself to take it, please use the permission slip below. Feel free to wave it under the nose of anybody - especially you - who questions the time you spend writing.

 

To Whom It May Concern:

(Name)_________________________________________________________

has permission to take the time to write without (check appropriate choices)

___ apology
___ excuse
___ large advance
___ book contract
___ feeling deserving

 

Sincerely, Barbara Sherrod