Category Archives: Writing

A Few More Thoughts On Emerson’s Words

I want to make one more post on the words Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote to Thomas Carlyle in 1842. For convenience, here’s the quote.

“I had it fully in my heart to write at large leisure in noble mornings opened by prayer or readings from Plato or whomsoever else is dearest to the Morning Muse, a new chapter on Poetry, for which all readings, all studies, are but preparation; but now it is July, and my chapter is in rudest beginnings. Yet when I go out of doors in the summer night, and see how high the stars are, I am persuaded that there is time enough for all that I must do; and the good world manifests very little impatience.”

I find in these words much to apply to my own life. I’m not comparing my writings to his, nor my brain power to his, but I find much in his words to inform and inspire me. Consider these nuggets.

1. I had it in my heart to write pretty much sums up how I feel. This desire hit me relatively late in life compared to Emerson, who seems to have written essays from the moment his motor skills were sufficient to use a pen. But I have it in my heart now, and early enough in life that there is time enough for all that I must do. These umpteen ideas running through my head will hopefully each find their quiet time in turn, and turn into words on paper.

2. to write at leisure in mornings tells me that Emerson planned his day, and had a specific writing time. His output was perhaps not the most prolific among writers of his stature, but it is certainly some of the best. I could stand to emulate his habits: to write at a specific time, possibly in the morning when the mind is freshest; to write at leisure, by which I think he means at an unhurried pace, allowing the mind adequate to think before the hand moves the pen. Yet Emerson’s obligations, especially his recent assumption of the editorship of The Dial magazine, caused him to not have his leisurely writing time in noble mornings, and not prayers, nor Plato, nor anything else was helping him get his chapter written on poetry. How well I can relate to that! Though my interruptions are much more mundane, such as a day job, family responsibilities, and a thousand trappings of community. Oh that it would be an editorship that stunts my writing!

3. my chapter is in rudest beginnings tells me that Emerson had a realistic understanding of his skills and where his writing stood at any given time relative to what he knew the finished product should look like. By rudest beginning, I don’t know if he means barely started, or written but still subject to significant editing, or maybe just in outline form. No matter; I need to keep repeating Scavella’s Mantra: I’m not as good as I think I am.

4. the good world tells me something of Emerson’s overall outlook of life. The world was good, good enough to say so to his friend, good enough to write about. Emerson was optimistic about life, and I believe his writings reflect that. In comparison, his friend Carlyle was down right dour and pessimistic. He felt like the world was going downhill fast, and English civilization well past its zenith. Unfortunately, my outlook on this world is closer to Carlyle than to Emerson, and I’m sure my writing reflects that. I need to be able to say “the good world” and mean it. There is good in the world, but unfortunately the bad overwhelms it sometimes. Help me, Lord, to look for the good around me and let my outlook be atuned to that.

Soon I will give a quote from one of Carlyle’s letters, in which I find some inspiration and comfort.

Time enough for all that I must do

I have a new writing project, which I’m not going to write about here until I’m further along in it. This project has both stretched me thin and caused me to temporarily lay aside some other things I was working on or working up to.

I found a passage in Emerson’s writing applicable to this. I must first digress to tell about yesterday’s mundane activities. Part of this was foraging in used bookstores–just two, actually: the Friendly Bookstore in Rogers, run by the Friends of the Rogers Library, and the Salvation Army thrift store in Rogers. We also spent a pleasant hour at the Bentonville library, a new facility that has a coffee bar (I bought a large house blend) and plenty of space to simply browse and read at leisure. But I prate. At the Friendly Bookstore, I found three volumes I wanted. Two are somewhat inconsequential, but the third is a find: The Correspondence of Thomas Carlyle and Ralph Waldo Emerson, Volume 2, printed in 1888. I have read both volumes 1 and 2 of this work, which is available in the public domain, specifically at Project Gutenberg, but there is something about having the words in your hand, rather than on the screen. The feel of the book, the care to protect its fragile condition, the sight of the browning pages, are all wonders when compared to pixels and plastic, electricity and fans, which are lost when the power ceases.

So of course I opened this book and began reading. Since this is volume 2 only, I had a distinct feeling of coming in on the middle of something. But Emerson, in his wisdom, rewarded me for being an interloper. After covering life’s business, he turned to his own writing and had this to say: “I had it fully in my heart to write at large leisure in noble mornings opened by prayer or readings from Plato or whomsoever else is dearest to the Morning Muse, a new chapter on Poetry, for which all readings, all studies, are but preparation; but now it is July, and my chapter is in rudest beginnings. Yet when I go out of doors in the summer night, and see how high the stars are, I am persuaded that there is time enough for all that I must do; and the good world manifests very little impatience.

So much to consider in these words, not the words of a well-worked lecture or chapter in a non-fiction book, but a simple letter to a friend, possibly not even proof-read as they were jotted down, possibly with no draft and revision. “There is time enough for all that I must do.” That is something I really need to learn. With this new project started and uncomplete projects dropped or delayed, I need to say this over and over again, and take it to heart. Fifty-six years are gone; who knows how many are ahead. There is time enough, time enough.

By the way, this Blogger software is messing up the line spacing whenever I use the quote feature, so I’m not going to use the quote feature for a while, not until I can figure out how to do it right.

Marvelling at the Old Time Authors

Spend any time in writer training, either in real life or on line, and you will hear some variation of this as the process for writing good material.

1. Write
2. Revise
3. Repeat step 2 until it is perfect.

Authors are encouraged to write as fast as they can. Get it down on paper (or on the screen). Don’t worry about the quality–that’s what revisions are for. When you finish the full piece, go back and revise, revise, revise and make it a quality product. Revise it some more to take out all your bad habits and enhance those good habits you don’t have yet. Revise some more. Perfect it. Edit it as many times as necessary to make it perfect. Almost everyone who teaches or coaches writers advocate this type of approach or something similar.

This is easy in the computer era. Successive revisions on a screen cost nothing but the electricity to run the machine, and it was probably running anyway. Occasional printouts have a cost of paper and toner, but printing fast-draft on re-used paper even reduces this cost. We have become a generation of writers who tend to write first and think later. Somehow out of this brain to fingers process we wind up with a finished product, hopefully a good piece–no, an excellent piece–no, a perfect piece.

My recent reading among writers of generations past has led me to think about how they approached writing. What about in the typewriter era, with all the cut and paste and re-typing? What about in the pre-typewriter era, when everything was written, and each revision meant a rewrite, at a time when ink and paper was more expensive than today? What about in ancient times, say at the time of Jesus Christ, when paper was papyrus, ink was soot mixed with water, and pens were quills or worse? Surely the ancients, and the moderately-distant past writers followed a different approach. They must have spent a lot more time forming the words, phrases, sentences, and paragraphs in their heads–an inexpensive medium, those gray cells–before putting anything on paper.

When Emerson put these words on paper in 1834 with his own hand, how many drafts did he go through?

Believe then that the harp and ear are formed by one revolution of the wheel; that men are waiting to hear your epical song; and so be pleased to skip those excursive involved glees, and give us the simple air, without the volley of variations.

And, when Carlyle wrote this back the same year, did he think first and write later, or the other way around?

Poor Teufelsdrockh!–Creature of mischance, miscalculation, and thousand-fold obstruction! Here nevertheless he is, as you see; has struggled across the Stygian marshes, and now, as a stiched pamplet “for Friends” cannot be burnt or lost before his time.

These were just in letters between the two, and yet the writing is excellent, full of wit and wisdom, full of erudition. Such did not come from spilling their guts onto successive pieces of paper, but from churning words in the brain over a period of years. You might say these men are not typical of the writers of their day, but sit on the shoulders of all others. Perhaps so. But I wonder how much their process of writing (think, churn, write, revise, send) made them so.

My point? I don’t know that I have one; just pondering about how we have changed. I began a new writing project Sunday night (as if I’m not trying too many things now), and spent the time Sunday in reading for research and putting concepts on paper. I did a little of the same on Monday, then went to the computer and followed the write fast method, getting as much on disc as I could. When I read it tonight or tomorrow, will I see the makings of something good, or simple rot-gut?

Waiting, Waiting

Three months and three days. That’s how long it’s been since I sent a partial manuscrpt of Doctor Luke’s Assistant to an agent I met at a conference. The agent requested the partial, and I complied a couple of days later. No word since them. This is about at the time when, if you listen to on-line writer groups, I should be thinking about a refresher contact to the agent. I think I’ll wait another couple of months, however. It seems the waiting is getting harder on this one the longer it goes on.

Four months. That’s how long it’s been since I sent four items out for consideration by four different periodicals. Three were poems; one was a literary essay. I heard back from two of them over the next two months–two rejections. The other two, nothing. These are not ones I’m sweating over, as I don’t think much payment, if any, is involved, and not a lot of noteriety. Still, knowing would be better than not knowing.

One day. That’s how long it will be before they announce the results of the Valentine’s Day love sonnet contest at Absolute Write. I entered an older one titled “Motif No. 1”, a take-off of the famous fishing hut in Rockport, Massachusetts. One of forty-five entries with five prizes being awarded, I think I have a decent chance to get something. But I’ve been disappointed before, so my hopes aren’t really up.

Waiting is part of the writing industry, with most waits ending in the disappointment of rejection. We’ll see what these four unresolved submittals hold.

2007 in Poetry

I spent little time with poetry in 2007. Having completed Father Daughter Day the year before (but with most of it written 2004-2005), I read it through once and did some minor edits, and found a few beta readers in my target audience. The year began with it under consideration by a gift book editor, but I heard in June (after three follow-up e-mails) that they weren’t interested. I showed it to a couple of editors at a writers conference in November, but as expected they were not interested in poetry. I almost looked into having the book illustrated, but decided the time was not right. So I’m letting this sit for a while.

As to writing poetry, my production this year was only seven:
– a sonnet “Yoked”, on the progression of marriage
– a free verse poem “A Far Away Look”, the first free verse I’ve tried for a while
– a light verse “Oxymoron No. 1”, about reading poetry
– a light verse epithet “For One Who Died Too Young”
– a light verse “On The Virtues Of ‘Good’ Or ‘Fine'”
– an haiku
– a sonnet “Of Bollards And Berms”, about the inner struggle to purity

Several of these I workshopped at Absolute Write or Mosaic Musings.

I just didn’t feel like writing poetry this year. Very few situations arose where I thought That would make a good poem and sat down to do it. I don’t know if this means my poetry interest is waning, or just that the time wasn’t there to do both prose and poetry, and thus I supressed, either purposely or subconciously, the desire to write it. I hope it’s the latter, and that at some point in the future my desire to write poetry–and read it–will come back.

Excuses: Fear of Commitment

Well, another day sick at home, though I’m definitely on the mend. I cut back a bit on medicine, and don’t need a cough drop constantly in my mouth. Coughing much less, sinus drainage less. Back to work on Monday.

Which brings me to my last excuse in the fear area: fear of committment.

Right now, I’m playing with Documenting America. I get on to it hot and heavy for a week, and write three or four columns, gaging the time it take for each including reading, research, writing, editing, and finishing. I prove that in a mere three or four hours of concentrated work I can write one of these columns. That I could do every week. And, if that was the only thing needed for the column, that would be a commitment I would be willing to make. That’s what it would be if I wrote the column for a newspaper, one newspaper.

However, for self-syndication, I would also have marketing research, actual marketing, sending of the columns, billing and followin-up on billing, and organizing the whole thing. What would the time commitment be? What if I had the column in 5 newspapers? That wouldn’t be too bad, but what about 50? If I were so successful as to appear in 50 newspapers, what would the time commitment be, and could I handle it? If the column itself takes four hours a week, I suspect the marketing and business end of the project would require about that much, certainly if it appears in more than a handful of newspapers.

As I talk through this, the problem with commitment is more fear of what I don’t know–exactly what the time commitment will be. Fear of commitment, or fear of the unknown? I hope soon I will face them.

Excuses: Fear of Error

Still sick; still stayed at home today. Thought I would go to work, but got up at 7:00 AM to a huge coughing spell, deep and painful. So I crawled back in bed and slept till 10, and got up to a leisurely day. Did a little reading, but mainly slept and slept, or at least rested. I think I’ll be back to work tomorrow.

Now to the next excuse I’ve experienced: fear of error. This came to me when I was writing a Documenting America column on a document that dealt with “common law”. I had no idea what that was. An hour of research both on-line and in books I had at hand gave me the basics–at least enough to write the column and make the points I wanted to. Four hours total, and I had a column. Yet, a nagging thought kept coming back to me: What if my research is not sufficient, and I’ve made an error. It would kill my credibility, and would kill the column. I thought that through as I wrote the column, and tried to structure what I wrote to avoid error, to indicate the limit of my knowledge. Still, the nagging thought remained.

The writer’s need to research his subject, and write what is correct and verifiable, is huge. This is true for fiction, non-fiction, magazines, newspapters. Make a mistake on a fact and you’re toast. Worse than that, though, I think, would be a mistake in an opinion, or in interpreting a fact. You might say it would be impossible to make a mistake of interpretation or opinion, but I think it is possible.

I had more I wanted to write about this, but the long day, even with the rest I had, is making my head go fuzzy. I’ll edit this tomorrow and add the rest.

Excuses: Fear of Success

I’m out sick today, not even trying to get in a couple of hours. The way I felt this morning I was pretty sure the worst had not yet come. But I’ve had a restful day, taking my over-the-counter medication, and now am feeling much better. If things continue as is, I should be able to work tomorrow. Today I haven’t tried to write anything.

The next excuse I sometimes use is fear of success. What would happen if my column, my novels, my ideas for non-fiction books, should turn out to be good ideas, and my writing turn out to be good writing, and all these things be fantastically successful? What would change in my life as a result, and am I ready for that? Some extra money would be nice, and there is no need to fear “papazzi”-type fame, for no writer gets that, not even J.K. Rowling. Success that leads to a change of career is also pretty unlikely, and shouldn’t be something to fear.

I sometimes think this is my biggest hindrance. Then I tell myself it’s just wishful thinking. The level of success that would have a major change in my life is so far fetched as to be not attainable. So fear of success should not be a factor. Still, those dreams are hard to drive out of my mind, and the dreams then lead to that fear–of success.

I don’t know how to overcome that, other than to keep trying. Take one day at a time. Plan out a writing “career” and work the plan. Yet I’ve had these plans since June 2006. Why have I not acted on the plan? Fear of success?

Excuses: Fear of Failure

Tonight I have an excuse for not doing anything on my writing: my third cold of this winter season. I came home early from work yesterday with it, and would have stayed out today except for a few things I had to get done. So I went in and did those things, then came home about 1 PM. My head is full of congestion, my chest full of coughing, various parts are hurting, and my thinking is fuzzy. Writing is impossible, so we watched a DVD and migrated to the computer for games.

But even when I don’t have this excuse, I still put off writing, especially following through on Documenting America, and the marketing needed for it. Why is this? Is it fear, and if so what kind of fear. I think I’ll take a few days to work through issues of fear. Maybe this will help me to overcome those fears.

The first, of course, is fear of failure. I’m not sure this is my problem, but maybe it is. If I send out 40 query letters, and get all rejections, how will I feel? But this is a stupid kind of fear. All that would show is that the column is less viable than I hoped, or not of interest to as wide an audience as I thought. Or it could mean my marketing approach is not right. Or it could mean I need to cast a wider marketing net. Or it could mean I should begin the column as a local newspaper column, not as self-syndicated. But the fact is failure should be no problem. It would mean I either hone the concept into something more marketable, or concentrate on other types of writing. Either way, failure with Documenting America is not an end, merely a transisiton.

Fear of failure? I don’t really think that’s my problem.

Back Story

I like the way National Treasure handled back story. This has implications for me, as a writer of fiction, for the movie is really an illustrated novel. In fact, it probably was a novel before it was a movie.

The prologue of young Ben Gates learning about the treasure and how his family became involved with it is essential to understanding the story. It did not have be a prologue, obviously, but I think the prologue works better, rather than working this in as remembrances by Ben during the story. In just a couple of minutes, the stage is set for the rest of the story, including the estangement of Ben and his dad. Very well done, IMHO.

The movie then cuts to the scene in the Arctic, many years later, with Ben and companions on the quest for the Charlotte. No information is given as to how Ben learned: that Charlotte was a ship, not a person; which Charlotte among other ships; learning its itinerary; and figuring out its final resting place. All this is for the viewer to imagine. Even during the balance of the movie, almost no hints are given about the missing years. The only ones I can think of are when the FBI folks are digging into his background. So we don’t know what Ben did to get to the Arctic.

But, we don’t really need to know. An intelligent viewer can figure out in broad concepts what he did. He spent his entire life after the attic scene looking for the treasure. He obtained education in fields that helped his search. He dug around archives for a person named Charlotte who was connected with Charles Carroll or other signers of the Declaration of Independence. He figured out that Charlotte in the clue was a ship, not a woman. Etc. Etc. He traces the ship to an Artic voyage of no return, and somehow figures out where the ship ended its fateful last voyage. All of this comes to the viewer in an instant, in the cut from the attic to the Arctic. Well done.

Also well done is the lack of back story about the relationships: Gates with Ian, Gates with Riley, and others. The story is not harmed by lack of knowledge about these, even with only limited back story supplied during the movie (poker buddies, windowless cubicle). Sufficient for the viewer’s enjoyment is that these people did meet, form relationships, and start working together. The specifics are not important.

May my handling of back story in the fiction I write be as good as in this movie.