Resolution to a case of copy jitters
Recently, I found myself asking NYC blogger Maud Newton about the way she might approach writing an article profiling several writers.
I was suffering a bad case of anxiety over the piece and as I explained to Maud, the results of workshopping the article with my online writing class led to less than spectacular results. Even the instructor described the work as “meandering,” “disconnected,” and a “jumble of things.”
“I need professional advice,” I told Maud.
“Oh, the draft definitely needs editorial work,” she agreed. “But first, let’s talk about what you’re trying to accomplish here.”
It’s at times like this, when writers find solutions through conversation. We love to exchange ideas, to volley concepts, to discuss prickly problems and storylines.
This is one of the ways I work out problem pieces, too, but when I am trying to untangle a troublesome plot, or find the gist of an essay, I prefer internal dialogue.
My conversations with Maud, you see, were make-believe.
Before I read Nora Ephron’s I Feel Bad About My Neck: and Other Thoughts on Being a Woman, I believed my imaginary chats were silly behaviour best kept secret.
In her book of essays, Ephron writes about this personal habit as if it is completely and utterly natural. She describes imaginary conversations she regularly had with gourmet Julia Child, Michael Field, and “a man named Lee Bailey.” The conversations were mostly about cooking and decorating back when she was a mailroom clerk making $55/week.
Julia Child “was nicer and more forgiving,” claims Ephron, whereas Field was “sterner and more meticulous.”
Whether she transferred this practice to her writing, she doesn’t say, though I suppose there’s good reason she has a real person, her sister Delia, as a scriptwriting partner. While a writing partner might keep oddball behaviour in-check, you can’t beat a good, one-sided conversation for problem-solving.
Shortly after reading Ephron’s essay Serial Monogamy: A Memoir, I started a blogging gig, and I found myself questioning her about her writing process and blog techniques. As expected, she was candid and tolerant.
On any given day, you can find me at my desk in my home office, talking to myself. Just like I did when I worked in an office, and as I recall, this peculiar habit annoyed many desk mates.
When looking for guidance or expertise, turn to a writer whose work you admire, or ask an artist, or a celebrity.
Try it.
No matter who you call upon, when tackling troublesome articles, these imaginary friends are simply a stand-in for your creative self.
So don’t be shy to ask for help in finding a spot for a misplaced paragraph. Go ahead: Debate editorial decisions. Take a position for, or against, a turn of phrase, a word choice, your main character’s hair colour. Defend your word count. Fight to keep a sentence you spent hours taking out and putting back in. You will soon see how valuable imaginary friends are to your creative process.
If you work alone as I do, these imaginary friends can be great company.
Before Nora, I would never have admitted to what has become an essential element of my writing process. Thankfully, she straightened me out. It was Maud, however, who helped me finish this piece.
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This piece originally appeared in Writers Circle of Durham (WCDR)’s Word Weaver newsletter.