I intimidated myself with the pretty. I had to have a feeling of impermanence, editability. Hence, I have a bin full of post-consumer-recycled steno type pads, with pages falling off from use and storage. But I wrote freely, allowed myself the freedom to screw up and leave lovely unfinished bits for futuer use.

Oh, understood. But when I began I was so repressed and convinced I had nothing of worth to say--only a burning desire to scribble--that I sort of made an exalted "safe" space to do the scribbling. The pages I so lovingly archived have scratched-through, blotted, even torn-out bits. They're not gorgeous. But they were precious to me simply because I'd been able to create them.

It's no longer such a dedicatedly formal process. I have stacks of wire-bound notebooks with post-its sticking out of them marking bits that might be relevant to something I have been/am/may be working on, and scraps of paper napkins, envelopes, other scribbled-on detritus shoved in among the pages.

But the "archiving" was a good symbolic way of bestowing importance on my writing, however banal it actually was. The process, and the creation of the habit, needed some ceremony. For me.

If I don't enjoy writing it, nobody will enjoy reading it.

That's actually one of my primary editing tools, if I'm having to force myself to write something, pretty good odds are that it's not working.

if I'm having to force myself to write something, pretty good odds are that it's not working.

word word word word

Connie, that ought to be stitched onto a sampler and hung over every writer's desk, I think. And you know your editor is right there when she (or he) goes over the ms when done and unerringly hits those exact portions with a red pen. "This lags...."

Last night I tried writing longhand, because I had to get something ready for class tonight, and was having such bad shoulder/neck/jaw tension I wanted to get away from the computer for awhile. It didn't really feel that different as a creative process, and if anything it was faster, since I couldn't do my usual "write a paragraph, catch up on Buffistas, do a page of dialogue, see if there are new posts on skatefans" thing. I was then able to quickly type the scene in.

I'll work that way again, though hopefully not with yesterday's pain and time constraints pushing me.

I'm a major typer. I can't think in longhand. All my creative juice gets sucked into the pen.

I write best when I'm busy downloading a gigantic file from the Internet, so I can't really surf the web. ;)

I'd forgotten how nice writing longhand can feel. Normally I use a biro and a little reporter's notepad, but last night I found my old Parker fountain pen and had a go with that, on a some clean sheets of A4 lined. It's got a sensual side to it that's great for writing erotica. I'm putting it on my list of 'ways to get through difficult sex scenes'.

Um. Where but here would I be saying that?

*so loving this thread*

I'm writing a novel for the first time. I've only ever written poems and short stories, so it's been an interesting process. I'm so used to compact imagery, and layered words that I didn't think I could sustain a metaphor longer than 10 pages. I guess I'll see. I find it sort of grueling though. That's one of the biggest mistakes I make about writing, I tend to think that it's not work, but really, it's the definition of work. (albeit enjoyable and exciting) Someone told me 90% of people who start novels never finish them. I'm hoping to be part of the industrious 10%, even if I never sleep again.

Brynn, isn't a complete hoop-toss? I've managed precisely three short stories in my entire career (not counting Buffyfic), and I sweated over each one. Novels? Charging down the straightaway on my twelfth, no problem.

If you can do the short story form, I salute you. I find them incredibly tricky to do at all, much less do well.

I guess I'll see. I find it sort of grueling though. That's one of the biggest mistakes I make about writing, I tend to think that it's not work, but really, it's the definition of work.

Heh, heh, heh, the truth gets out... and if you don't gruel through it, it generally never gets finished.

Then comes revision!

My friend Kit Kerr compared novel-writing to swimming the English Channel - you get all excited when you push off, and the swimming's fine, but after a couple of hours you're out of the sight of land and not sure where you're going, and maybe you can't even see the support boat, and you're cold and very very tired and maybe the urge is there to just give up and sink beneath the waves, because the very idea of France seems like a dream....

Um, that's a little less encouraging than I had remembered....