I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why I write.
For months now, I’ve been wrestling with the demons of Diviners 3 which, yes, still lacks a proper title. It’s a plot-heavy book. There are, after all, eight main characters plus a host of secondary characters whom I do not regard as secondary in the least but as vital components of the whole vast circus. There are several mystery threads which must be teased out in satisfying fashion. There are backstories and flashbacks. And there are many elements yet to be written which I do not fully understand, which I may never understand. More on that in a moment.
It’s a lot of…choreography. It makes my brain hurt. At times, it makes me feel dumb as a bag of socks. But also, it often feels mechanical. Like performing sex via a VCR programming manual: “I am now to say that I love you and find you desirable. Ah, good. Could you stand a little to the left while I do so? Thank you very much.”
When I get fidgety and want to throw my computer in the river is not when I’m having trouble with a plot point. It’s when I no longer feel that I’m reaching into the abyss and pulling up something that feels both utterly unexplainable yet necessary to tell, that lives on the knife’s edge of the deeply personal within and the hopefully universal without. How do we write about alienation, isolation, love, a moment of William Blake-ish ephemeral joy, the unreliability of memory, identity, sexuality, gender, our fear of and attraction to death and destruction, rage, loss, envy, our deep desire for connection, our recognition that we are, each of us, alone? How to create work that courts the transgressive or, at the very least, asks us to risk exposing our own vulnerability? Work that requires that deep, hard look into the well of the soul?
Right now, as I type this, my brain is saying, “You should be working on your book. It’s due. You have eight hours and seven minutes left in your writing day. Stop this nonsense and report, soldier.” My soul? My soul says, “Fuck off. I’m busy here.”
Fuck off, I’m busy here is, I’d argue, a necessary part of the writing process.
There comes a moment in every book, when you can’t see what you’re writing anymore. You are utterly lost inside your mess of a world. None of it makes sense or hangs together. It feels awful then. Like you are dumber than anyone suspects. That you have no right to be doing it at all. You a fraud, an imposter. I like to think that, at those awful times, your book is smarter than you are in your misery, and it leaves you clues that, later, you will see anew and go, Oh, shit. Riiiight. Because the book comes from your unconscious, from your depths. Despite our writerly manipulations, the true story comes out.
Which brings us back to this: Not all of what I write makes sense to me. It never will. And that’s fine. In fact, that’s kind of the point. If I could explain it readily in a Power Point, there’d be no reason to write a story.
It’s hard work, these acts of creation, of willing nothing into being. It takes time—time to think, to reflect, to ask questions. It also takes time to allow for the unexplainable and ambiguous to get past our defenses and happen. Whenever someone asks me to tell them about something I’ve written, I often want to answer, “I can’t. Not really.” The truth is, I don’t always know where it comes from, and if I try to explain it, it falls apart.
The reader is a better judge of the novel because she/he/they are experiencing it, interacting with it. The alchemy takes place in a space of communication that we writers cannot see or describe—it is a moment of theater shared between writer and reader but taking place offstage. It is beyond our control.
We live now in a time of content providers. Of rapid, nearly feral consumption of any medium. This creates a demand for more and faster entertainment. This is not a judgment or condemnation of where things are, simply acknowledgment. Personally, I love both drive-thru burgers and movie explosions on occasion. I just hope that there will continue to be space for work that makes us uncomfortable. That challenges. Demands. Pushes boundaries or defies expectations. Work that mystifies and does not necessarily explain itself but that makes us feel different on the other side of it. Work that, perhaps, leaves us with more questions than answers: A John Coltrane Love Supreme. A Velvet Underground album. A Langston Hughes poem. A Nina Simone song. A Patti Smith spoken-word free association. Kanye West’s “Blood on the Leaves.” A George Saunders book. A Nova Ren Suma anything.
I hope that I can get past my own limitations enough to go where they lead. I am not completely divorced from market pressures. I can’t write a book a year. I’m not fast enough. Sometimes, that makes me feel like shit. Other times, I call upon my inner philosopher, who is a Texas-Brooklyn-potty mouth philosopher who squints at me in supreme irritation from the couch and says, “Yeah, fuck that,” before swigging Dr. Pepper and belching. But that girl doesn’t always show up. I ask myself, Is this story still YA? I don’t know. Is it frustrating, weird, non-linear? Maybe, possibly, probably. Is it, in its draft infancy, stilted and not nearly true enough yet? Yes, times one hundred. Will it take me somewhere new? God, I sure hope so.
It’s easy to let my vanity or ego get in the way of the work. Like everyone, I struggle with “writer’s cocaine”—that need for validation. It’s tempting to want to protect myself and go for what could garner likes rather than open everything up for examination. For the blood-letting. Sometimes, when I can’t figure it out, I come here to this blog to wrestle with it all. Often, when I can’t get through the words, I turn to singing. The act of opening my mouth and letting sound and vibration move through my body via a song is a way of connecting not to an idea but to an in-the-moment feeling. That is being both within and without. You cannot ask yourself, mid-song, “Is this going to pay off in Book 4?” You just sing. You are the fucking song.
I want to be the fucking song.
I am in my fifty-second year as a human on this fascinating planet. I have less time to waste. I feel it deeply. I want to do good work. I want to be more honest with myself and with you. To risk messiness and transparency. I don’t have a brand. Unless that brand is Swedish Fish, which I’m a big fan of as far as brands go. Odds are good that I will never have a brand because when I’m not writing or singing, there’s a shit-ton of laundry to do and some goddamned lovely friends to see. Some of them even make music.
I’ll just keep hacking away at the story, trying to find it, or, if I’m lucky, allowing it to come and find me: The alchemical moment; mystery, happening. The shift from doing to being, the two blurred into a single, straight line.
I hope, I hope.
Thank you for this.
As always, brilliant, Libba. I’ve been making inroads into writing more and have been shocked, surprised and a little miffed at the buckets of words falling out of my fingers about 9/11. No, no, I wanted to be pithy about being stuck in a mediocre marriage …. wtf. But WWLBD? She’d let it fall out. Right? Right! (As Yenta would say.) Wish you lived closer so we could procrastinate together.
Thank you so much for this. I’m currently slogging my way through writing stories with my 9th graders and this just puts the “writer’s life” into perspective. I love knowing that writers work really hard. And I love reading your books and I would love if you came and talked to my students about struggling to eventually reach the awesome.
Thank you, my friend. I am crawling the last fifty yard in my final edit of Berzerker and was suffering a case of the “oh my god, what have I done”s. I saw Nova’s post on FB and came over to read this.
The song you sing, Libba, gives me courage to be who I fucking am, especially when I start feeling like I should be more like everyone else. Thank you.
One last thought – Berserker is wilder and more edgy than I thought it would be and you’ve made me see that’s something to be proud of.
Now I’m going to bed and I feel much better. What amazing power you have – we all have. If we tell the truth about ourselves we help others. Amazing.
I needed this.
Libba, God, I love your blog posts! Makes me want to sit on that couch with a Dr Pepper with you. But really, I just did by reading your blog.
Thank you,
Terri
Libba–did you enter my brain and extract all the goo I’ve been slogging through? Thanks for putting it into some sort of order in your post, so I can see that I just need to keep slogging. Hugs.
Libba… My Dear, you’ve got this one! However long it takes. Know that books of true quality take time to write, just as they take time to truly read and digest and, yes, fully savor. You are not required to pump out a book–or multiple books–each year. Those “writers” (and I use this term loosely) who do so either have a host of hackish Ghost Writers working under them or end up producing poor-quality excuses for literature or, in most cases, both (I’m not naming rumored names, of course, but those who do this know their shame). Just keep plugging away at the story. Let it flow naturally. Make some Candy Sushi out of your Swedish Fish. And take plenty of pauses to break into song as if you were a character in a Disney movie (but please not the Frozen song…unless,of course, you like the Frozen song). Most of all, know that your ever-patient fans are going to be here however long it takes. And when book 3 hits the shelves, know that we’ll be lined up at our friendly neighborhood booksellers and libraries to obtain our copy. And know that you’ve got this one. Because you are a fucking literary Ninja.
be strong, wish you the best, good luck 😉
Thanks for this blog, writing is a chore for me….but it has to be done, and I’m ok when I get going….
And here I was, thinking the struggle was all me.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Wonderful.
Thx for the info
You are splendid, Miss Libba…
Please keep postin such stuff…
It helps alot !!! Like hell alot 😉
Thank you! This was very inspirational for me to read 🙂
Wow. Just wow.
By the time I read the last sentence, I felt like having undergone a metanoia. I have been trying to write novels too, but can never seem to get past the eighth chapter or so. This post of yours was really insightful and inspirational for me. I think that maybe I’ll be able to write further now.
Thanks a lot for this.
You are more powerful than you think.
😄😄😄
I was reading this, and I found it to be incredibly relatable. I love writing myself, and I had never previously attempted to put a finger on all the vast and mind-dizzying confusing thoughts and emotions that I experience when writing. You did an amazing job of capturing those thoughts and emotions, and provided me with some insight on the matter. I thank you for this. As I was reading, I thought what you were writing to be incredibly inspired and well written, and I was surprised by how flawless it was. I scrolled to the top and saw the name, ‘Libba Bray.’ I recognized the name, but couldn’t remember what from. I searched the name, saw you were an author, and realized I’d read some of your books. I don’t remember them because I read countless books, and after a month passes I’ve read about twenty 400 pages, therefore I can’t remember a single one of the books from the previous month. So I can’t say I remember your books; I’m pretty sure I read them last year, so it’s no surprise. But I loved this blog post, I honestly thought it was incredibly insightful and inspired, so I will have to pick up one of your books and read, because if this was just a blog post… then I can’t imagine how amazing your books are.
Lol,sometimes mine don’t either
I feel as if I really needed to read this today. Reading your post really gave me a strange feeling because so much of what you wrote echoes my own insecurities, self doubt, and sense of hope. Brilliant post. I appreciate your sharing your thoughts and feelings on the subject.
Wow
Yes! Yes! This was exactly what I needed to read to remind me how I write! It’s not a pretty picture I can paint, which I do paint when I can’t write, but it’s a story I will create. My latest piece is taking longer than my others, but that must mean it’s going to be better, right? Thank you from the very bottom of my messy soul, because I needed this more than the coffee I’m drinking right now. You rock!
Great post! Thanks for sharing!
This is so powerful and inspiring, thank you for this insight. Plus, I adore your book ‘Beauty Queens’ 💞
💙
Thank you – thank you!! This blog rant is so, so I cannot find the words – wait a minute “awesome” I love to write and have in some form all throughout my life of 48 years! I blog now and I am pleasantly surprised that I got the hang of it and quite enjoy it! Again, thank you for the word play <3
Wonderful! I really like it. Thanks a lot for this. 🙂
respect.
It is good to know that someone else is struggling with these questions, and issues, that make no damn sense to anyone but me, if me, and which keep me up for so many nights of my life. These thoughts are not mine. I am theirs. Thank you soo much Libba.
Amazing How your mind works, that’s good relates to me too
good
”It’s hard work, these acts of creation, of willing nothing into being. It takes time—time to think, to reflect, to ask questions. It also takes time to allow for the unexplainable and ambiguous to get past our defenses and happen. Whenever someone asks me to tell them about something I’ve written, I often want to answer, “I can’t. Not really.” The truth is, I don’t always know where it comes from, and if I try to explain it, it falls apart.”
So,so true. You said it better than I could ever even have formulated it in my thoughts. Maybe because of those fifty-and-two years you have had on this wonderful planet. 🙂
Thank you for this. I needed to read this, and now it’s got me thinking.
Looking forward to reading more such stuff. 🙂
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Great
This is a brilliant post. Loved it! I set up my blog today and this was one of the first blogs I read. It’s really inspirational.
Sweet!
This awesome! Your brand Swedish Fish lol Hilarious!
Thanks for writing this. I need inspiration to write my memoir. Im working on publishing my first book now
Goood
“Not all of what I write makes sense to me. It never will. And that’s fine. In fact, that’s kind of the point. If I could explain it readily in a Power Point, there’d be no reason to write a story.” -this is great!
I honestly just stumbled across you on the discover page. Reading this post connected me with you, it’s so relate-able. I hope later on in my life I have that confidence that you show here, even if your not sure, you know your not and it’s okay.
I can’t wait to read more from you, once I get on with my own inspirational day!
Thanks!
ohh thanks! you answered my question..why I always end up with an incomplete novel.. 🙂
Nice post 👍👍 liked it..
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I can relate so well, Libba. The way you talk about the unconcious thoughts that happen to find themselves on a page and then like hansel and gretel, the story/love/emotion/spark it leaves these breadcrumbs for you to follow. And once you recognize and find them, it’s a whole other game sorting and piecing them together like a puzzle. I have a phrase for it, not as eloquently as you put it, however for all purposes of this…i call it mental vomit because it suits so well. And you stating the above placed more definition and life to it. I’m not the only one who has it. That concept of mentally vomitting on a page. To be sick to your stomach and to know that it would be better to just puke it up, get it out, and then deal after. A superb concept that I’m glad I don’t marvel at it alone.
Awesome post I really enjoyed it!
Awesome post…your choice of words is amazing…
Wow what the yuck was that , sorry for my languages but believe me you just lightened up the path every writer follows while writing his book. I am an aspiring writer , just writing in bits now and just now started blogging to, but believe me this blog of yours is not at all frightening to me, in fact I too want to Some day go through something like this. Yes my path will be different from you but you just wrote it so beautifully man. All the best for your book and hope you complete in time and keep on writing forever.
Nice I bet the book would turn out nice. Don’t stress
OMGosh, this post of yours is so timely. I have been trying to write a novel and finish it – but, alas! Work (outside of writing and being a writer) kept me busy most days.
And like you, I have the plot in my head. No, more like the “synopsis.” But the cocktail of events that should blend together to make it into one, cohesive novel just gets all confused in my head. I suddenly felt like I didn’t know a thing about art, history, geography, and sometimes, life – in general. Like, where did I even get all these characters, these scenarios? And yes, at times I also feel like an imposter pretending to know what she’s talking about.
But then – just as you are staring blankly into the ceiling, or walking in a busy street, or taking a shower one evening – the story just pops into your head and you get that urge feeling to take out your notebook or laptop and write, write, write.
All well into the deep of the night.
Which is crazy. Totally crazy, because if you live in a house with the rest of your family members, they’d wonder what had happened to you and to your sanity – specially if they see you huddled on a table, still wearing a towel and dripping and writing on her notebook.
But you can’t just stop writing; can’t let it go. And I think that’s just what keeps you going.
I can totally relate. 🙂
I feel like I just read my biography.
Love this!
Thanks… Needed this…
Your blog just gave me new life, thank you
writing is a tough task.. It gives you life and takes you to new lands.. it takes away a lot too but gives in bounds too.. haha i guess i am confusing.. Have a wonderful day dear 🙂
You’re brilliant and you know it. Sounds like you’re the “old soul” that’s now becoming what you’ve always been. I understand.
I say fuck it myself, sometimes I worry I’m over here bullshitting but you know what? These words need written. These fingers won’t rest, they’ll type, no matter how much profanity coincides with it, no matter how lost and frustrated I feel as I’m halfway into it. Sometimes I say to myself, “Who the hell are you talking to? Yourself? Or the reader?”
Just maybe I’m talking to my damn self, the other half, the reader. And that’s just fine. Write out that brilliance, that’s why it’s called “free writing” because it sets you free.
Don’t worry about the “hope”, don’t worry about your deadlines. Your fantastic brilliance emits through even what you call rambling and bullshit, that unknown.
If you get lost in your writing and it’s still fucking amazing. You must be too.
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I felt like this is something I have written 🙂
I really appreciate the sentiment here so I’m glad I found this to read today. Also, I love Swedish Fish.
Thank you for this. Truly. 🙂
As a fellow writer trying to complete a first draft and feeling like anything but a writer, perhaps a sad sack, yeah I feel like a sad sack, a sad not nearly talented enough sack. Then I come across this blog post by one of my favorite authors, who is seemingly feeling the same. Doubt. For someone I admire so much to doubt that her work is less than as moving and important as it truly is. Ms. Bray, your writing does what fiction is supposed to do: create worlds and characters that reflect the truth when we’re too blind to admit it. I adore the Diviners just as much as I adored Gemma Doyle and co. I can’t wait to read book 3. Thank you for being so honest. Thank you for giving a fellow writer hope and inspiration.
Not sure if I know anything you don’t Jake.. I’d mailed foundry directly and had a response saying things where being kept close to their v2;collecti8e chests’ but the project had been put on the back burner due to the recent changes there – a little contradictory I guess – first statement implying something was in the offing; the second saying it isn’t!