Every time I go to an artist or writer's talk, there's always that one person who asks the question about how the artist or writer makes their work happen. This person is usually the last person to ask a question and he or she always prefaces the question with a bunch of details about their own work and it's usually excruciatingly awkward. As an audience member, I'm usually sitting there wondering where the question is or if this person only wanted to share that her new work would be shown in a basement gallery on a Tuesday at 11 am if anyone wants to come see it. Good for you, but where's the question? She finally asks the question: "What's your process?" or some variation on that question. The artist or writer always answer the same way: they get up and work. They write, they paint, they sculpt, they play music. Whatever their art is they do that every day because it's their job. The person asking always seems disappointed by this answer. I'm sure he or she expected some grand answer which would help solve the writer's block or artist's block they're having. Or help them create when maybe their art isn't their only job.
Maybe that writer does have a thing he does everyday, rituals that help him ease into his writing flow or whatever, but that's only going to work for him. If a writer told me, "I get up every morning, have a cigarette, drink a pot of coffee, walk around the neighborhood, do seven jumping jacks, place my composition notebook facing east, and then I sit down to write," I wouldn't be able to do it since I don't smoke and I'm terrible at cardinal directions. If he also told me he made some offering to one of the goddesses of creativity, I might try that one out to see what's it all about. Unless it involves sacrificing a goat. I don't think I'm the "sacrifice a goat for my art" kind of person. My point is there is no answer except to write or create.
And that's where the challenge lies. My day job isn't to write. As much as I would like it to be sometimes, it's not. I haven't written anything new for Transient Suburbia, my novel, since March. I spent last fall and much of the winter rewriting parts of the novel and adding new sections along the way. I had seven beta readers look at it; five provided feedback. They all seemed to enjoy the story and the characters. At least two of them confirmed what I had been thinking about adding a section for the main character, Harper, at college. I decided to add the section to give the story a little more conflict and dimension. This new section would take place in Nashville, a city I have never visited. Because I wanted to make it feel real, I planned my trip, had few ideas sketched out, and was ready to go.
Then my aunt died and I canceled my trip. The I was laid off. My mom was in and out of the hospital. I was in the middle of a stressful job search. Pumpkin died (although this happened later). I was stressed out and not feeling creative. I kept writing the Island because I had to write something and I can literally write anything on here, but I stayed away from my novel. I couldn't bring myself to touch it or think too much about it. I love my characters and the world I created, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't write them while all of the other things were going on. It bothered me that in a time when I had nothing but time I couldn't write. I felt like I was failing even if no one was asking about it or cared if I was finished. I'd pick up my notebook and stare at it for longer than necessary. The Nashville section was on hold; I didn't want to write about a place I had never been. I wanted it to feel real. My focus was gone. I felt empty when I thought about it so I tucked it away, hoping I would find my way back to it sooner rather than later.
I found a job (as most of you know). My mom is doing better. I mean, she keeps telling me she's worried that I'm going to die alone. I take this to be a sign that she's feeling better. I have come to terms with my aunt's passing and the fact that we weren't close but that didn't mean I didn't love her or care about her. I have let my anger at what happened with my previous job go. I'm still very sad about Pumpkin, so please stop asking me when I'm going to adopt a cat. If I'm supposed to have another cat, I'll know when the time is right. I promise I'll let you know.
More surprisingly, I'm finally ready to come back to Transient Suburbia.
Here's what happened. I was asked to go to Portland to deliver a workshop on public speaking for work. I went out a bit early to explore the city and adjust to the time difference. I had a great time in Portland; I'm planning to go back for an actual vacation and do more. I feel like I only scratched the surface of the area. It was nice to be out of Northern Virginia for a few days. A change of scenery can lead to inspiration. That's what people always say right? It's what I told myself as I prepared for the trip. I brought my notebook with me just in case inspiration struck. I didn't seek it out. I didn't go to see any live music although that is something I enjoy doing when I visit a new city. I took in my new surroundings and relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time in months.
And then it happened. I was sitting in a pub, listening to Alice in Chains and Soundgarden, enjoying a local beer (don't ask me which one), people watching, and eavesdropping a little bit. I mean, the table next to me was pretty loud so it's not like I had to try hard to hear what they were talking about. They, two couples, were discussing classic rock and the fact that songs from their youth were now playing on the local classic rock station. One of the guys was focused on the fact that Nirvana was playing in fairly heavy rotation on the station right now and it was messing with his mind. The other guy and the two women were explaining that that's how it worked; a song hits the 20 year mark and it becomes classic rock. Even if it was part of a sub-genre of rock, it still qualifies. Nirvana and Green Day and Pearl Jam and Soundgarden are all old enough to be on the station. It is an inevitability.
He was having nothing to do with this argument. He felt that those songs didn't belong on the stations alongside Kansas and Styx and Journey. He failed to mention Led Zeppelin and The Clash and The Rolling Stones and all those other bands who are also classic rock and are pretty fantastic (sorry Kansas, Styx, and Journey fans); he could only focus on bands that people tend to either really love or really hate. At some point in the conversation, he started being "insufferable music guy" and I could actually hear his dinner companions' eyes roll. I can see both sides of the argument; music gets classified a certain way after a certain time. That's how it works, but it pains me to hear the songs of my youth on the station here in DC. When did I get so old? Didn't these bands change music? Didn't they defy categorization? They can't be on the classic rock station. We need more time!
The couples moved on to another topic eventually and my dinner arrived so I stopped actively listening to them. Instead, I enjoyed my meal and then it hit me. This discussion was exactly the way I wanted to start the new section of the novel except that my version takes place in the late 1990s when Harper is in college. She will have this discussion on a first date with a guy and this will be what they will end up arguing about. He will be the guy in the restaurant and she will be the one arguing about the inevitability of music classification. They will fall madly in love because of this conversation. And then other stuff will happen. I haven't actually written any of this or figured out the rest, but I will. I will figure it out and it will be glorious...or at least it will get me to the finish with the story I love so much.
Thanks insufferable guy at the pub. I appreciate your strong opinions and thank you for your service to Transient Suburbia. I don't know your name but I promise to thank you in the acknowledgments as "Insufferable Nirvana Guy in Portland, OR." You're welcome.
Coming soon to the Island: I do everything wrong when it comes to meal planning, my annual Halloween Lazy Movie Weekend post arrives, and I decide to try speed dating. It's going to be a very exciting fall/winter here on the Island!
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