Two or three days ago I had a really GOOD writing day. It wasn't just that I got a satisfying chunk of writing done, or that the words actually rolled out over the page the way I envisioned them in my head, although both of those things were true. What made it an especially good writing day was that I tried a new kind of scene, a hand-to-hand fighting action sequence. I'd never written one before, and this one might be more Plan 9 from Outer Space than John Woo, but it was exciting to try and kind of yummy to dine over later on.
The funny thing about becoming a writer after spending most of your life doing something else is that you never know how ready you are, how accomplished. I've taken classes, written loads of drafts, yet on a daily basis I'll read something and think, "That was really good. That is just way beyond me." And you don't know whether it's talent or training or how long or how hard they worked at it -- you assume it's a combination of all of the above. But then I'll try something new and I think, I can figure this out. I can write an action sequence or set this story in Victorian England or get inside the head of this character whose background I know nothing about. The first attempt might not be that great, but it exists, it's on the page, and I don't absolutely hate it.
And then there are the bad writing days, where there's a scene that doesn't work and despite reading how other authors solved it, getting feedback and comments, leaving it alone and coming back to it, searching Google for a clue, dreaming about it and waking up trying to remember what your subconscious was trying to tell you -- after all that, you just can't fix it. It sits there, mocking you with its awkwardness, its what-tha-what?-ery, and you think, aw hell. I cannot do this. That hinky scene is like pulling on a loose thread that you start to worry will require a total unravel to fix, and suddenly the thing you're knitting is not a chic little sweater shrug but a potholder at its best. And I had one of those days this week too.
It was a love scene, of course. It always is. Writing a love scene is not terribly unlike living through one. You want so badly for it to succeed, it feels like there is so much riding on it. It can be 99% great, but that last 1% you obsess over until the metaphorical cows come home, and it creates more questions than answers. And seriously, the only way to get over that last 1% is to go onto the next one and keep stringing those love scenes together until its an actual romance, a real love story. Again, not terribly unlike real life, I suppose.
