Enter the Quaniverse

When I told my boyfriend’s wonderfully creative and interesting best friend and flatmate, G., that I was trying to do more writing, produce something bigger this year, she told me, “there’s this book you must read.” I figured it was worth a shot. Why not? Although perhaps it was another way to procrastinate instead of writing itself… While at first it seemed like it would be difficult to find, it wasn’t, the trusty bookshop near my work (which happens to sell more copies of my poetry book than anywhere else in the world…) had it, I didn’t even need to special order it.

I was somewhat suspicious of buying a book by Stephen King to advise me how to write when I don’t think I’ve ever read anything by him. But everyone has lessons to teach, and why not? It came on good recommendation.

If anything, it was an easy and enjoyable read. I found his straight-talking Americana language reminded me of my writer friend Steve K’s books (hmm, that’s strange that they have the same initials and first names). There is the strange form of addressing the reader during the whole book in a a cajoling, friendly, curmudgeonly tone. I liked the anecdotes of important events in his life of a writer. And the technical advice was pretty good. It was a primer on a whole range of topics, clear and direct writing, editing, dialogue, plot, themes, publishing, finding an agent.

In some way, it was affirming to read messages which I basically believe. Write truthfully. Write not for fame or fortune. Also, to recognise that I set myself on the right course in my early years. I submitted my writing far and wide, I sought readers and editors, I read as a way of inspiring and informing my own writing.

One of my main thoughts on reading the book was about “voice” and gaining a mass readership. Without having read any of his work, what I sense is that Stephen King is such a widely-read writer not only for his skill and craft but because his voice, his characters speak to so many people. He reflects back to a huge readership their fears and desires and imagination.

I sense that my own writing, no matter how truthfully or skillfully I write, will not reach a mass readership because my own experiences are so removed from the mainstream. They will instead attract a small and eclectic readership, not a bad thing necessarily. It’s something I figured out after publishing “Calendar Boy” so it’s not a new revelation – but King’s book reminded me of the issue.

The other big issue brought up by reading this book is about writing, the physical act of production. King comments on writers who have only written a handful of books in their career. What else are they doing with their time?: “If God gives you something you can do, why in God’s name wouldn’t you do it?” Strong words. Strong advice. An issue that nags at me constantly, and moreso in the last year, the last months. I have published three books, and have another on the way, and I’ve never sat down consistently and worked hard at it! I’ve had periods of working hard to edit. I’ve had days of working hard to produce a story. I’ve worked to polish manuscripts. But daily writing? No.

I’ve been working towards this with both my daily morning pages (which aren’t daily) and with this writer’s blog – but my journaling or my thoughts on writing (and usually my complaints about not writing) are not resulting in actual production of fiction.

King suggests writing every day – something I’ve heard and shrugged off for years. But now it’s really time to start. I feel fear writing this down – since if I don’t do this, my failed intentions are up and public and visible. But King reflected back to me what I’ve said to myself all year. I believe I have a gift. I believe that I am a good writer. Why am I not using that gift? Why am I not writing? One thousand words a day, he suggested, one day off a week as a break. Let’s see how I do.

Coming out of the Mardi Gras weekend, I had the idea to write about seven years of partying in Sydney. The pros are that I’m not sure whether anyone has combined a narrative with an analysis of recreational drug use, and approached it with the style and voice I use: the wide-eyed innocent who explores an issue (whether it is sex like in the last book, or gay community in the previous book) in a way that tries to open up that world to both insiders and outsiders. It might get some good interest. It might be of commercial interest.

The cons are that it would definitely get criticized as promoting drug use, promoting a hedonistic lifestyle, of being shallow and focused on beauty and looks, that I would get personal criticism and scrutiny as the author, and that the efforts to illuminate that world will likely be missed by many – who will find the subject matter too strong. Also, how to disguise the real incidents, and not end up slandering anyone, and how much of my experiences to include, i.e. how much of being involved in the political side of Mardi Gras would I include.

In the meantime, my journal entries are slight. If I’d written stories as they happened, I’d have much more material, though then I would have ended up like those authors I don’t respect who seem to be going through experiences only to write about them, rather than writing about experiences which they are going through in an authentic way.

I was rushing off to the gym yesterday for the 2nd morning in a row, and the third day in a row of workouts. After ten days in Thailand with all you can eat buffets, and a lot of static time in a meeting room, I was feeling very out of shape. With so much travel this period, and three overseas trips within two months, I’ve felt out of an exercise routine, and heavy. Particularly with the stress-inducing flesh-exposing Mardi Gras on its way at the start of March, where I’ll likely go to dance all night, and like everyone else, take off my shirt.

But I was thinking: if I put as much energy into my writing as I am doing now into my exercise, I could really get going. I would be OK, I would be producing and more disciplined. It has gotten me thinking and perhaps beyond these blogs (which are working OK), I’ll get to work on that idea I had for organising my writing notes and ideas – and start working on things in a substantial way. This is the year that I want to do some major writing.

Last night, I talked to S about writing, and he asked about the various blocks. One is what I describe above, having other things take up the time, not allocating time to do it. In terms of the exercise, I’m not quite ready to give up vanity yet. Perhaps after Mardi Gras…

The other thought which I shared with him was something I’d pondered yesterday or the day before about how I’ve stopped with my autobiographical stories. I was tired of feeling that I’ve revealed so much. I hated the reviews which didn’t deal with my writing but attacked me as a person instead. I was annoyed that even when stories weren’t about me, people assumed they were. The natural boldness of how I wrote, the self-confidence and ease, have become less and less the last years. I think there is a foolish young writer in there who expected by writing about the honest emotions of my life that I would be “understood” somehow. It is true, I have had some lovely comments, and have had people really connect with my writing. At the same time, I’ve been misunderstood, and hell, there’s some disappointment that I can’t get my friends to read my books sometimes, and as I said, a few bad reviews, even though: why should my creative process and being be dampened by a handful of people that I don’t even know. I need to get back on track, and while I do want to write non-autobiographical fiction, I shouldn’t be afraid of the form in which I first found my voice. Let it be free. Let it be free.