Lilith Saintcrow

No, really. It is. And I’m not the only one who finds this news utterly delightful. I mean, come on. Of course the Earth is singing as she twirls through space, like a four-year-old in the backyard with a Goodwill prom dress and a magic wand. Twirling in circles, and singing that tuneless sort of song kids half-hum when they’re having a helluva good time, completely absorbed in what they’re doing.

As the Selkie might say, “That kid has magic.” By which she means, a lucky child whose parents understand that sometimes kids just need to goof off and hum.

But maybe the Earth is humming like an adult in the kitchen, fully absorbed in the making of something. Or at the laptop, or just messing around with a piano. Have you ever done that? Not played the piano, mind you, but just listened to the sounds it makes when you plonk it, humming while you do so?

I think Gaia wants us to sing back.

That was always one of my favorite Sesame Street songs. I don’t know about the “sing just about the happy stuff”, but the “don’t worry if it’s not good enough for anyone to hear”?

Oh, yeah, I believe in that. I really think that’s part of the point of writing. Or creating anything. (You knew this would come around to writing, didn’t you?)

One of the best things that ever happened to me was reading The Artist’s Way–the part where Julia Cameron says to give yourself permission to create bad art. To me, that was incredibly freeing. Permission to write the worst dreck in the world, as long as I wrote and kept writing. As long as I was happy, and doing what I was made to do.

Heady stuff. Because before there is discipline and doing this professionally, there was just me trying to get up the courage to write without feeling like I was a failure every time I set pen to paper. Trying not to remember everyone who ever told me I was worthless and that I couldn’t create anything worth looking at. Even, yes, my mother’s voice saying, “You’re so smart, why didn’t you do this right the first time around?”

I had a writing class once were I started explaining this. “If you need permission,” I said, “you’ve got it. You’ve got a working writer’s permission to write however badly you want. It’s not important for the first million words. That’s why they call it practice–”

I turned back to the room and two women were crying. Turns out they had really just needed to hear some variant of it’s okay to try this, to be bad at this. So much of our culture is bound up in the idea of teachers or authority figures giving us “permission”.

We ended up writing out certificates that stated so-and-so was a Writer, goddammit (the “goddammit” was my personal hiccup, uttered mentally every time), and had the right to write. It was silly, right? Nobody should need anyone’s signature to attempt to write, or to create. (I’m not saying everyone needs someone’s permission or even my permission, so don’t get all het up about that red herring.)

What I’m saying is, if you need to hear from someone that it’s okay to do this, and it’s okay to screw up and make mistakes while doing this, consider it said. Consider it heard. For what it’s worth, I am telling you this: you have permission to write the worst dreck in the world, sing off-key, dance without being Baryshnikov, knit without worrying about dropped stitches. The world is messy and wonderful, and how do we ever expect to learn how to write better, dance better, sing better, knit better without practice? And practice means making mistakes. It means f!cking up and going back and figuring it out and messing around with the joy of making something. That’s the important part. The finished work is important too, of course it is–but don’t let the fact that you’re going to make mistakes stop you from trying. Please don’t do that. Make all the mistakes you need to.

Each mistake is a chance for joy. Each dropped stitch could be a fork in the road, one that can take you somewhere you’ve never been. Each clumsy word will strengthen you, each comma you go back and remove will cheer you, each time you stumble while dancing you can consider it an invitation to a new movement, maybe one that’s never been done before.

Earth has been singing for a billion years or so. You think she didn’t have a few dropped notes? And still, look at what she made.

Ain’t it grand?

Weasel Boy is going well. 4k yesterday, and a lot of it usable. There will be dead weight in the rough draft, sure, but I want it well underway by the time I go back to the YA.

This is in many respects my favorite part of working, the creative burst that precedes a lot of revision. I had been having dark, dismal thoughts that the creative burst was in my past, that I couldn’t get up that head of steam anymore, etc., etc., shake that Internal Censor until s/he howls. But I’ve discovered that wasn’t the case. I was just resting, the ground kind of fallow and my usual speed slowed to a crawl. The creative life is somewhat of a bicycle ride, because one has to balance carefully and watch for danger and look at the bloody scenery. When one has to juggle on top of riding the cycle, speed necessarily slows–and this ain’t no Tour de France, it’s okay to sniff some roses and kiss some pretty boys along the way.

Or girls. Or tentacled monsters, if one prefers Cthulu.

On the book front, I’ve finished Wages of Destruction. It was a fun read, very dense, and I don’t understand half of what I should about statistics etc. but the author made it reasonably clear in context. I haven’t read any other studies of the German economy during the interwar and WWII period, so I’ll have to take the cover blurbs’ word that this is a revolutionary study. It did inform several other books I’ve read in odd ways–like Alan Clark’s Barbarossa and Beevor’s great study of Stalingrad. Now I’m hoping Tooze looks at the Russian economy in the same period. I’d read that book.

So…what I’m reading now: The Guns of August, Ivan’s War (thanks to all the Readers who suggested those) and, to leaven everything, The Beasts of Tarzan. I like Burroughs, actually. It’s pulp, but it’s reasonably good pulp and I know what I’m getting with every mighty-thewed chapter. Srsly, I haven’t read this many thews since the Iliad.

I have this regrettable fondness for Tarzan, mostly because of Travis Fimmel. I wish the WB would release that series on DVD. Hey. Quit laughing. I loved that show. It was awesome.

I am tossing around the idea of a historical Watcher series. It would mean a lot of research, but it would probably be fun. Of course, since I’m booked for the next couple of years it’s going to take a while and might never come to fruition…but it’s nice to think about these things, you know.

Happy Tuesday, all. And now, back to the salt mines–and I’m cooking Fifteen-Bean Soup and rye bread today. Let’s hope it works out as well as some of the writing is…

This? Is absolutely the most hilarious thing I’ve read lately. I love that burst of maniacal laughter from the bar. Been there. Done that.

I had a long and productive weekend. In other words, a lot of cleaning and sleeping got done, and I’ve planned out the rest of the week too. We’ll see what real life does to my plans.

I’m torn between working on Weasel Boy and polishing the rough draft of the YA. I know I promised to let the YA rest for a week, but one of the problems in getting enough sleep and prime-the-creative-pump time over a weekend is that I go back to work…at an accelerated rate, at least for the first half of the week.

*headbonkety*

Okay. Morning for Weasel Boy, afternoon for polishing. And in between there, dusting and deheading plants.

Excitement, thy name is clearly…NOT Lili. Heh.

Happy Monday, all.

My Friday post is up at Fangs, Fur, & Fey. It’s Three Things About Writing. Enjoy.

I’m at 62K with the YA, two more scenes and I’ll have a rough-rough draft. Then I’m going to stick that in a drawer and work on the Weasel Boy story for a while. (Don’t ask. Really. Just don’t.) After a week or two I’ll drag the YA out again, kicking and screaming, and give it a polish. Then the betas will get it, then the editor.

I used to think the hard part was finishing a rough draft. It is tremenjously exhausting, mostly because when you get a few scenes from the end it becomes The Book That Will Not Die. Then there’s the exhaustion of revisions, when it becomes The Book That Will Not Die NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU STABBITY STABBITY IT!!! Both are bone-crunching work.

But hey, I would rather have those problems than a host of others I could name. I do really love this job. *beams* If only because I have writing buddies like the Selkie who send me things like this.

Warning: the other stuff Amateur Transplants does is SO NOT SAFE FOR WORK, and if you’re easily offended you’d better not listen to other stuff. You’ve been warned.

Anyway, off I go to finish This Damn Book. It will die today, dammit, even if I have to chain myself to the chair. Once I finish stabbing it I’ll close the laptop and go for a walk.

Sounds like a plan, Stan. Have a great weekend, one and all…

You know? The day when you wake up out of a nice, beautiful restful sleep because they’re having some sort of screaming fire or something at the apartments behind you (no, there was no fire, just a lot of yelling and noise) and stumble into the kitchen for coffee. After spilling roughly a metric ton of coffee all over the kitchen, you finally get some into where it’s supposed to go and make some coffee.

The kids are a little fractious and your six-year-old hates you because you won’t let him watch TV. You consider putting a brick through the television but settle for putting it out in the garage, removing it from sight but not from the six-year-old’s mind.

Various other things threaten to rain on your parade.

You know? That kind of day.

Then the Teen gets up and says, “I’m so glad to be here. This is like heaven, you know, being here.”

Awwww. And a little later, he gives me this link to some Dante Valentine fan art, which was completely and utterly awesome. Wow.

And the Prince decides he doesn’t hate me at all, he cozies up to me (pretty much just to watch the screen as I type) and the Muffin decides to take care of some stuff that’s been bothering me, so I don’t have to deal with it.

Things are looking up.