“How Do You Write?”

“How do you write?”

I was asked this again recently and reminded that I said I’d write a bit about writing at all. Now that the WiP blog is finally laid out and organized the way I envisioned it nearly eight months ago, I’m willing to start putting some of this out there.

Notice I said ‘willing to’ and not ‘able to,’ because I’ve been able to all along. Just not willing to. And that sort of brings me to part of how I work be it putting pen to paper to illustrate, or pen to paper to write (albeit proverbially since I do it all electronically). I used to want to think I held a purist’s mentality about that—writing with real pen and real paper. The fact of the matter is, however, I type blazingly fast and find that function far more adept at keeping up with the thoughts bubbling up.

Willing to. I won’t cook unless the kitchen is cleaned. Not scrubbed clean, just once-over-and-put-away clean. I mean, I don’t have that kind of time and we don’t have that kind of live-in maid. Nothing too out of the ordinary; I just won’t start a project until my studio is organized. Or the kitchen counter is cleared of the last project-meal it sustained. If this strikes you odd, I’ll never understand why. If you happen to know anything about Synesthetes, refusing to do anything in the kitchen until it’s cleaned happens to be a hallmark idiosyncrasy of the wiring—something I happen to find hilarious for its specificity. Also for its dead accuracy.

My studio/office can be, like anyone’s, a war zone of piles of paper, books, and all manner of All Manner. Mostly I know where everything is (it’s my mess, after all), sometimes I don’t. Big deal. But when comes the time to start a new Anything, I have to have the proverbial fresh sheet of new paper. Meaning I have to clean my studio and have it completely organized or I am not willing to start.

Notice I said ‘not willing’ and ‘not able.’ Of course I can sit down at the drawing table or the desk and puzzle things out. It’s just that I find myself obstructed and ensnared by everything out of place such that the whole creative process is rendered impotent. It’s the very same mechanism for me in the kitchen. And lots of other areas in my life. If the room is clear, my head is clear. I don’t know if it’s a symbiotic fact or mental illusion. And I don’t care. I just know that unless it’s right in certain parts of the world around me, it’s not right in my head.

The WiP blog and it’s new iteration has been that for me. I’ve wanted to introduce the WiP Chronicles, the WiP Journal, the WiP Studio, the WiP Mic, and the WiP Store for quite some time. But the site overall wasn’t organized to my liking. So I refused. Where some might lean in and deal with what Is anyway, I’d rather fillet the skin off my arm and write in blood. I just refuse.

And I happen to love and hate that at the same time.

What I love: that I do it that way for me, on my own terms, and have no category for what anyone else thinks about it. Big shock, I know.

What I hate: until it’s perfect (according to the Rules Inside My Head), I coexist with a low-level frustration and anger very few understand. (Hint: most think they do understand but they don’t. I just smile and nod when they say they understand and don’t disabuse them of their presumption. The ones that do understand — and you know who you are — never comment on it or remark on it because it’s entirely inconsequential.)

“How do you write?”

Straight Answer: Very mechanically. I sit down with either a formed thought I want to articulate, or an idea or concept I want to struggle with. I have only two or three times in as many years actually pulled out a real sheet of paper and suffered very dormant penmanship. In fact, the last time I did that was to write “Beautiful” from “A Beautiful Hell.” And the reason I did that was because that particular story practically wrote itself. It was a matter of capturing it as quickly as I could and my laptop wasn’t handy at the moment. I saved those sheets too. They’re somewhere around here in some file. I’m a far less nostalgic than people suspect and normally do not hang on to such things. I’ve thrown out more cartoons (sorry Andrea lol) than people would believe. But those sheets I saved. Something about a story about my daughter written in my own hand. Of all the stories in “A Beautiful Hell” it’s my favorite. As much for the topic as the way it happened as the way it flowed from my pen. And if anything I write were to ever land snugly in any category deemed worth any sort of fame…well, I like the idea of keeping those sheets for my baby girl and someday giving them to her with, “…as far as I’m concerned…it started here.”

More Straight Answer: You’ll often find me with earphones in but rarely playing music. I will listen to white noise and though I will listen to some melody, it has to be bereft of lyrics and entirely unobtrusive. All that is just shutting out the world around me to excavate the words inside me.

Another Answer (Not So Straight): You’re going to have to bear with me on this one. When I have a story in my head it is less a composition in verbiage than it is in tone, tenor and (brace yourself) shape. I mean physical shape. I mean I see its physical dimensions and color(s) in my head. The animators at Disney have a storyboarding process I once saw provoking in me thrill and horror simultaneously. It was, if memory serves, the story of The Lion King on one long wall. Made up entirely of color. Not a single word. Just colors conveying the storyline as it unfolded. It was brilliant. That’s sort of what I’m talking about. So the actual process of actual writing is more like chipping away at base rock to bring forth the form in my head. It’s composed not of stone but of words, color, cadence, meaning and other physical sensations I’m not able to articulate to your satisfaction.

Notice I said ‘your satisfaction’ and not ‘my satisfaction.’

Until I feel the story to my satisfaction—in the process of writing, refining, holding, conversing, etc, etc., etc., bleah bleah bleah—it’s not done. And in this particular way, so I’m told, I’m insufferably incorrigible. That is, as far as Im concerned, I’m judge and jury. I write, draw, design, and (bigger shock coming here) speak with impunity. Meaning I refuse to try and second guess an audience. Meaning I couldn’t care less what they may approve or disapprove of.

And believe me, this creates more than a little friction. At times.

And believe me, I couldn’t care less. At all.

If there’s one thing I find *RCA Dog Head Tilt coming here* odd, it’s the idea that I should worry overmuch (read: at all) what anyone else may or may not like when it comes to creating. Many people do, I know that. I just have no category for it and do not at all see its ultimate value. So, no.

By the way, this has been cathartic..I’m articulating things I never — and I mean never — think about. I just do them. You’ll appreciate that fault when and if you ever watch one of the upcoming WiP Studio videos where I’ll stumble walk you through creating a cartoon start-to-finish, or a Photoshop technique. I’m not used to speaking aloud what I do naturally everyday. I’m sure it will be a humiliating mess until I edit it to something helpful.

So. That’s a bit of a look into how I write: sometimes it’s inspired and intoxicating, sometimes it’s rooted out and maddening. All the time, though, it’s for my pleasure and mine alone. I’d say I hope that doesn’t offend you but lol we’ve already covered that lie.

Creating, writing as much as any other medium, is very much its own reward.

Next time I’ll write about how several books developed to the point where I would finally start working on them.

Oh, and one last thing:

The photo accompanying this post? Well…I can’t resist it. I’m hiding at a favorite place only a handful of people know about, and one I’ve returned to when I’ve needed its familiar comfort. It’s been a maniacal couple of days so I completed some other tasks, packed up my laptop and camera and made my way to a favorite bolt hole, Sherlock Holmes style. And, yes, that’s a jet.

And, no, I’m not where you think.