Write What You Love

Love What You Write.

This may not be a true sentiment for all writers. I can only speak for myself.

In the previous post I mentioned that I was reading Stolen Fury by Elisabeth Naughton and that it was so good it made me itch to write. (And it's still that good, but more on that in a later post). What strikes me very strongly about it, from a writer's perspective, is that Elisabeth had to have had a great time writing that story (love what you write). And that got me thinking about my struggles with my current work-in-progress.

How did I get here? Let's back up for a second (in a movie this might be where they'd rewind the film accompanied by the sound of a phonograph needle being zipped over a record album). I've been writing for personal pleasure on and off for about 10 years now. Confession time, most of what I wrote during those 10 years was fanfic -- stories about characters and universes that touched my imagination, never to be published, though possibly shared with other fans. While I had the idea at the back of my mind that one day I might want to write some "original" fiction (i.e. characters and universes I created, rather than playing in someone else's sandbox), I was quite content to write what I was writing and hopefully improve my grasp of the fundamentals of telling a good story at the same time.

Fast forward to about a year and a half ago or so. I can't explain the turning point that made me determined to work on writing for publication. All I know is that a few things in my life changed and writing fanfic was no longer satisfying the creative urge I felt. It was time to crank it up a notch, I thought. I looked around for guidance and found RWA and joined, even though I wasn't technically going to write straight romance. The professional guidance available, the mentoring, and the opportunity to learn the craft of writing through RWA are tremendous assets.

So, okay. I was ready to write. I had plenty of ideas in several genres saved up from years of notes--which turned out to be part of my problem. Which idea should I choose first? Which genre should I write in? I didn't know and couldn't decide. I'd start one story, then think, no, this isn't going so well, and put it aside to try another. And another. And another. In short, I flailed. Pathetically. I began to doubt myself. Why in the world did I think I could write in the first place? What was wrong with me?

At some point last year I decided I had to just pick a likely idea and genre and stick with it until I had a finished story. And in the last few months that's what I've been trying to do. Grimly. I looked around at my bookshelves and decided, based on the amount of reading I'd done in that genre, that I'd choose a cosy-style mystery with a likely plot. So, I have an engaging amateur sleuth who has an interesting day job and a serious personal reason for finding the killer. I have an interesting detective with potential for romantic entanglement and a host of regular supporting characters. The whole thing could be turned into a nice little series. The only problem? I'm beginning to think I'm not the one to write it. At least not at this stage in my writing development.

It's the kind of book I'd snatch off the shelves and enjoy, but it isn't the kind of book I *Love*. And there's the rub. I'm not yet at that place where I can sit down and write 80-90,000 words of a story that I'm not absolutely in love with.

No matter how many times I tell myself that writing is a business and I should be able to write what sells or stop wasting my time, I obviously can't make myself believe it. Why, you ask? Because it took me most of last year to eke out a miserable 8,000 words of this mystery. And they weren't even a mediocre or good 8,000 words -- honestly, they stunk. I've been reworking them, trying to straighten out the POV and a couple of other problems, but really? It's been a waste of time. I just don't care about telling that story. Someday in the future I may have a different feeling about it, but not today.

Just what is it that happened to cause me to come to this conclusion? Well, remember that bit where I said I was beginning to doubt myself? I've been doing some serious soul searching in the last couple of weeks. Going over those lousy 8,000 words had me in despair wondering why I ever thought writing was a joy. Why was I putting myself through this? That itch to write that I was feeling while reading Elisabeth's book certainly wasn't an itch to write more of my misbegotten mystery. No, it was an itch to write something--anything--that I loved.

So yesterday I gave myself permission to do just that. I told myself it didn't matter what I wrote or if it could be published, I just had to love writing it. Turns out that my subconscious had been working away at a fanfic story without my realizing it. Characters I love and that I know like the back of my hand and a universe of fantastic possibilities. How do I know that this was the right thing to do? I wrote over 5,000 words yesterday. That's 5,000 glorious words in a single day compared to 8,000 that need to be chucked in the deepest bin after a whole year of trying. My imagination is on fire and the words are flowing freely. I've given myself permission to see where this takes me (at the moment I'm guessing about 40,000 words). When I'm done, I'm going to do some serious analysis of why this was so much fun to write -- what drew me to the story and the characters so strongly -- and then I intend to put the same kind of fire into an original work that brings me the same kind of joy. I know I can do it.

This little experiment that can never be published has renewed my faith in myself and it's hammered home a personal lesson that I hope I never forget. My lesson?

Write what you love. Love what you write.