The Trouble With Attachment
January 9, 2008
Another day, another blathering writer. Well, today I’m going to go a little more in-depth about my personal projects. Namely one in particular I just can’t seem to finish. No matter how much effort I try to put into it.
I have been working on this novel for about seven years. With seven years under its belt, I should at least be close to finishing it, right? Well, I’m not. Seven years and about as many revamps later, only three chapters. It’s not really that I don’t like the story, I just can’t bring myself to finish it. I look at the document it’s currently holed up in and I just… close it two seconds later. I don’t feel like I can add anything. Anything that’s meaningful anyway.
I guess the problem is that nothing I write feels good enough for this character. Although laziness has also reared its ugly head on many occasions. See, Alaric has been in my brain a little longer than the story has. He represents, in a way, an entire portion of my life. When I came home in the evening, I knew that at least I could sit down and write a story. His story. Now, I can barely touch it. It never occurred to me that it might be a problem until now.
At the end of this story, Alaric is going to die. It’s the kind of ending that you know no matter what you do, it won’t change. This is something that has to happen. Actually, I see it as a mercy killing. Far better than what would happen if I left him alive and sent him home to his bombed out, hopeless post-war country. Either way, death would find him. It’s difficult to justify this type of attachment to a person who doesn’t even exist, but it’s something vaguely akin to losing a child. The person you’ve developed and nurtured for so long is going to cease to exist, and this is his only story. At the very least, his death will be on your terms.
I suppose it’s selfishness that keeps me from finishing the novel. I want him to be able to live on in my mind, but at the same time, I am refusing to give him what will make him so memorable. It’s kind of like Arianhrod and Llew Llaw Gwyffes. In one moment, she refused him his right to be a man, but in turn gave him everything he needed to become such. Maybe I should do as Arianhrod should have done. Arm him with what he needs to survive, and let him go.
I’m not going to pose any questions for this post because the discussion point is pretty self-explanatory. That and I need to get ready for work. Fast.
January 9, 2008 at 5:16 pm
I think you should leave it. Just forget about it for now and do something else. Obviously you aren’t ready, and that’s okay.
I have two characters that I adore. I mean, they are the nearest and dearest to my heart. And I have a story that’s about them and their relationship. Every once in a while I get the ache to write it, but I never have. You know why?
I couldn’t do it yet. I don’t have what it takes.
And that’s okay. Writing isn’t a you’ve got it or you don’t kind of thing. We write and we mature. I’ll grow into those characters. I’m only in my early twenties right now. They’ll still be waiting for me when I’m thirty. When I’m fourty. Whenever. The characters won’t age or die, unless we do. And we’ll tell their story when it’s right.
I say let it go, and don’t worry about it. Some day you’ll be ready, and then you won’t have another concern in your head. You’ll sit down and pound it out and it will be (as always) really satisfying and really disappointing, and then you’ll move on. And it’s very likely that your fans will never know that it was your pet project, the one you loved forever, unless you tell them.
That’s life. Not every part of writing is glamorous or fun or inherently wonderful.
January 12, 2008 at 7:07 pm
I suppose everyone has a story like this. You’ve had Alaric for more than seven years, I’ve had Rupert.
When I think about writing Rupert’s story, I feel a blend of excitement and anxiety. When I eventually sit down and start typing–this happens around once a month–I always stop about 5 minutes later.
I have two reasons. One, I don’t feel I’m ready–the story isn’t solid enough, I sometimes worry, or my skill isn’t at the requisite level–and two, I know that writing it might change me.
Rupert, Orson, Gwaltney, Felix, and the rest of the massive cast have been swirling around my head for a year or two, clashing and clinging and changing. They’re a part of me, and part of me will be lost when they finally go on to their fates. When Rupert’s sister dies, and he (rightly) blames himself, I’ll feel that pain. When Orson finally redeems himself, I’ll cry a bloody river. When all my characters take their bows at story’s end, I’ll change. And part of me wants to put that off for a while, because I’m not ready.
Luckily, it doesn’t matter if I postpone the writing, because I’d rather give them a good sendoff then a half-assed one, and it’s not like they’re going anywhere.
Don’t write until you feel you’re ready–and don’t sell yourself short when the time comes. Take your time; Alaric can wait for as long as you need.