Showing posts with label rewriting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rewriting. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 2, 2024

Literary Cryonics: “Freeze” the Work You Can’t Finish

The pseudoscience of cryonics advocates freezing human bodies in the hope of resurrecting them in the future. (Cryonics is sometimes mistakenly called cryogenics, which is actually the science of very low temperatures.) The idea of cryonics is to preserve a person’s body until the condition that caused their death can be cured. While most scientists believe this idea is impractical from a biological standpoint, I think there is some value in this idea for writers, in a purely metaphorical way.

I often work on a literary project for a long time without arriving at a satisfactory draft, no matter how often or how hard I work on it. The project is “dead,” so to speak. That can happen because the ending just doesn’t fulfill or match the build-up that precedes it. Or a work can feel unfinished because I haven’t established a deep enough emotional connection to the subject or the characters. Or maybe I don’t know enough about the actual life situation that I’m trying to write about. The reality is, I more often leave a literary project unfinished than I complete one. Let’s face it—it’s just damn hard to bring a work of writing to a successful conclusion.

So, throw those nasty rejects out, right? Who wants to be reminded of their failures? But not so fast!


I have a folder where I keep all my unfinished projects. They are “frozen” in the sense that I don’t often look at them or bring them to life in my thought process. Every once in a while, however, I go back to something I wrote years ago and see new possibilities that had alluded me when I last looked at it. That might be because I have the advantage of time to see the work with more distance and objectivity. It could also be because I have experienced more in the interim, and I hope, learned a thing or two about writing, about myself, or maybe even about life. For whatever reason, a work that remained an unsolvable puzzle for me sometimes suddenly falls into place. More precisely, I can see that a solution might be in reach if I just spend a little more time digging deeper into that project.

 

So, if a work feels frustratingly inadequate, despite all your best efforts, don’t give up on it. “Freeze” it—keep it somewhere you can go back over it in the fullness of time. Years or even decades later, you might find a cure for what ails it.

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Zack’s new book of poetry, The Kama Sutra for Senior Citizens and Other Poems on Aging. Order in the USA    Order in the UK
Other posts of interest:

How to Get Published

Getting the Most from Your Writing Workshop

How Not to Become a Literary Dropout

Putting Together a Book Manuscript

Working with a Writing Mentor

How to Deliver Your Message

Does the Muse Have a Cell Phone?

Why Write Poetry?

Poetic FormsIntroductionthe Sonnetthe Sestinathe Ghazalthe Tankathe Villanelle

Praise and Lament

How to Be an American Writer

Writers and Collaboration

Types of Closure in Poetry

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Editing by Rewriting from Scratch

When we edit, most of us tend to tinker. We substitute a word or phrase here, we prune a word or two there. We don’t make major changes in any draft. Essentially, we like our own words (who doesn’t?) and we want to keep as many of them as we can. We do that even when we know that a poem or work of fiction or nonfiction that we’ve written isn’t working.

But is tinkering always the best method of fixing something? Many times, when we alter just a little here and there, we are missing an opportunity to learn from the mistakes of a particular draft. It often takes a flawed draft to give us the clue to what our idea really requires. Sometimes the idea needs not what we wrote in our first attempt, or even the fifth attempt. In some cases, we’ve just got to start over.

That may feel like failure. It isn’t. It’s important to see the early drafts of a work of writing not as emeralds, but as tentative experiments, attempts. It’s difficult to do that, since our writings are often as close as we get to our innermost thoughts and deepest insights. But insights usually don’t arrive fully tailored. Sometimes we can’t just sew on a button, we have to begin with a whole new pattern.

I love the example of this sort of editing that I learned about from Professor David Thorburn, who taught the course I took on the modern British novel at Yale around 1973. If I’m not misquoting Professor Thorburn (and my apologies if I am!), D.H. Lawrence wrote his masterpiece, Women in Love, eight separate times. 

D.H. Lawrence
I don’t mean that Lawrence edited the same manuscript eight times. No, he started all over from Chapter One eight different times. That doesn’t mean he kept nothing from the earlier drafts. No doubt there were sections that worked in the very first version. But each time Lawrence began to write from the beginning with no preconceptions about how the book would progress or turn out—or so I like to think.

I’ve recently been trying out a similar method of editing with my own poems. I find this particularly useful for poetry in a lyric form. If one version doesn’t work, it often is self-defeating to edit that version, since any error ripples through the entire form of the poem. It’s better to start fresh, with new rhymes, for instance, or new repeating elements, possibly snatched from an earlier draft, but reused in a different context.

I recently attempted to write a villanelle for the first time. In a villanelle, the poet has to include two lines that are flexible and resonant enough to appear four times each in the poem. 

For instance, take Dylan Thomas’s iconic villanelle, “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night.” 

Dylan Thomas
In that poem, the two famous refrains are:

Do not go gentle into that good night

Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Imagine if Thomas had initially selected as a refrain not one of those lines, but a different line in the poem, say the second line, “Old age should burn and rave at close of day”?  It might put too much emphasis on the idea of burning or raving to mention them four times. With four uses of the word “burn,” the poem would have a much more religious undertone, since it would evoke burning in hell. The word “rave” occurring in four places might make give the poem too hysterical a note. If those were not the foci Thomas wanted, the current line 2 would not have worked as a refrain. It would have served his purposes better to start over with a different refrain and rewrite the whole poem, rather than to try to tweak that line in some minor way.

There’s another reason we prefer to tinker rather than to rebuild from the ground up—tinkering is a lot less work. But ultimately, several pieces of flawed work that produce nothing usable are much less productive than a lot of work that results in writing worth sending out into the world.


Zack’s most recent book of poems, Irreverent Litanies
Zack’s most recent translation, Bérénice 1934–44: An Actress in Occupied Paris by Isabelle Stibbe

Other recent posts about writing topics: 
How to Get Published

Getting the Most from Your Writing Workshop
How Not to Become a Literary Dropout
Putting Together a Book Manuscript
Working with a Writing Mentor
How to Deliver Your Message
Does the Muse Have a Cell Phone?
Why Write Poetry? 
Poetic Forms: IntroductionThe SonnetThe SestinaThe GhazalThe TankaThe Villanelle
Praise and Lament
How to Be an American Writer
Writers and Collaboration
Types of Closure in Poetry