The process of writing

Every writer has to deal with what we have come to call the "writer's block". I don't call it a writer's block. For me, it is a process. I just read a discussion on Goodreads about writer's block and how writers deal with it. It has some useful tips, and people are sharing their ideas of how they face this challenge. I also joined the discussion, and am sharing here with you some of the ways I found to work out for me when the characters of my novel are stubbornly refusing to move forward. I'll update this post once in a while as I come across new ideas. You're welcome to check out the tips on Goodreads and join the discussion there.

1. I go for a run. It helps me clear my mind, and just when I'm not thinking about my manuscript, the thoughts come on their own. Usually a new perspective is revealed to me.
2. I try to end each writing session in a middle of a scene or in a place where I have an idea where to pick up from the next time. Then, the next time, I can pick it up from there rather than having to face a completely blank page.
3. I pick a good novel and read, notebook and pencil close to me. I get lost in a different world, and forget about my characters. It's similar to when I run. Just when you've completely forgotten about it, the ideas come on their own.
4. I write about my writing process in my journal. I put in writing what I think isn't working and why. Then I try to come up with solutions. Putting my thoughts down on paper helps me sort through them and process the challenges.
5. I don't write chronologically. I can leave a scene that isn't working and go on to write another scene, and come back to the earlier scene at a later stage. I don't believe in linear writing at all. With my first novel, I had the end scene written quite early on. It's more challenging this way, because you have to keep track of the narrative as well as character development, but you can have a lot of fun with it this way.
6. Taking time off from writing gives me a wider perspective. The story needs its own time, and I appreciate the process and time needed. 

- khulud

“You are not a string. You are a qanun.” "انت مش وتر. انت قانون."

There comes a time in an artist’s life when she is faced with an ethical dilemma.

When creating a work of art that deals with the deepest and most intense emotions, and in order to reflect those emotions in their complete authenticity, the artist must herself know these emotions in all their depths and complexities.

The ethical dilemma arises when the artwork deals with an issue defined by society as taboo, and when, in order for the artist to feel these emotions herself, another person is involved who awakens these emotions in her.

It is not a secret that an artist breathes her artwork from her own experiences. She fuses reality with fiction until they blend and until a point is reached where she herself can no longer distinguish one from the other. It’s a magical game, most often harmless.

She is able to write about taboo issues without fear of being exposed. When asked, she always replies: “it’s all about art. It’s fiction. It’s a painting. It’s a poem. It’ a sculpture. It’s imagination in its most creative, intense mode.”

But, ultimately, as she is at the threshold to cross the boundary, when she is with that other person and an art piece begins making its way into her mind and body, she must ask herself some questions.

What is it she is after? If she wishes to reflect in her artwork the most raw, untainted form of the genuine authenticity of the emotions, then those emotions must be genuine to begin with. And if they are to be genuine, then she must abandon the idea of the artwork and immerse herself in the experience fully and wholly. Otherwise, she will fail – though only partly.

What is the ethical dilemma here? That although she did not initially intend to create an artwork from her experience, it is leading in that direction. And the moment she wishes to utilize that experience towards her creation, then she is faced with the most difficult dilemma. Does she share it with the person who awakens those emotions in her? Ethically, she must. In specific instances, it would be unethical not to. So where’s the dilemma? The moment she does, the whole process of the creation of the artwork becomes tainted and loses elements of its spontaneity and its natural beauty. Because the moment the other person becomes aware that s/he as well as her/his behavior, words, movements, are being closely watched and imprinted on the artist’s mind in all its smallest details, s/he begins to rationalize, think, and analyze his/her every movement and word. And thus the whole experience becomes tainted and distorted by this awareness.

What is the dilemma? After all, artists draw their artwork from reality, from their very own experiences and interactions with others. However, in very specific instances, when the issue they deal with entails taboo (only as defined by society, and not any immoral or unethical conduct in itself) and the whole art creation is broadly based on the process of a relationship with another person, that is when the dilemma arises.

I cannot provide an answer or a solution to this dilemma. It is a dilemma each artist must face on her own. And when she stands on the threshold, and before crossing it, she must ask herself the following questions: “Am I true to my values? Am I true to my art? Am I honest with with the other person? Am I honest with myself?” If the answer to all these questions is yes, then she knows her decision is ethical and moral.

Closing the last page

(c) photo by khulud kh. Jaffa, 2012

Time to say goodbye. Time to close the last page of this book. To reclaim my freedom – for now at least. Yes, it’s exciting to complete a book. But more than that, it’s sad. For two and a half years, Maisoon, Ziyad, Majid and Asmahan lived with me. They would wake up in the morning and sit with me at the kitchen table for a morning coffee and cigarette. Sometimes they would talk to me, other times they’d remain silent.

They walked inside my body. I was never alone. Never lived in one world – always the other parallel world would creep up on me – a shadow that followed me everywhere.

And now – it is time to release. I closed the last page of the manuscript, and with it I said goodbye to Maisoon, Ziyad, Majid and Asmahan. The door to this specific parallel world has been closed – for now. The feeling is a one of a newly regained freedom and aloneness. I can again breathe on my own.

But with this door closing – I am left stranded in a long, narrow, dark corridor. At the moment, I’m still adjusting to the darkness around, feeling my way around, getting ready to walk – towards what – towards another parallel world.

Two years ago, in Andalucía, four characters made a sudden appearance in my mind. They wrote the beginning of their history in some ten pages. That was all they needed at that time. Just to make me know they exist and are waiting for me patiently. Maybe now is the time to go back to them, see what world they will reveal to me, and invite them for a morning coffee and cigarette.

writing

(c) photo by khulud kh

Writing – what does this word mean to me. The breath of life, not less than that. For two years now I’ve been living two parallel lives. One – in the “real” world, as real as it could get, though I can argue about the character and quality and very essence of real. The other life – that of my novel. When I sit down at my large writing table – with the notebooks, pencils, fountain pen, colorful markers, computer, thesaurus, a pack of cigarettes, a cup of coffee and of course the complete works of Emily Dickinson – I leave the “real” world and enter the world of the novel. Completely and wholly. I become unaware of even my physical body. I cross the line, step beyond, step inside.

I can spend four hours sitting at my writing desk. Usually into the night. I feel I am stealing time when everyone else sleeps. I feel productive. I write. When I get real lucky – I don’t write, but rather let the character come through and let her or him write her or his own story. One at a time. Usually it’s Majid that succeeds in surprising me. The poetry he writes is beautiful. I love it. I read his poems often. Yet I always know that the poetry is not mine. I can never claim authorship of it. My poetry never dances like his. Isn’t as colorful as his. Doesn't come close to intensity of emotions like his.

I often get possessed with fear. What if I run out of words ideas metaphors story-lines. What if I never finish this novel. What if it will resist. What if I do finish it and then that would be the end of it. Questions always questions. Doubts. What if I’m not a good enough writer what if I’m wasting time what if – stop it!

What is good about writing – the process itself. Writing itself is what gives me satisfaction. Forming one word – then putting another word after it. Seeing my thoughts become physical. Become visible.

The stupidity of it – after all, everything has already been said in so many words and so many ways and so many forms. So what’s so unique about my writing. Stop it!

What’s unique about my writing – is that this is my way of saying what has already been said in so many words so many ways so many forms. My own way in my own words in my own form with my own distinguished style.

Nothing unique about what I just wrote here – but nevertheless, it’s mine and it’s what I think and how I feel and so why not. Not every piece of writing has to be so smart to knock the socks out of its readers’ feet.

Because – really, to be honest in the deepest way – I can’t imagine my life without writing. It did become the air I breath. Without writing – I will lose my sense of myself. I will lose a large part of my very being.

Writing is the one single thing that I can never give up on. It is the one single thing I will always do in my life – no matter what where how.

Enough now and go back to the novel.

(c) all rights reserved to khulud kh (2012)