Brutal Advice from Orson Scott Card

So today I finished reading Orson Scott Card’s book “How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy.” It was very good, with the exception of a few adorably dated sections, and despite being an impulse purchase I don’t regret grabbing this book off the shelf. But let me go ahead and spoil you by telling you the last sentence of the book:

So close this book and get back to work.

I was in the subway when I was reading this (yay for subway reading!), waiting for a train to come, and the brutal nature of this statement at the end of a self-help book hit me very hard, all the more because I was in a situation where it was impossible to get back to work (or nearly so. I suppose I could have opened up Notes on my iPhone, but I am bad at typing on my phone like an old person).

It has been a while since my last post on this blog or indeed since I have done any writing whatsoever. Lately I’ve been analyzing my every move as either “towards” or “away” moves. As in, “towards” the person I want to become or “away” from it. It’s advice I picked up somewhere along the way.

And that’s what got me to more viciously begin reading again. So in the past three weeks, I have finished two books. Both about creativity and how better to do it.

Book number one: The Creative Habit: Learn it and Use it for Life by Twyla Tharp

Book number two: How to Write Science Fiction and Fantasy by Orson Scott Card

The former was a loan on a friend’s recommendation, the latter picked up solely based on my recognition of the author and his reputation. (Strangely though, I have never read Ender’s Game. I know him through the fantasy book “Seventh Son.”)

Both have proven interesting and even helpful books, but in very different ways.

I told you how Card’s book ends. Here’s how Twyla Tharp’s book ends:

It permits me to walk into a white room… and walk out dancing.

The actual reading of the last words of both these books were only one day apart, so you can see how the contrast would hit me.

Tharp’s book was more about how to foster creativity and how to construct your attitude and approach to your creation as you are creating. (It’s not just about writing. If you don’t know already, she’s a dancer.)

My favorite part of her book was the chapter titled “Spine.” Here is an excerpt:

Spine, to put it bluntly, begins with your first strong idea. […] The spine is the statement you make to yourself outlining your intentions for the work. You intend to tell this story. You intend to explore this theme. You intend to employ this structure. The audience may infer it or not. But if you stick to your spine, the peice will work.

Tharp assures us that “spine” is not the same thing as subject, or even inspiration. It is that first instinct that threw you into the project, the main idea that got you going, the central idea from which all other ideas spring. And she encourages us to remain connected to it throughout the project, so as to prevent wandering off or losing focus.

I feel like my life has been without a “spine” recently. Or rather, more importantly, my writing life. First I made the grand gesture of starting a writing blog, declaring I would do all I could to make my writing at a professional level part of my life. Then I was forced to retreat for a number of reasons, personal, practical, and otherwise, to put artistic things at a lesser scale than anticipated in favor of my job search (which is still unfortunately a thing, by the way). Now what? Now what will I do? Where is my “spine?”

That’s why, today, when I read Card’s words, I knew I was going to write something before I went to bed. He told me to, so I had to. Sure, it’s not too inspiring to admit that I needed a direct order to get going, but it’s the truth.

Is that how it’s going to have to be? Am I going to have to reread that sentence every day in order to write in this blog, or write in a text editor of my choice?

Maybe my writing career’s “spine” can be action. Better yet, let’s move to a noun that is more personal to me and embodies action. Ocean.

Deep. Ever Moving.

Every morning, as I wait for my coffee to brew, I will think of the ocean.

Like with a spine, it won’t necessarily be the subject of my next novel or the theme of my next post. But it will be the impetus for both.

And as I drink my coffee, I will imagine waves swirling, and think about how it is at once calming and tempestuous. And then I will try to channel (haha) that energy into my fingers as I open Word or Pages or even Sublime Text and write a few words down.

Will this work? I don’t know. But I’ve never tried it before.

So thank you, Orson Scott Card and Twyla Tharp, you talented people with weird names. I’ll see where this goes.