Well, I've failed my resolution. I decided early this year that I was either going to write a book in this calendar year—2018—or die trying.
And I didn't. Write a book, I mean.
But you know what? I'm not going to give up.
I don't have any excuse for not giving up. I probably should. I'm just not going to. I like to write, and I've been practicing it all my life, and I'm passably good at it. My problem is mental organization—I'm not very organized in my thinking, not very good at following a thread over the long haul. (You might sometimes detect this even in my blog posts, if you're looking look for it.) I have trouble staying on track over tens of thousands of words.
Human engineering
I took a three-day battery of aptitude tests way back when I was a teenager, administered by an organization that is now called the Johnson O'Connor Research Foundation* (JOCRF). It was very interesting, and I learned some things of lasting value about myself.
To give you one example, I scored very high in all the musical aptitudes, but in none of them did I score as high as people who turn out to make their livings as working musicians. JOCRF told me that people who do score high enough in those aptitudes pretty much have to work in music in some way, shape or form, or they tend not to be happy; but that people like me, people with high but not-high-enough musical aptitudes, who attempt to be musicians usually fail.
I took their word for it, and determined to resist the siren song of trying to be any sort of musician. I decided instead to be a music listener—a devoted part of the audience. And that decision has stood me in very good stead over the years. I'm completely happy with that course I chose based on their advice.
They also told me that I was particularly bad at foresight—I have no memory of how they tested for this**, but I do remember sitting across from the clinician's desk while he told me that, to me, "the past will be like a lush, intricate mountainous terrain, constantly worthy of exploration, while the future will look like a flat, featureless, uninteresting desert"—or words to that effect. Raise your hand if you've planned for your retirement...and guess who hasn't.
Salt flats again
And guess what my attempts at book manuscripts look like to me? Lots of richness in what I've already finished, and pretty much no freaking clue as to where to go from there forward. Fascinating terrain behind me, bleak nothingness ahead. I have a hard time writing fiction for that reason. I have no more idea than a reader would what the characters are going to do next!
One thing I did do this year, though, was write what I think are very good first chapters of two different books. I had to work very hard at it, but in both cases when I go back and reread them I think they're not just good, but excellent. So maybe planning writing by chapters is the pathway out of my mental organization problem. I think what I'm going to have to do is write chapters as if each one was a little miniature book all by itself—getting one chapter to a pretty high state of finish, then mulling over in my mind as to where the next one needs to go before starting it. In that way I could build a book chapter by chapter, and thereby overcome my problem.
I don't want to quit, though, despite my ultimatum to myself last January. I want to keep after it. I just haven't got the key yet, is all. It's out there. I'm going to find it. I just have to keep working. I'm going to know when it happens for me, because things will start to flow. Until they do, I'll know I'm not there yet.
I feel like I just need to find what I'm meant to do. Do you know the old 18th century definition of "genius"? It meant the particular, peculiar things that make you you—that make you distinctive, individual, and different. What I need to do is find my genius, in that antiquated sense of the word.
Two-thirds right
By the way, do you want to know what Johnson O'Conner's three top recommendations for me were, back when I was 16? They suggested that, given my aptitudes, I might want to think about becoming a writer, a photographer, or a forester.
Ha! Forester. Two out of three ain't bad.
If you have a child of any age older than puberty who is floundering about in their life course or career path like a fish flopping on dry land, I recommend you treat them to the JOCRF aptitude tests if you can afford it. It's not very expensive—they're a nonprofit—and there are 11 locations around the U.S.
Helped me, I'll say that. And it's interesting, too.
Onward! Maybe I'll actually die while still trying. But really, there are worse fates.
Mike
*It was originally founded in 1938 as the "Johnson O'Conner Human Engineering Laboratory," which sounds maybe a little Frankensteinish to modern ears.
**It's Chapter 13, page 59, of the Foundation's free ebook about its tests, which you can see here.
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(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:
Paul: "It really hurts me to hear this about your writing. Your blog has become part of my life. Can't you just sit down every day for one hour and just get on with it? Most days your writing will be average, a few will be awful and a couple will be amazing. Those incredible days will refuel you for many days. Stop focusing on finishing it and focus on that bloody hour everyday and things will change for the better."
Mike replies: That doesn't do it though. Works for blogging, not for a book. It's like walking fifty miles in the wrong direction—doesn't matter how brisk your pace is if you're not getting any closer to where you want to go.
Ilkka: "You cannot write a book in a year. Not a good one anyway. That is a too ambitious target. If you didn’t start writing it at all in 2018, then shame on you. You will never write it until you start. But be realistic and give yourself 3-5 years. You need a plan and outline. That can change during the process. Then you need to write. And then you need to edit. But first you need to get started."
Mike replies: Oh, I've started. Have I ever started. It's finishing I have the trouble with. :-)