In Progress

It always feels best to write on a rainy day. After all, what else is there to do–other than sit inside and feed my chronic always-online addiction. You expect me to go out into the rain? And get wet? No thanks.

So, what tends to happen is I look out, see the rain, and think to myself: “I should write.” Whether said writing actually happens or not is subject to other factors, most importantly how much masochistic mental flogging I am willing to take, but the thought is formed regardless.

So I’ll think about it, or I’ll write a little, and in rare cases, I’ll write a lot. The writing may or may not be put down, excised from the brain, and cast onto page physical or virtual.

Slowly though, progress happens. Aforementioned writing; mental planning; it all plays a part in the creation of something that takes a jumble of words and forms a sentence and further.

So, this is–ultimately–how we get here, to this post, and also to all the other writing that is currently with the status of in progress (well, not actually to here and now as it’s near impossible to read anything as it is being created (and really can you if it is created in the mind before being put down on page) but that discussion is not for this post).

The words are dreaded, in many a sense, but also welcome. Something that is in progress is unfinished, it’s piecemeal, yet to find a place to call home. Yet, possibly more importantly: it takes up mental space within my brain, crowding out all the other potential ideas that could be forming in the vacuum it would vacate.

Ideas in progress are things that can be beautiful, yet can also be a nuisance. Which they are, or which they will be, is highly dependent on my mood that day.

Creating something is wonderful! It is all untapped potential that you are hoping to tap. It is forming life and emotion using only the tips of your fingers and whatever chaos happens within your brain.

It’s a process that is deeply personal and, for writers of my type, something that is rarely shared with the public (including any friends, family members, or slightly-more-distant-yet-still-quite-close friends). Something that is in progress is not finished yet, and only finished work is allowed for people to see; everybody knows that.

This line of thought probably stems from some deep innate fear (a psychiatrist may call it “fear of rejection”), but the really simple matter of the fact is that I don’t want to be found out*

* Definition: The recognition by others that the quality of your work–typically first draft–is actually quite poor and all of the praise and love you receive is, in fact, false; fabricated something or someone to convince you that you’re good. All culminating in the eventual uncovering of said poor writing and subsequent public humiliation.

This fear is a driving force–I deeply do want to share my work and connect with people and allow my friends to read what I have to write and share my ideas that I am passionate about–but it is also a hindrance.

It allows my brain to trick me into thinking that my writing is not as good as others say it is. It stops me from working because, well, if it’s not good then what is the point in writing anyway?

But something being in progress also means that it is everything that it currently is and also everything that it currently is not.

The project could go in any direction. The story could be as perfect as I want it to be. For something to be in progress is for it to be ideal. It exists in a perpetual state of the greatest potential writing ever. It is potentially the next best seller or potentially the Next Great American Novel.

It’s often said in circles of photography that “the best camera is the one that you have on you.” Much the same could be said about writing in any of its forms. The best ____ is the ____ you have written. Fill in “novel”; fill in “article”, “poem”, “short story”, any other term.

“The only kind of writing is rewriting” as Ernest Hemmingway said. What he didn’t say is that, just like writing, rewriting is tough. It’s hard work, and as soon as you write and rewrite you are solidifying what the project could be into what it now is.

The endless potential is gone. It now either has to be good, or great, or whatever else it will be. The sprawling avenues that could be taken have to either be narrowed down to just one or consolidated into an avenue. So much is encased now in what used to just be in progress.

My projects seem to stay that way for a while, in the limbo that is in progress. There is always something to be worked on, something to be changed. It probably will never be fully finished. But at least it’s there, it’s one step closer to being done, to potentially being all that you want it to be and maybe more.

And maybe it will be the novel–or other piece of writing–you always wanted or maybe it won’t be. But what it will be at first is a first draft. From there–hopefully–the only way to go is up.

The potential that is so paralyzing, the ideas that swirl, they all have to land eventually. The potential has to crystalize sometime. The only way to know if it’s going to be great is to write it. Once it’s out in the world it either will be or it won’t be (or it will be in the million other places that quality lies).

But what it will be is gone. Gone from the mind, gone from the clutter of ideas and distracting trains of thought. Space freed. Now go on and create some more. Maybe the next will be better. The only way to know is to write, to create another in progress.

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It was a rainy Friday, a slow day at work, and I thought that the blog was in need of an update, a fresh dusting, and a new addition to the shelf. Yet, one can only comment that “big things are coming. Watch this space!” so many times until I begin to sound like a washed-up Social Influencer^TM.

So, to forgo that, I figured to write this: a post about the transient state that almost everything sits in before unveiling (though you could make a convincing argument that everything is in progress no matter if it’s “finished” or not).

Writing about my fears seems to be the thing that my brain defaults to when writing, so as such, here is some fear for Friday (or whichever day you are reading this on) (and yes this is being published on a Tuesday. I make the rules and you gotta deal with it). I hope you enjoy.

But, as much as I don’t want to say it… there is always more to come. So stay tuned. Or don’t. It’s up to you. Enjoy the process; it’s all we have.