What I'm Reading Now: Fifty Shades of Grey Trilogy

All three of these books have been reviewed to death. I could go off about flabby middles, slow plots, and how they could have easily been combined into one, better book, but everyone else has done that. I want to talk about McDonald's instead.

I love to eat and I'm a dedicated foodie. My husband is a classically trained chef and I've eaten in some of the finest establishments in the country. I've also eaten at fast food restaurants, food trucks, and beach-side barbecue vendors. It's rare that I have a truly bad meal. Here's why: expectation and intention.

When I walk into McDonald's I don't presume I'll eat a five star meal. That would be ridiculous. It's a fast food joint and has no intention of being anything else. I imagine I'll get a burger served up relatively quickly and hot. I don't even expect a good burger, just a fast food burger. If I walk into a McDonald's and compare their food to the meal I had at that Michelin three star café in Paris, where the burger is made of filet, sirloin, and braised short rib and served on freshly baked brioche with an accompaniment of fries prepared in duck fat, that makes me a food snob. An unhappy food snob at that because the intent is completely different between the two establishments and I didn't moderate my expectations based on that information.

The Fifty Shades of Grey Trilogy is the Big Mac of literature. I can already hear keening and the rent of clothing from my literary writer friends because I used the words "Fifty Shades of Grey" and "literature" in the same sentence. Listen, sometimes I like it rough. I want to annotate a short story by John Steinbeck, examine his style, note the metaphors, and scrutinize his word choices. It's part of studying writing and I love it. However, there are days when all I want is a little dose of low commitment "popcorn for the eyes." That's where books like Fifty Shades of Grey come in. And just like McDonald's, I don't open the cover expecting fine literature, I expect a standard romance with a little kinky sex thrown in. Because I moderate my expectations, I'm happy reading it.

My literary friends hold all books to the same high standards but they are missing the intent. Yes, some books are fine literature examining man's role in the world and other such lofty ideas. But some are just a story, a story of two people and their handcuffs, but just a story nonetheless. To expect a book to rise above the intent of the author is just as ridiculous as walking into McDonalds and expecting a five star experience. You'll be a disappointed literary snob.

This question is a big one for me as a writer. I want to produce a great stories that are engaging and that people want to read. Do I want to explore some existential corner of human existence? Sometimes. But other times, I just want to tell a funny, or sad, or inspirational story, a Big Mac story. Does this make me a bad writer? I don't think so, just a person who wants to connect by telling a tale.

What I'm reading Now: "Bird by Bird" by Anne Lamott

Nearly every writer I've met has recommended Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott as a must-read selection with good reason. As artists, and we are artists who use words as our medium, each one of us has a different approach to our writing. However, there are some universal things about the craft that Ms. Lamott captures. The "shitty first draft," the hair pulling when we can't get a character, the blank stare at the computer when we fear the well is dry. The constant message is,"It's OK. Just keep writing."

I'm fairly new to this writing thing. I've only been at it consistently for a couple years. With two short stories published at Alfie Dog Ltd., my royalties don't even cover the coffee I buy as rent at the cafe where I write. I recently described my "process" to my sister as "Thumping around the hinterlands without a clue as to what I'm doing."  In some ways, it's very liberating. I'm not tied to one particular method, and I get to choose what I work on, where I work on it, and I am god of the universe I create. But for the very same reasons, writing this way can be very scary. I found myself highlighting a lot of quotes from this book that resonated with me, some not originally the author's.

"E.L. Doctorow: Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way."

This idea is particularly comforting to me. Every time the organization gene gets all crazy and lays out a brilliant outline, my characters rebel and I am off the plan within three sentences. Lesson 1: long term planning is a monumental waste of time for me. I have to take it one scene at time and very often they are not consecutive. Writing the end of the story sparks an idea for a scene in the beginning. What I've realized, especially after reading the chapter entitled "Shitty First Drafts," is that my first draft IS the plan. That's part of the reason why it sucks so badly. People change names, a character is pregnant, then miraculously, not. The draft is the time to play with the characters, figure out who they are and what they want, throw a couple barn fires and maybe snipers at them. So I stopped calling it a first draft. I call it a rough draft. I'll go back and edit it so it is fit for human eyes other than my own. THAT will be the first draft.

"Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people..."

Lesson 2: Just write it all out without editing.  I became particularly good at this during Nanowrimo when I had a daily word count goal. I just put it all down, practically stream of consciousness. I broke all of the rules: telling, not showing, long description of characters and settings. I turned off, to the best of my ability, the inner editor who constantly snarked about how bad the writing was. In some ways, writing like that was a little boring. There was no challenge of working each word until it was the perfect one, massaging the scene until I was sure the reader would be with me in the story. I learned that revision really is the writing, but the inner editor had to stay in the box until I had something to revise. Otherwise, her constant commentary would have me mowing the lawn instead of working on my rough draft.

I could go on and on about the inspiration and community I found in the pages of Bird by Bird. However, there were parts I couldn't relate too. I don't hang around martyrs in my non-writing life and I I studiously avoid hanging out with writers whose identity revolves around lamenting about how hard it is to write, to get an agent, to get published. I find the "artist" angst irritating because writing IS hard but wallowing in that aspect of it is non-productive and just feeds that evil inner editor until I end up folding laundry instead of writing my shitty first draft. It could be I'm suffering from "Newbie" hubris, but, someone is finding an agent and getting published every day. Why not me? I know it's not easy and without emotional ups and downs. However, I've read enough to know that my writing is, with a lot more work, publishable. The desperation, fear, and depression Ms. Lamott describes don't jibe with my world view, at all.

Still, I'd love to have a cup of coffee with Anne Lamott and talk writing with her. She is experienced and funny and has a great deal of wisdom to offer others. I picture her commiserating on tales of woe and cheering successes. Regardless if we are talking about the bad or good, I can hear her saying, "Just keep writing." After all, for a writer, that's the answer to just about any question.