10 Ways Writing Fiction is Like Performing for a Camera

Hey, guys, I just spent the entire day trying to develop video for this blog. Guess what? That’s right. So let’s talk about how my experiment with video mimics the experience of writing fiction:

1. It always seems like such a good idea at the time.

   Who has not begun a story with the gripping, overwhelming conviction that this is the best idea ever?

2. It gets intensely complicated, overblown, and unwieldly really, really fast.

   Writing fiction is enormously complex and involves far more facets than can ever be entirely remembered or even explained. We try and try and try to simplify the basics so we can build a sense of competence and an inner sensory map—a body memory of how to navigate these complexities—but the sheer number of layers always makes the overall picture invisible from any particular vantage point.

3. It involves a whole lot of little, nickpicky details you simply can’t see coming.

   Fiction is all details: the details of character, the details of plot and subplot and plot thread, the details of setting, the details of tens and tens of thousands of words and sentences. Detail overload. . .and yet every one of them is essential.

4. The exact aspect of any and all illumination is crucial.

   If we don’t have complete control over where we shine the light when we create, we can’t hope to show our audience what we want them to see.

5. Repeated attempts to accomplish the same piece of the project over and over again becomes something akin to hammering jello on porcelain.

   Revision is massage taken to the point of pummeling. The breakage can be, eventually, deafening.

6. Stagefright is a constant.

   Although the camera acts as an audience in the external world, our critical faculties act as an on-going internal audience, so that the accumulation of silent tut-tut’s can be paralyzing if we listen.

7. Halfway through, you’re guaranteed to forget what you’re doing.

   We are a simple species, and one of the most predictable of our reflexes is the urge to mentally step away when things stop being fun. This is especially true right about when we’ve acquired 36,000 of the 72,000 words we need.

8. Freezing in the headlights is sometimes the only thing that makes sense.

   Fortunately, the fact that none of this is live means we can freeze for as long as we like. It’s never detrimental to the final product, and it’s often the key to quality.

9. It turns out you don’t actually have a single, consistent voice.

   Did you know this about yourself? Even when you’re talking? Me neither.

10. The longer you struggle, the more obvious it becomes this can’t possibly end well.

    I really don’t have an answer for this.