New Words #14: Good Advice
(and when to ignore it)
If you’re engaged in some kind of creative pursuit, it’s almost certain that you’re going to get frustrated at some point and conclude that you’ve been approaching it “the wrong way.” The good news is that there’s plenty of advice out there. The bad news is that there’s so much advice out there—just, like, way, way too much—and it’s contradictory and confusing, and a lot of that advice isn’t going to apply to you, even if it’s what somebody else swears by.
I started thinking about this topic after witnessing an online tiff about whether or not rough drafts produced in a generative writing workshop must always have a title. (Yes, the internet is a treasure trove of low-stakes controversy.) The argument in favor was that assigning a title to a piece of writing is a way of reminding yourself to pursue the project, take it seriously, and give it the attention it requires and deserves. Without question, titling works in progress from the get-go is a positive habit that benefits many writers. As it happens, I’m not one of them. I used to slap a working title on every scrap of writing I jotted down, but I found that doing so limited my creativity in the ideation stage, causing me to rule out possible developments before I even got them written down. Sometimes a title comes to mind right away, but if not, I’ve found I’m better off not forcing it. Great advice for someone else can be bad advice for me, and that is fine.
Another piece of advice I cheerfully ignored recently: an exhortation for creative writers to work only on themes about which they are passionate. Undoubtedly, someone in the audience desperately needed to hear that; it gave them permission to work on a project they were afraid to pursue. To my mind, though, it sounds an awful lot like waiting for inspiration to hit, and there are other approaches I’d rather prioritize: writing for practice, writing to form a creative habit, writing for fun. I got an acceptance last week for a piece of flash fiction that has absolutely nothing to do with the themes I’m passionate about, but I got several chuckles out of writing it, I’m told it’s a hoot to read, and I’ll be happy to have it out in the world. I consider fun for fun’s sake to be a gift.
A similar principle applies to the breadth of my translation work. Passionate is not the first word that comes to mind when I think about translating business contracts and content marketing, but that side of my practice has meaningful benefits for me—and I’m not just talking about keeping the kitties in kibble! As a rule, if someone is willing to pay to have a document translated, there’s a good chance it contains subject matter and/or idioms that are a little out of the ordinary, so these projects keep my skills sharp and introduce me to new or local usage. And when those elements of language pop up in a literary or academic text that I do feel passionate about, that base of experience is invaluable. In other words, my commercial translation work informs my literary translation work, and I do not believe I would be as confident a literary translator without it. (Incidentally, there is some overlap in the projects we might designate as “literary” and “commercial,” and both terms are a bit vague—a topic for a future edition of this newsletter.)
A Humble Suggestion
In each newsletter, I’ll offer at least one recommendation for your reading, watching, or listening pleasure. Seeing as how I was just talking about fun for fun’s sake, this time around I’m recommending three TV series that have recently offered me unexpected moments of joy.
The premise of Somebody Somewhere (HBO and Max)—a woman in her forties feels trapped and aimless in her Kansas hometown, having returned there to care for her terminally ill sister—makes it sound like an emotional slog. But when a coworker invites her to “choir practice at the Presbyterian church in the mall,” which turns out to be an informal cabaret, the protagonist discovers a thriving queer community and reengages with her love of music. This show’s characters burst into song the way real people burst into song: in their cars, teasing their siblings, goofing around with their friends.
After a perfect (and stress-inducing) first season, The Bear (Hulu) has returned with ten new episodes that chronicle the restaurant’s renovation but also frequently depart from the main setting to follow secondary characters’ preparations for this new venture. They face unexpected challenges, and there is one notably anxiogenic episode—this is still The Bear, after all—but this season is punctuated with triumphs and breakthroughs for characters whose smiles I thought we’d never see. This is a series that makes the most of the liberties afforded by streaming: episodes have ranged in length from twenty minutes to just over an hour, taking exactly as long as necessary to tell a chapter of the story.
Jury Duty (Amazon Prime and Freevee) is a bizarre hybrid of reality TV and improv comedy. It features a young man from Los Angeles who believes a documentary film crew is interviewing him about his experience as the foreperson of a sequestered jury. What he doesn’t realize is that all his interactions are being recorded, the lawsuit is fake, and everyone in the courtroom is an actor except for him. The whole charade could have fallen apart at any time if the unwitting protagonist weren’t unfailingly patient, good-humored, and earnest in his desire to be a good leader to a quirky bunch of easily distracted jurors—not to mention alternate juror and agent of chaos James Marsden (played by James Marsden, clearly having the time of his life).
Here, Look at My Cats
The world is a mess, and you might welcome a pleasant distraction. For what it’s worth, here are my cats.
I hope your summer (or winter) is off to a lovely start and you’re enjoying your ideal David/Alexis balance.
Laura
Thanks for the distraction/heads-up from my writing!