What I Learned Today

Brian Sanderson has a student so enamored of his teaching that he (the student) took it upon himself to record and post Sanderson’s Creative Writing lectures online (Write About Dragons). So far it seems focused on novel writing (with a sci-fi/fantasy bent), but he makes the great point that really you should only be writing something that you regularly read. Short stories, mysteries, romances, whatever; regular reading gives you an ear for the genre and style.

Intrigued by this generous offering, I’ve started out with the first lecture. You can’t actually read what he writes on the whiteboard, but it doesn’t matter, since he states everything quite clearly (and often opinionatedly :) ). So I’ve been listening to it as a good companion while I do other things, like put together a puzzle or dust my new bookshelf.

His first lecture emphasized that good writing is about skill, which comes from practice. Interestingly (to me), he de-emphasized the value of the story idea (compared to raw writing skill) and claimed that a good writing can spin gold out of the humblest straw. He also encouraged his students actually taking the class (who faced the daunting task of writing 50k words over the semester) to start fresh with some new idea, rather than trying to re-write that novel sitting in the closet that’s already been tackled 15 times and never gone anywhere useful. This was a nice reminder that it’s always possible to pick up some new project and come back to one you’re not making progress on later.

I mentioned 50k words as a challenge. Not coincidentally, National Novel Writing Month also sets the bar at 50k words. The difference (in my view) is that in this class you are generating writing you actually want other people to read. NNWM is purely focused on volume, explicitly instructing you to ignore quality. (“Don’t worry, it’ll come out in the editing process,” which is a bit like “Don’t worry, that red wine stain will come out when you wash it.”) The class is organized around small groups that provide each other feedback, so you’re obligated to share with, and to read the products of, your classmates.

He also identified two major categories of writers: discovery-based (or “gardeners”) and outline-based (or “architects”). I like exploring and discovery as much as the next person, but (unless prompted by NNWM) I’m unlikely to ever just start writing and see where it goes. I want a plan. I want signposts. That makes me more of an architect by nature — and therefore vulnerable to architect foibles, like never actually starting the story because you’re trying to perfect the clever planned plot twists or the world-building. Gardeners, on the other hand, suffer from writing along until they figure out what the story is about, then going back to ret-con the earlier material to match, then writing more and figuring out what it’s REALLY about, then circling back to ret-con some more, and never finishing for entirely different reasons.

After concluding with some tips about how to contribute productively to a critique group (as critiquer or as person on the spot), Brandon exhorts students to go off and create a LiveJournal account to make sharing their material easy. Get out there and get writing!

I’d heard about Impostor Syndrome off and on throughout grad school, a term to describe the almost omnipresent yet seldom admitted phenomenon by which otherwise talented folks are convinced, deep inside, that they’re just not as good as their peers. (There’s obvious irony when a large fraction of people consider themselves below par, especially in a highly selective environment.) Virtually everyone I ever had this conversation with, in a moment of soul-baring honesty, admitted to such doubts and comparisons. It can manifest in many ways: “I got lucky on that test.” “The admissions committee made a mistake and let me in.” “Yeah, I got an A+, but I didn’t really deserve it.” Another big sign is deflecting or diluting compliments that are received.

Recently, though, I hunted down the original 1978 paper that gave this phenomenon a name: “The Imposter Phenomenon in High Achieving Women: Dynamics and Therapeutic Intervention” and boy, is it a fascinating read. I hadn’t realized that the phenomenon was associated with women initially, or primarily (the authors include a footnote about male impostor syndrome on the first page); I’ve certainly encountered men who also experience it.

There are lots of interesting elements in this paper, but one in particular stood out to me. They made an effort to trace adult impostor syndrome back to patterns in family life, and this resulted in two rough groups. One is based on having a sibling who is the designated Smart One, so you never quite get recognized for your own accomplishments, and eventually you start to doubt their validity. The other comes from being the Smart One, and in fact, having everything you do praised and supported and validated. Ultimately you start to devalue praise, since it doesn’t seem to correlate with actual performance, and even worse, if you do struggle or fail at something, you’re entirely unprepared for how to deal with it, and it can become a core of nagging doubt and insecurity because you’re still trying to inhabit the image of perfection placed on you. In both cases, well intentioned parenting can, apparently, have these long-term effects.

Want to find out if you suffer from Impostor Syndrome? You can take the test and get a quantitative result — but if you’re honest with yourself, you probably already know.

Today I had the chance to go back to the excellent National Library of Scotland, which is not a public library, but one in which you must be a registered Reader to access the (voluminous) archives. But still, even as a visitor, I’ve been awed on both of my visits by their rotating exhibitions. Last time it was on writers who were published by John Murray. This time there was a Scottish cinema display (Brigadoooon!) and, which captivated me longer, a couple of display cases showing sci-fi books by Scottish authors.

I already knew Iain M. Banks, although I didn’t know he was Scottish. Ditto Charles Stross. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle didn’t solely write detective novels; it turns out he produced some sci-fi as well (“The Lost World” is now on my list). There were many other great items I wished I could browse, but given finite reading time I restricted myself to adding only a few more. David Lindsay wrote a book called “A Voyage to Arcturus” which has garnered rapturous reviews on goodreads. Hannu Rajaniemi is Finnish by birth, but currently resides in Edinburgh, so his book “The Quantum Thief” was included (he had me at “dystopia in which the main character has to break out of The Dilemma Prison”).

Note: the Library is planning a special exhibition on late 1700’s correspondence (letters) between famous Scots and the founding fathers of the U.S., which unfortunately I’ll miss (starts on July 4). I read an article in their magazine about the upcoming exhibit, which emphasized Scotland’s contribution to the American Revolution (“more than a third of its [the Declaration of Independence’s] signatories were men of Scottish descent.”). It’s always fascinating to see your own country through the lens of another. You can learn more about their American collections here.

I was delighted to discover Laurel Thomsen‘s Violin Geek podcast. It’s full of tips for the beginner (and not-so-beginner), and already I’ve found a more comfortable thumb position and am improving my ear training, thanks to Laurel. What I wasn’t expecting was an episode on self-criticism that turned out to contain wise words beyond the violin setting.

Her advice for dealing with self-criticism, when it begins, is:

1. Adopt a “detective” approach. Instead of thinking, “I really screwed that up!” try asking “Why did the sound come out that way?” I like this because it not only keeps things on an even emotional keel, it also keeps you detached enough to adopt a problem-solving perspective. It makes sense that you’d have a better chance of fixing things in this state of mind than if you’re getting angry and frustrated with yourself.

2. Find the positive thought that lies underneath the self-criticism. This was a new one on me. For example, you’re kicking yourself because you keep flubbing the three-measure run of sixteenth notes. You ask yourself why you’re frustrated. Your answer might be that you really want to get this piece right for the recital next week, so you can avoid embarrassing yourself in public. Or maybe you’re a general perfectionist. Or maybe you want your parents to not regret the lesson money. Or maybe you want to impress your girlfriend. Whatever it is, likely it’s more positive than the self-flagellation is, and it can be a motivating thought to focus on during difficult exercises. (She also comments that some motivations, like practicing only because your parents want you to, might indicate a need to switch instruments or hobbies.)

From there she transitions to a discussion of “unmet emotional needs,” and that’s when it really starts feeling like a therapy session. But I appreciated what she had to say, and it’s a reminder that those of us prone to self-criticism should watch out for it even in recreational hobby settings!

It wasn’t all about the big nose and fighting duels. Cyrano de Bergerac also ventured into the realm of science fiction, although his two novels weren’t published until after his death. (He died young, at age 36!) The books are “L’Autre Monde: ou les États et Empires de la Lune (The Other World: The States and Empires of the Moon)” and “Les États et Empires du Soleil (The States and Empires of the Sun)”. I haven’t been able to read the books myself, but from reading about them online I gather that Cyrano was less concerned with scientific realism and more interested in using the fantastic realm as a platform for social commentary (and criticism). As such, his work is very much in line with a major current running through later science fiction; the displacement of people and personalities into a new environment uniquely enables us to gain perspective on our own strengths and weaknesses.

Would his prose hold up today? Would it be amusingly or irritatingly naive in terms of science? Would Jules Verne have approved (200 years later)? I may never know! I dug up a copy of the original text online, but it is not only in French, it’s in ancient 17th-century French, and it would take me approximately a century to muddle through it. Someday, in my copious spare time…