Be Brave Enough to be Boring

All---

There are worse things than being bored.  You could be trapped in a cavern of horrors behind a green door. You could lose a year of your life in which you might have committed murder.  You could be stuck in a heat wave, staring at a swimming pool that isn't clean enough to swim in.

I want my writing to be interesting, clearly, and as a writer of thrillers, a certain amount of excitement is rightly to be expected.  But if being bored isn't the worst thing in the world, why should I be terrified of it in my writing?  Do I want to write a boring story?  Um, no.  But do I need to fret over every little passage, afraid it might bore some readers?

No.

There aren't many books that I don't skip passages in.  I'm a terrible reader in some ways.  I have such a poor visual imagination that I skim through or skip over most lengthy descriptive passages.  I can't conjure the image in my mind, so I bore easily.

And what do I do when I'm bored?

I don't put the book away.  I don't stop reading the story.  I skim or skip.   I only give up reading if there seems to be no hope for a pay off.  If I don't have an investment in the story -- if I don't see an end to the boredom -- if I feel trapped by tedium -- then I might stop reading.

So, if being bored isn't the worst thing in the world and I know that my own boredom of the moment doesn't kill an entire work for me as a reader, why should I be afraid of it as a writer?

A couple of years ago, I entered a content that encouraged courageous writing.  My piece, "I Need This," was honored and I was able to publish, "Terminal Instar," in the Notes from Underground anthology.  It took some guts.  Some of it was what Rachel Thompson and Lorrie Moore would call, "writing something I would never show my mother or my father."  Some of it, though, was writing minor little digressions that might risk boring some readers.

In the end, it's often times the digressions that get me my most positive feedback.  It's taking a moment, amidst the adrenaline and emotional trauma, to philosophize a bit that I think gives my writing its special character.  I don't just write thrillers.  I write thrillers that linger and contemplate.  No, I don't linger in the moment like RJ Ellory does.  Instead, I linger in the ideas behind the scenes like Chuck Palahniuk might.  It's a recipe that I think serves me well, but it's a recipe that risks boring people.

And that's really the point.  It doesn't even matter if you're a writer.  For that matter, it doesn't matter if you're a creative person at all.    If you're an athlete you can't always go for the home run or the knock-out punch.  If you're a salesman, you can't always play for the big deal.  If you're an archaeologist you can't wait until you get a Phase III excavation.  If you're a forensic anthropologist, you've gotta do your metrics.

Whatever you do, if you put your all into it, if you try to own that thing you do, you need to show courage.  That doesn't just mean the adrenaline junkie kind of daring.  That means being brave enough to risk boring people.

You will probably manage to do just that.

But you will also reap great rewards.  And the truth is, most of the time, if you're good at what you do, you bore yourself more than you bore other people.

So.  As readers -- what do you do when something gets boring?  And, as followers of whatever path life has taken you down -- do you shy away from doing those things which might bore your clients?

.Nevets.

Approach Your Goals Like an Aikido Master

All---

If you haven't, please do check out the post I did over at the Literary Lab today.  It was entitled, "Write like a Sword-Wielding Martial Artist,"   The topic was writing bravely, and we had an amazingly open conversation about our fears in the comments thread, too.

I got a couple of private responses, as well, and one of those addressed something I'd actually like to go ahead and answer tonight.  Think of this as a companion post to this morning's.  The comment I got from my friend had a lot of window dressing on it, but boiled down to this (apologies to my friend for the coarse paraphrase):

"It's all well and good to be brave, but I can't bear to have the publishing industry break my heart again. I care too much, and it just cuts too deeply."

On the first day of aikido class, our master told us, "You want to know how to avoid getting beat up in the bar at ten o'clock tonight?  An aikido master will tell you to stay  at home at ten o'clock tonight."

Later on, when we were practicing the defensive application of some foundation movements, he had us work in pairs.  As half of us took blows to the face he said, "You know to avoid getting punched in the face?  Don't put your face where his fist is heading."

What I said to my friend was significantly less pithy, but perhaps got to the same point:  There's a difference between being brave and being reckless. If you're an athlete with a lot of concussions, and it's at that point where they're getting worse and more frequent, it's not brave to submit yourself to situations that make another one likely. It's just reckless.

Likewise, if you're a writer whose spirit is crushed by rejection, it's not necessarily brave to submit yourself to that. It might just be reckless. Especially if you are writing mainly for the sheer pleasure of doing so, and do not have a strong drive to be published.

I went on to suggest that  people treat ailments of the body very differently than ailments of the spirit.  We think the quarterback and the  fighter who get concussions every outing are stupid if they don't  retire.  But so often we think a person who opts to not pursue public acclaim for their creativity is weak.  In the way way, many of us are smart enough to protect our bodies when we're physically injured, but feel ashamed if we try to take care of our spirits in the same way.

That's not brave; it's reckless.

Bravery should always be exercised within boundaries of what you want to accomplish and what is a price that you are willing to pay.

I absolutely believe that bravery in writing is essential for the development of your writing.  Here's a quick hit-list, though, of what that does not mean:

1. That any given fear of mine has any particular relevance to any one else.
2. That anything that seems ill-advised is something which must be conquered.
3. That every writer needs to fully develop their writing.
4. That each of us is equipped right now to face confront every fear or obstacle.
5. That bravery in publishing has anything to do with bravery in writing.

Yes, I want every writer I know to be brave in their writing, because I want them all to be the best writers they can possibly be.  But I know that this is a lifelong process that takes steps.  We all have things we need to protect, and it's just as bad to brutally expose our vulnerabilities to wound after wound as it is to bottle up our writing.  And heaven forbid I ever equate bravery in writing with any part of the submission, querying, or publication process.  They are completely different.

So, dear writers, you need to look at yourself.  Know your goals.  Know the prices you're willing to pay.  Know what your fears are.  And then look at your writing and be brave, but not don't treat your own spirit with careless disregard.

.Nevets.

Soundtrack for writing this post provided by S. H. E. (Taiwan) and Chen Guo.