I love these posts. They’re interesting, easy to read and sound like I’m talking to a friend over coffee. There’s something about the way Part Time Monster writes that’s captivating.
He defines Resistance as:
“that nasty, brutal voice in our heads. “You’re a loser, you’re a bum, a worthless waste of oxygen. Look at you. Do you imagine that someone like you could produce something original, something of quality, something that anyone else would care about? What ideas do you have that haven’t been done a thousand times before—and better than you could every dream of doing them?” Does this sound familiar? It is, of course, the voice of Resistance.”
The good news is “That voice in our heads is not us. It is Resistance. Those thoughts are not our thoughts. They are Resistance.”
We can say to that voice, thanks for showing up, but we’re not going to believe it. Give that voice a swift kick in the behind and go back to writing! Doubt your doubts.
Steven Pressfield put it yet another way just as amazing in his post, ‘Keep Gnawing’. I loved that post. Loved it. Like he says, it’s not about the odds or even about becoming incredibly successful and winning an award for writing, it’s about what happens if we don’t pursue our dreams.
Yes, I want fame and money but the truth is I write for me. I write because I can’t imagine what living would be like without it.
Steven says, “My great friend and mentor Norm Stahl, the godfather of the Foolscap Method, has a very earthy way of looking at this issue.
“Steve, a rat’s teeth grow in two directions—down from his mouth and up toward his brain. If the rat doesn’t keep gnawing on something all day every day, wearing down those teeth from the bottom, the top part will grow back up into his brain and kill him….You and I are like those rats, Steve. We gotta keep gnawing. The alternative is unthinkable.””
After reading three of his posts, I came to a life-changing conclusion.
I’m pretty sure I’m a rat.
I always have trouble with ‘transition’ scenes; those times when the hero is walking to the heroine’s house or the heroine is driving somewhere or they’re going to sleep. I want to skip when they’re in transition or rush by it somehow because it’s boring but, if I try and rush it, you can tell. On the other hand, if I write down every detail (he tied his shoes, grabbed his coat, put an arm in, then the other arm, zipped his coat shut…) the reader will probably throw my book on the floor then stomp on it for good measure.
So, what do I do? Luckily, though I have no idea, others do (yeey!).
Skipping ahead of time is one of the ways to tighten up a book and not drag the reader through boring parts. Janice Hardy makes it look easy. A big thanks for those great articles!
I loved this post. I read it and tried to put it out of my mind…and it haunted me all night. All. Night. I couldn’t put it out of my mind and finally I had to go and re-read it. Then reblog it. Be warned though, spoilers ahead.
I started to read it and it immediately caught my interest. That phrase: “I do not believe in magic.” was genius because it created interest. I knew that something was going to happen to Montgomery that would challenge that belief and I wanted to find out what it was.
Then the description of the book. I was there. I could actually smell the old books and feel the pressure in the room. I could believe I had been in a room like that. And when he mentioned that he was going to open the door…well, I’m in terrified anticipation for what happens next. I really hope, he’ll post a part two to this because….well, I need closure.
Sheer genius. That writing caught my interest like a fist and I’m still wondering what on earth is going to happen when he opens that door…yikes.
My name is Montgomery Vale, and I do not believe in magic.
I repeat myself: I do not believe in magic.
I do not believe in magic, and therefore nothing I am about to write can be true. I am an old man, asleep in my bed, and the night’s ill humours are clearly affecting my dreams. I write to calm my nerves, to simply record the events of recent hours. For if I am sane—if any of this has truly happened—I must leave warning for others.
I write because I may be insane, for surely none of this can have happened.
I write because the door must not be opened.
It seems ages ago that I found the book, but it can scarcely have been more than a day. I found it in my own library, on the floor by the fireplace. It was a massive tome, five…
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