Risky Business

This past weekend, I finished the rough draft to my novel. (Insert applause here.) It only took traveling 1,000 miles from my home (wherein lie distractions) and God smiting the Internet to do so. But in the end, I typed "The End."

(Actually, I don't believe I did type those words. Hold on a minute.)

Finishing the rough draft means two things: One, the emotional work of the piece is done. And two, the hard work of the piece now begins.

Art is discovery. In the rough draft, I work through the characters' emotions (as well as my own). I answer the questions: How does my character feel about and react to all these things? How do I feel about these ideas? In the rough draft, I discover meanings and muck through what it means to be human. But if I stop there, my work stays in the realm of self-expression, of emotionalism, and possibly, horror-of-horrors, sentimentalism. I might even attempt to manipulate or stimulate the observer so that she feels the same way I do about all this mess.

So, onto revisions. In revisions, though I continue to discover meanings and themes, I begin to chisel away at the integrity and harmony of the piece. This I do so that I might engage the observer, so that the process of discovery extends beyond me, so that, as God encountered me in the creation of the piece, he might also encounter the observer in the reading of the piece.

In other words, I work at revisions so that the creativity of the piece extends past me.

As I respond to God in my art, I attempt to collaborate with him so that my art transcends a mere expression of my sensibilities and itself becomes a place of dialogue. This, of course, means that as I communicate my work to the world (or at least a small part of the world that chooses to read my work), I must release any notion that it is mine, though I have invested me in the work. In other words, I cannot claim the part of the misunderstood artist.

What? No defenses? Naked before the world?

Cue scary music.

As Rowan Williams said, "The artist is never the sole or even the best judge of the work, which rightly and properly escapes into the interpretative field of its public."

Art is discovery--my discovery and the discovery of the observer. Art draws into relationship with it the creator and observer, and in that way, it forms a sort of community. Presenting our art means bringing our theologies to the community for interaction.

In other words, art takes risks.

And they say crabbing for Alaskan King Crab is deadly. Pshaw.

Heather A. Goodman avoids risks such as jumping out of planes, driving without a seatbelt, and eating moldy food. Yet she continues to write.

Comments

[Jeanne Damoff]

Good thoughts, Heather. Congrats on finishing your rough draft! Thanks for taking the risk. I look forward to interacting with your art.

[susan fish]

Congratulations, Heather! I hope you have/will take time to celebrate the completion of the first draft. What you say about revision is all so true. I am slogging away on a first draft of a new novel and I can't wait until I have all the pieces on paper so that I can begin that revision process. As much as it takes left brain skill, it also takes significant creativity and a different kind of listening to God's leading. Also, a wee plug. The person who helped me learn the most about revision was Andy Meisenheimer. He used to write here. He is an extraordinary editor and he really helped me see beyond myself to the story beneath.

[Kelly Sauer]

Yes - this is very good. It is much the same with photography, though for me, I need to be willing to stand by my work enough to put it out there to begin with. Especially when it is overlooked. Or unliked. Do *I* like it? I do, and I'm hoping there is a market for what I like. I've never seen it anywhere else...

You mentioned deadly...

[Heather]

Very true, Kelly, I think with all artists. While I put my work out there to enter to the dialogue, I can't hang my identity on what they have to say about my work (or worse, when they don't dialogue at all with my work!). So, yes, I have to be satisfied in the creation of the project itself. Good point.

[michael snyder]

Big huge honkin' congratulations! Finishing a novel is a big, big deal. Make sure you take the time and effort to celebrate it.

Excellent thoughts today as well. True, insightful, and delightful to read.