Most Novembers I end up doing NaNoWriMo. The combination of a deadline and a word count forces me to write whether I have something to say or not. The first year that I did NaNoWriMo (way back in the mists of time, circa 2005), I went to the local kick off party where we ate pizza, introduced ourselves, and did a couple group activities. The group activity that I remember is taking a piece of paper and drawing my internal editor on it. There were pens, pencils, stickers, glitter. Some people went all out while others drew a stick figure or frowny face.
My internal editor had blonde hair and blue eyes–looking suspiciously like me in stick figure form (I’m a writer. I don’t do graphic art–that’s my mother’s department). Once we had finished with our masterpieces, we were given an envelope to seal in our internal editor. The envelope was handed to the Municipal Liaison not to be returned until the end of the month when we had finished our novel. The rule for the month of November was no internal editing.
What’s internal editing? Well, if you have an internal editor then you tell yourself things like this when you sit down to write:
- That’s a stupid idea.
- That plot’s been done.
- No one will want to read that so don’t bother.
- Who do you think you are?
- You suck.
- You’re not smart enough.
- You’re not creative enough.
- You don’t really think you can do this, do you?
Who can write with all that noise? The envelope ritual is a way of telling yourself that this month you will not listen to the internal editor. No matter how stupid, how silly, how boring you think what you are writing is, write it anyway. Nothing is perfect on the first try, that’s what second drafts are for. And third drafts, and fourth drafts …
I haven’t gone to the community event again, but I like the idea of locking up the internal editor. Personally, I visualize a plexiglass cell. Then I drag the internal editor over to it (usually kicking and screaming–sometimes handcuffed and gagged if I’m feeling mean), stuff the little guy in there and close the box. I can see him but I can’t hear him–no matter how loud he screams or how much of a fit he throws. And then I sit down and write–it’s crap, it’s ridiculous, there are plot holes the size of galaxies, but it’s words on paper and once they are there I have something to build on. Sometimes I write outlandish things just to make the little guy’s head explode (he’s in a box so there’s no messy clean up).
Sooner or later I have to let the little guy out of his box (I forgot air holes, for one), usually on the second or third draft when he’s not so negative and actually has something useful to contribute. The internal editor is useful, you see, but not early in the process. Early in the process, he’s just that whiny guy in a meeting shooting down everyone else’s ideas until all the ideas are discounted and you’re left with nothing to work with.
Do you have an internal editor? Or are you one of those lucky people with an internal cheerleader?
