Advice

Demo Teams: A Brief Introduction

KWhipkey 2 Comments

I’ll be the first to admit that my views on the martial arts– especially demo teams– are a bit progressive. And as such, probably rankle the feathers of the traditionalists out there. For the record, let me just state that I’m not devaluing traditionalism. Quite the opposite actually. There’s something powerful about being a part of something that’s steeped in the history of thousands of years, having been passed down for generations upon generations. That said, I also think that tradition without innovation can cause a style to stagnate and eventually disappear into the dust of ages. So, yes, I’m a progressive martial artist, but it’s not meant to offend.

When you reach Sam Dan (3rd Degree) in Tang Soo Do, there’s an underlying expectation that you begin to specialize in something. You’ve already semi-mastered the basics (no one’s ever perfect, after all), you can competently defend yourself and can adequately pass your knowledge on to others. Now it’s time to find your niche, to declare your martial arts identity, if you will. Some specialize in self-defense techniques, some in empty hand forms, some in specific weapons. Others choose to extensively research the history behind their art, and still others focus simply on the intricacies of instructing.

My specialty is demo teams.

What is a demo team? At their heart, demo teams, short for demonstration team, are a marketing tool. Anytime you give a performance geared toward attracting new students, you’re essentially using a demo team in its most basic form. The vernacular may vary from school to school (I’ve heard them referred to as Performance Team, Demonstration Squad, Creativity Team, etc) but the principle is always the same. And they’re very poorly utilized by the vast majority of schools out there.

Usually, they are thrown together last minute with volunteer students. They’re rarely given much rehearsal, and there’s usually even less thought behind the organization or presentation of the performance. Which gives you, not surprisingly, a highly disorganized group of students milling around looking lost, boring displays of generic techniques, and absolutely no originality. Some of you may be shaking your heads right now, thinking I’m being overly judgmental, but admit it, we’ve all seen these types of demos. Performances comprised of kids in rumpled uniforms who can barely form a straight line, displays of adequate-at-best techniques, poorly practiced routines where students end up flinging their weapons all over the place, absolutely no music except for the chaotic ki-haps of the students or maybe the counting of the instructor, and my favorite– people breaking boards any civilian could flick in half with a couple fingers, they’re so thin. There may be one or two high-ranking students that really dazzle, but overall, I think we can all agree that these types of demos are, in a word, uninspired.

Every audience is comprised of only a few things– the family of the students, who will cheer no matter how bad their person does; fellow martial artists vaguely curious how your style differs from theirs; the hecklers who think it’s amusing to shout horrible impressions of the Karate Kid at you; and potential students. That’s it. Really. So in any given audience, you maybe have 25% that can be enticed into enrolling. That’s a pretty small window in a lot of venues. How do you reach this small minority of potential customers? By entertaining them.

We live in a society flooded by the martial arts. It’s included in every action-oriented movie or TV show. It’s in nearly every video game on the market; it’s even crept it’s way into literature. So the mystique is gone, folks. It’s no longer enough to show the world what your classes look like on a daily basis. We’ve all seen it a thousand times. We’re not impressed. Doesn’t matter if we train in the martial arts or not.

Give us something original, something flashy, something that makes us pause in that parking lot or mall, or gets us in the door to your studio’s open-house. In short, give us a performance. None of this last minute, non-rehearsed, reliant-on-cute-factor, traditional uniforms stuff. What you need is a dedicated Demo Team– the elite of your student body, trained to perform, proficient in things like musicality, synchronization, advanced techniques, and storytelling/acting. These are the people who impress. They’re the ones who will entice new students to walk in the door, who will make the hecklers shut up, get the other martial artists to nod in appreciation and floor their family with their abilities. They are your secret weapon. And every studio has them. Unless you just opened your doors yesterday. In which case you have white belts. And white belts are never impressive. Sorry.

In the coming weeks, I’ll be posting what I’d call a master class in demo teams à la me. I’ll go over every aspect involved in my style of “professional” grade teams, including how to create your team, the principles of musicality, staging, and storytelling, and the intricacies of performing– all in regards to martial arts demonstrations. For those of you more interested in my advice/opinions on writing, don’t worry, those posts will be mixed in too. I even have one dedicated to art, (The Genesis of a Logo Design), upcoming on the schedule, for any who were starting to doubt whether I’d actually tackle that subject. 😉

For now, I will leave you with this video of my most popular demo, “The Dream Sequence.” As with all recordings, there’s something lost in the translation that would have been better experienced in person. But it will still illustrate my particular demo team style, and what I hope to impart to you in following posts. Is it the most brilliant thing ever? I wouldn’t say so. It’s actually rather slow, and I was shocked by the acclaim it received. Is it entertaining? Hopefully. After all, that’s the whole point, isn’t it? To entertain.

How Does She Come Up With This Stuff?

KWhipkey 4 Comments

This is probably the second most popular question people ask me, ranking just below, “Who, or what, is the Nightwolf?” and just above, “Why do you…(insert creative verb here)?” So it seemed only fitting that I take a moment to satisfy this ever-present curiosity.

The simple answer is that all my inspiration comes from music. All of it. I would be severely handicapped creatively if I suddenly went deaf. All my muses would disappear and I’d have to find a new career path to chase after.

Where does the specific inspiration come from? The music itself. I would say that this is where my natural talent steps in, derived from an innate sense of musicality– definition to be blogged about in detail later. The short explanation is that it’s a person’s ability to hear nuances within music and extrapolate emotion (or in my case, stories) from them. (That’s entirely my own definition, by the way, don’t quote me on that.) And it’s a gift more commonly associated with dancers and musicians. But every concept I create is the direct result of this same ability, representing the visual, written, or moving interpretation of the sound itself. A somber, melancholy piece of music will likely inspire a sad, tragic, emotionally heavy story. Something fast with high intensity will likely equal a fight scene or action piece. Haunting and dramatic music? Something creepy and mysterious. I think you start to see the point. The “feel” of the inspiring music has a direct correlation to the “feel” of the idea.

As for where the actual concepts come from…your guess is as good as mine. Did I expect Linkin Park’s “New Divide” to turn into a Sci-fi story featuring shape-shifting liquid aliens? No. Could I have guessed that Havanna Brown ft Pitbull’s “We Run the Night” would spawn a story about a nightclub full of Succubi? Definitely not. And if you had told me that Carly Rae Jepson’s “Call Me Maybe” would spawn an as yet, undefined, cheesy paranormal romance, I would have laughed and said, yeah right. But those are all true. Along with a plethora of others equally as strange. If I had to hazard a guess, I would say they probably come from a voracious appetite for reading a broad mix of genres, a love for good storytelling, an almost pathological need to tell stories myself, and a keen ability to soak up reference material like a sponge, spinning it into new, weird combinations of fantasy, and a strange quirky brain that views imagination through a camera lens. Other than that, all I can say is…practice?

Creativity is a skill. True, some are born with a natural affinity for it, but it still takes time to develop. And my particular reliance on music for inspiration is no different. Just because I lucked out and was born with a slight advantage, doesn’t mean it’s a skill that can’t be learned. Where did I learn storytelling-by-music? Stuck in the back seat of a mini-van 9 hours a week, with nothing but a walk-man to entertain me. This, children, is what happens when your parents decide to live an hour from civilization in all directions. And yes, I did say a walk-man. As in, that archaic device that played 30 minutes at a time on a cassette tape. (Now I feel old. Thanks for that.) Don’t worry, I eventually graduated to a portable CD Player, and have long since traded those in for Ipods.

The point is, I have those long periods in the car to thank for my ability to write, draw and choreograph. So it wasn’t all bad. Except for the car-sickness. That part was always bad. Nothing like an hour on winding roads to teach you how not to throw up.

But back to the music.

I’ve never actually tried to describe my process with words. I’ve always just left it at “music inspires me.” But since this blog is supposed to be about offering advice along with my snarky trips down memory lane, I figured it was time I gave it a try. You will likely think me an absolute freak and in need of psychiatric help after you read this. But it’s my process, so leave it alone. It works. Who knows, some of you out there might even want to try it for yourselves.

Obviously, I start with a song. I call them Spawners, because, you guessed it, they spawn ideas. (I’m sure my penchant for ridiculous nicknames continues to impress you. But no one ever said the inner quirks of an artist’s process had to be brilliant, did they?) Is there a set formula that identifies these Spawners? Nope. They’re completely random, ranging from classical, to movie scores, to pop songs, to dubstep. Some stories require full length CD’s, others a single song. If I really dissect it, I suppose there may be a theme that runs through most of them–somber keys, dramatic drums, multi-layered melancholy. But that’s not a hard and fast rule. Maroon 5’s “Payphone” spawned two stories, for example, and I wouldn’t describe it as fitting any of the above criteria. (It’s also the only one to ever spawn two completely different concepts. So something about it must be special. I just don’t know what.)

The way I know something’s a Spawner is actually kind of weird, and the part most likely to make you think me insane. It’s actually a physical reaction. Now, I know that “feeling” the music isn’t that odd, but just wait, I’ll try to describe it for you. It goes something like this: song plays, catching the attention of my internal ears (think the way a dog’s ears prick when they hear something interesting), goosebumps shiver down my arms and the hair on the back of my neck stands up, the right side of my scalp literally tingles, my eyes unfocus, shifting to peripheral vision, and images start to play in my head, like a daydream on steroids. I don’t know exactly why it happens, or how. Maybe I have a brain tumor, or an aneurism that gets ever closer to exploding when I hear certain notes. Maybe I’m a superhero with a super-evolved storytelling ability. Maybe I’m just a freak. All I know is that it’s a sure-fire signal something creative’s about to happen.

After that initial physical response kick-starts my inner projector, I just wait and the stories come to me. Sometimes I’ll only get a fragment, a brief scene, a still shot of a character or landscape. Other times it’s an emotional context, or thematic element that will run throughout the story. And more rarely, it’s just a character. The layers and nuances of the song become an intricate map of the action, syncing to the story the way a movie score does to a film. The melody itself is my narrator, creating a cohesive storyline that embeds itself into the music so thoroughly, they’re a seamless entity.

Last week I wrote about the idea of  summarizing a story with a single phrase and this is where that actually comes into play for me. I literally have hundreds of ideas– 168 and counting, to be exact– and I can’t possibly remember every detail about every one. I don’t even pretend to try. Some writers keep journals or computer files with notes for all their ideas. My system is more primitive. I keep them all in my head. How is that possible without overloading the hard drive? Because I only try to remember the gist of each story, which boils down to the title and a brief sentence describing the main goal. Each one of those summaries becomes inextricably tied to the music that inspired it. So by the sheer power of association, I never forget. Every time I hear that song or CD, even years later, the story that’s tied to it plays in my head like a movie. Spiffy trick, wouldn’t you say?

Now that I’ve thoroughly convinced you I’m strange, we’ll wrap this up. My intention was never to say that I’m the only creative person who relies on music for inspiration. That’s definitely not true. I think most of us do, honestly. But I also think that after reading this you’ll agree that my process may be a little on the unique side. And if not, please leave me a comment. I’d love to hear from others like myself– help me feel less like a weirdo, you know? At the very least, I’m sure everyone who’s ever asked how I come up with my ideas is regretting opening that can of worms now. Bet they thought the answer was simple. Showed them!

Music Inspires T-Shirt Design“Music Inspires”

by Kisa Whipkey

Copyright 2012
All Rights Reserved

What’s in a Name?

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Maybe I’m part Fey, or maybe I’m Rumpelstiltskin’s great-granddaughter, but just like those creatures of myth, I believe names are extremely important.

Or maybe it simply comes from having been graced with a somewhat unusual name myself. Wait, did I say graced? I meant cursed. Doomed to endure countless mutilations and variations including “Keisha,” “Kissah,” “Kye-sha” and my favorite, just plain old “Lisa,” because obviously that “K” has to be a typo. There was even an unfortunate incident with a telephone set-up person, where, after explaining the spelling of my name as “Lisa with a K,” he responded with, “ok, Ms. Withakay, will there be anything else?” Seriously! No joke. I actually do give my name as Lisa now, at fast food places or anywhere they’ll be calling it out randomly, just because it’s easier. As long as I remember I’m answering to that. And who knows, Lisa Withakay might just make an excellent pen-name someday. Everyone needs a good alias, right?

For the record, my name is pronounced “Key-saw.” Difficult, isn’t it? But I respond to pretty much any variation thereof, as evidenced above. I think I already mentioned that it’s Russian for kitten, didn’t I? Well, it is, as confirmed by several people I’ve met who actually speak Russian. And no, I’m not Russian, nor is anyone in my family tree that I’m aware of. German, English, a little Scottish, yes. Russian? Sadly, no.

So how did I end up with this charming pain-in-my-ass name?  Let’s just say this is what happens when soon-to-be parents stumble on those lovely little baby name books in the bookstore. And trust me, after seeing the other options my parents had circled, I ended up with the best one. As much as it has irritated me over the years.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand– names.

Finding a title for a work can be the hardest part, whether it be a novel, a masterpiece of art, or a choreographed routine. It’s one of the first impressions your audience will get, so it has to accomplish a lot of things. Summarize the plot, theme, and overall tone; provide something catchy that will make your work stand out among the masses; create a lasting impression that’s easily remembered; build a sense of mystery and intrigue about your work’s content. And all in just a few short words. No wonder many people find the process of naming their piece a daunting task.

For me, this is a critical part of the creative process, and often, I have a title before I have anything else. Naming something is my favorite part. It’s the moment when whatever I’m working on becomes a thing of substance, its existence clicking into place like the final piece of a puzzle. It’s no longer just a vague concept floating around in my head– it’s a declaration of identity. And I rarely change a title once I’ve found it, whether it’s on a story, an image, or a character.

Others aren’t so lucky, struggling under the burden of working titles or simply leaving something as “Untitled.” And still others completely miss the mark, dubbing their spectacular work with a lame, uninspired, or just plain retarded title that dooms it to obscurity forever. They say you shouldn’t judge a book (or artwork, or choreography, etc) by its cover, but the truth is, everyone does. And the title is as crucial to your work’s success as the rest of the packaging. How often have you picked a book off the shelf solely for its title and cover art? Or browsed Itunes and found new artists solely because their album covers looked cool? Or rented a movie because it had an interesting name? And how often have you done the opposite? Scoffing at something because of a lame title, stupid cover, or lackluster blurb? I think you see my point.

So what’s in a name? Everything!

Which is why you should spend as long as it takes to create the perfect title for your piece, whatever it may be. I’m afraid there aren’t any sure-fire techniques I can share for how best to choose a title, though. I’m sure there are others out there who would gladly try to tell you the correctness of their own process, but I believe creativity is too personal for that, and every artist, dancer, martial artist, writer, musician, has to find their own way of doing things. What I can offer you is a succinct version of how I go about it.

I remember reading somewhere, (and I apologize that I don’t have a direct quote for you), during my research of Disney’s story process, that they try to sum up each film’s plot in a single sentence. Being the complete fangirl I was back then, I thought that was a brilliant idea, and adopted it for myself. It’s actually a lot harder than it seems to boil a complicated premise down to a simple sentence, but eventually you get good at it. How does this pertain to titles? Well, once you can summarize your work with a single phrase (and this generally works best for writing, although it can apply to the concepts of art and choreography too), you can take it one step further and chop it down to only a few words. Something that single-handedly conveys the heart of your piece to your audience. Sometimes that will be the name of your main character, sometimes it will be an integral theme central to your work, sometimes it will be a metaphor summarizing the subtler messages you’re trying to convey. There are no hard and fast rules. The important thing is that it be inseparable with the larger work.

As an example, I’ll dissect the names of my three published short stories and show you the thought process behind them.

“The Bardach” was named for the race Amyli (Nameless) comes from. They’re a central key to that world because they have the link to its gods. All the conflict revolves around them fighting against the Mages who want to destroy that link and corrupt the gods for their own purposes. Since they are essentially the heart of the story, it seemed fitting to name it after them. Plus it’s a short, interesting title that might make someone click on the link, buy the magazine, or read the excerpt.

“Spinning” has a more complicated meaning. It refers to the sect of people Taylor becomes part of, but it also refers to the ability to morph time that they all have, so named because it literally spins the world around them. It also refers to the emotional turmoil Taylor feels throughout, as his world is completely turned upside down, inside out, and sideways. He’s left with a confusing mess of half-answered questions, and is emotionally off-kilter for the entire story– spinning as it were. It’s also a subtle tip-of-the-hat to the inspiring song by Jack’s Mannequin of the same name. Most of these connotations a reader wouldn’t grasp until after reading the piece, (and some they might never know), but it adds layers to the title for them to discover along the way. Plus, it’s short, to the point, and hopefully mysterious enough to draw someone in.

“Confessions” has a dual meaning. It actually does refer to the characters confessing hidden truths, so it’s perhaps one of the more literal titles I’ve used. The thing that makes it interesting is its mysteriousness.  Its vague meaning hopefully makes a reader want to know what’s being confessed and would get them to buy the story to find out. But it’s multi-layered enough that they’ll get the full meaning only at the end. I can’t disclose much about this one without giving away spoilers, so I’ll just say that the obvious confession (Constia’s) isn’t the only one the reader comes across. Plus “Confessions” seemed like the perfect title for a story about losing faith.

Now, my process may not be your process, and that’s perfectly ok. The goal here was to get you to reconsider your own creative process in regards to titles. The lesson in the above examples is that what appear to be simple one or two word statements, are actually layered with meaning and perfectly embody the message of the piece. Which is the ultimate goal of a title, isn’t it? (If you answered “no” to that, then I think you seriously need to reappraise your opinions of titles, and why did you bother to read this whole huge novel of a post? Just saying.) However you go about finding your names, the important thing to remember is that they are just that– important. Don’t spend months or years of your life on a project and then give it a half-assed name. You poured part of yourself into that thing! Give it enough respect to name it accordingly. You’ll be surprised how effective a marketing tool a simple title can be. It may just be the difference between massive success, and complete failure. And I don’t know about you, but when so much hangs on a single decision, I think it deserves a few extra moments of my time to get right.

The Devil’s in the Details

KWhipkey 2 Comments

This is a pet peeve of mine, so get ready for a hailstorm of snide.

The devil’s in the details. I’m sure I’m not the only one to have heard this charming colloquialism. And I’m sure there’s a formal explanation of its meaning somewhere. But my interpretation is this: it’s the tiny details that will be the hardest, driving you absolutely insane in the pursuit of perfecting them all and ultimately landing you in the looney bin, where you’ll write them continuously on the pristine white walls until you run out of space.

Basically, it means research, people!

This is important in all genres of writing, but especially in Urban Fantasy, whose very existence relies on believably entwining the impossible with the world we know so well. The difference between a decent fantasy story and a great fantasy story is the details–those little things that ground it in reality. And I’m seeing more and more (mostly amateur) writers who seem to be forgetting that fact.

Personally, I spend far too much time invested in chasing down those small, intricate details. Often longer than I actually spend writing. (Ok, so maybe I also kind of use it as an excuse to procrastinate, but that’s not the point!) For example, one of my newest plot bunnies, (definition blogged about here), required that I road-trip down to California just so I could pinpoint the exact number of the emergency call box featured in the story’s location. Alright, alright, to be fair, I road-trip to Cali quite frequently, but this time I paid special attention to those lovely blue, creepily positioned call boxes. And before I resorted to putting another 1000 miles on my poor over-used car’s odometer and sinking another $300 into the gas tank, I researched the heck out of them. Which means I can now proudly say that I know far more than I ever wanted to about how those emergency beacons of hope actually work. A fact which may or may not come in handy while writing the story and hopefully will never be needed in life.

That dedication to detail isn’t exclusive to that one plot bunny either. My main work-in-progress has had me learning more random factoids about Portland, OR than I’ve managed to collect in three years of adjacent residency. Why do I bother? Because those little details make it feel real, while so many other aspects are clearly not. Also, so natives of the locale don’t bust me for not having done my research. Because, let’s face it, we’re a nit-picky bunch, and nothing makes us feel more smug and superior than being able to point out when an author got something wrong.

It’s not only to avoid the humiliation of being caught taking a few liberties on reality though. Attention to detail will elicit squeals of delight from a reader’s inner-fangirl/fanboy when they discover the exact location their favorite book took place. I’m sure anyone in Forks, WA can attest to this. They overhauled the entire town to capitalize on that tendency. So it’s just as much about providing a solid and memorable experience for your readers as it is preserving your integrity as an author.

As a reader, my suspension of disbelief can only be pushed so far. If I read a story where the lead character is so impossibly invincible that they’ve taken multiple stab wounds to the chest, been shot 42 times and are not only still alive, but kicking ass; I’m out,  you’ve lost me. If you include a piece of outdated technology and use it in a way everyone who’s ever owned said device knows is physically impossible and ridiculous–Sayonara! If your characters are as real as a cardboard cut-out, bring on the eye-rolls. If your female characters are the literary equivalent of a pin-up spread, don’t even bother writing the next sentence. And if your setting is so obviously a real place, but it feels like that moment in video games where you can walk through walls, fall into trees, and randomly float into space, you’re done. You need to go back to the drawing board and spend more time in the world building phase. Trust me.

That’s not to say that I’m an overly critical reader. I’m actually not. I’ll read just about anything, in any genre. I thoroughly enjoyed the Twilight Saga, devoured The Hunger Games, and read a plethora of cheesy romances. (Cue the horrified gasps from the literature community.) So you can’t say that I’m being an elitist snob. I just expect that there be an aspect of believability included. And I don’t think that’s an unusual request.

Not everything in a story has to be 100% accurate. My point is simply that you need to spend the time to make it feel like a fully realized, substantiated place. The geography of your fantasy land should feel as real as the world around us, not as squishy as a mud-puddle. Magic is great. But it should have rules. Just like real life physics dictate the laws of gravity, motion, and pretty much everything, magic should have some kind of understandable parameter too. How you define those laws is entirely up to you. Just make sure they’re consistent. Got aliens? No problem, just make sure they feel like something that could exist anatomically. And don’t even get me started on space travel. Let’s just say it should seem like a plausible thing, not a “cool-factor” moment, and leave it at that.

Just to be clear, though, I’m not suggesting that you cram your story full of so much detail that it becomes an over-wrought, boring soup destined to collect dust in your desk’s bottom drawer. Too many details can be equally as damaging as too few, regardless of accuracy level. I’ve read quite a few published books that bored me to the point of giving up–which rarely happens, by the way. I’m super stubborn like that. And I’ve run into others that were so realistic in describing the disgusting aspects of bodily fluids, and unnecessarily vulgar situations that they were just downright crass. And while I did finish them, (because giving up on a book is never an option), it was done while wearing a disgusted lip-curl and loss of appetite. Violence is fine, as are vulgarity & profanity when the situation dictates, but when your writing starts including things for shock value only, it’s time to reassess if you need all those details.

Temperance and moderation. Those are the key words for today’s rant. There should be a balance between the plot and the details that support it while defining your setting.  How do you find that balance? Research. It really is as simple as that. Sprinkle just enough accurate details into your tale, and you’ll keep even the pickiest of readers happy. On the believability front anyway. Stylistically, you’ll always have to deal with criticism, because, as my husband likes to say, “haters gonna hate.”

Perfectionism; Bane of My Existence

KWhipkey 4 Comments

Confession: I am a slow writer. Bet you didn’t know that, since I consistently post a new blog update like clockwork every Friday. (I attribute that fact to my love of deadlines. Why? Because, well, I’m just sick like that). But the truth is, I am painfully slow when it comes to writing. Especially fiction. Blogs use my “Essay Voice,” as I call it. And I’ve never seemed to have a problem making that one flow. In fact, I used to be able to write “A”-worthy papers for college in less than hour. Shhh, don’t tell my former teachers. 😉

Why is fiction is so much harder for me? Because I’m a perfectionist. Now, a lot of people call themselves that. But I take it to a new level. I think it’s hovering on the fringes clinically certifiable, partying it up with my other obsessive tendencies: Neat-Freak Syndrome, Control-Freak Syndrome, and some weird creature I can only describe as Straight-Things-Must-Be-Straight Syndrome. But while the others are definitely annoying to my family and friends, only Perfectionism really seems to annoy the crap out of me.

It’s the reason I only post once a week. Because I literally spend all week editing and revising my blog posts. According to all the non-perfectionist writers out there, you should only spend up to two hours writing each post, proofread it once, and then send it into the ether of the internet with a kiss and a wave. Yeah, that doesn’t work for me. And not because my initial attempts at putting thought on computer screen are so awful that they can never see the light of day. I’ve been told the opposite by the select few privy to seeing my rough drafts. (I, of course, think they suck, further solidifying the theory that I need help.)  But I obsess over it anyway. Reading and re-reading and tweaking minute details that most people wouldn’t even notice until I finally run out of time and hit publish. Sad, isn’t it?

And it only gets worse when I work on fiction.

I will agonize over the same section of writing for weeks, months, years; adjusting things so tiny that even my writing group partners don’t always notice. And for what? To satisfy the demon of Perfectionism? To tweak and alter and muddle until I push things so far that they wander past the point of perfection and fall off the cliff into a blazing ball of destruction? (Yes, I have actually ruined pieces by over-editing. It does happen.) I think, ultimately, it’s because words are only semi-friends of mine. Bear with me, this is going to get a little convoluted.

I don’t write in words. (Obviously, technically I write in words. So stop scoffing, I can hear it from here. You’ll understand in a minute.) When I write, it’s a movie in my head, set to whatever glorious and often random piece of music spawned the idea. It’s a fully functioning music video, or full-length feature film (depending on the length of the inspiring music) complete with dialogue and sound effects. (Remember when I said I wanted a download button for my brain? This would be why.)  I’m not Super Woman (although the sheer number of things I try to tackle/juggle might suggest I’m maybe a distant relative of her fourth cousin twice removed). I can’t actually write, draw, and animate complete ninety-minute movies on my own, at least not in any length of time that would appease my impatient side. So I write them instead. Meaning I have to send them not through a visual projector, where they could come to life exactly the way I imagined them, but through a translator and into written word instead. Have you ever played around with Google Translate? Yeah, it’s kinda like that.

Doesn’t sound complicated, does it? But it can be ridiculously hard to nail down something that requires visual special effects and cinematography with something as non-visual as words. It’s like trying to force something that only has meaning in another language into its English equivalent and failing miserably, losing all of the nuances and emotional context of the original in the translation. So why don’t I pursue something more visual, like animation or graphic novels? Because Perfectionism requires that I spend upward of fifty hours on any single image, and when each graphic novel has hundreds of images, animation thousands, that means I’d never get it all done. Even if I was one of those amazing artists who can draw anything. Which I’m not.

So that leaves writing. And the painfully slow process of trying to force what wants to be a movie onto the written page. Add Perfectionism to that equation and you end up with one anxiety-producing, obsessive nit-picking fiasco that results in my taking eons to write even a single scene. And because I also suffer from the need to write linearly, I often get stuck when I can’t quite get the written version of my inner movie to sync up. It’s extremely frustrating.

Which brings us to the point of this pseudo-rant. (No, it wasn’t just me feeling the need to vent my frustrations in a massive wall of text.)

I know there are plenty of other writers out there just like me. Writers who agonize over every word they wrote and are frustrated when they see accounts of people finishing 400+ page novels in six months or less, all while they’ve been struggling over the same project for years. And I’ll admit, I’m among the first to be discouraged when reading those accounts, falling prey to the bitter toxin of jealousy and envy. I don’t understand how people do it. I honestly don’t. Which irritates me. How can I possibly emulate them when their process seems like such a foreign creature from mine that they aren’t even the same species anymore? I know I’m not alone in feeling that way either.

Recently, I’ve noticed a trend during my loitering around various online forums — writers asking how not to be perfectionists. And they’re always given the same advice wrapped in shiny new variations:

“Just don’t care.” (Right, because that’s actually possible for a perfectionist personality.)

“Write anyway.” (Uh, isn’t that what I’ve been doing?)

“Know that it will be absolute crap and just keep going.” (But it’s crap! I can’t write crap!)

“You can fix it later.” (But I want to fix it now. Why is that wrong?)

Well, I say that that advice is hogwash. And, as someone I think we can all agree is close to earning the crown for Perfectionist Freak, I can tell you that for a perfectionist, that advice is simply impossible. I’ve tried it for years, and I can safely say that every draft I created under that philosophy has unfailingly found its way into a fire somewhere, being deemed so horrifically awful that it was beyond saving. No, the best strategy for perfectionist writers, myself included, is acceptance. We are who we are, and we write the way we write. The thing we have to remember is that, when those other “normal” writers create a first draft, it is absolute crap. They’ll even say that themselves. And then they have to spend months and months in serious revision, over-hauling the entire thing and polishing it into some semblance of the final product. And then they do it again.

Perfectionist writers don’t end up with first drafts. At least, not by those standards. Because we polish and smooth and revise and agonize over every detail as we go, when we finally get to the end, it’s more like a second or third draft. Which means we actually spend less time in the revision process. It probably evens out to the same amount of time invested in the end, when you compare the schedules of both methods. (I secretly think that when writers brag about finishing a novel ridiculously fast, they’re only counting the first draft. Not all the ones that come after it.)

So the next time you start getting down on yourself, my fellow perfectionists, remember that. We’re not lesser writers, we just operate differently. Don’t worry about killing your inner Super-Editor (although you’ll see that advice a lot), embrace them and roll with it. You’ll be done eventually, and you’ll end up with the story you wanted, the way you wanted it. That’s what really matters in the end. Not how long it took you to write it, or whether or not you conformed to the standard method of draft, revise, draft, revise, rinse & repeat. And yes, Perfectionism may feel like the bane of your existence (it certainly does mine), but it’s also part of what makes us good. So accept it.

My name is Kisa, and I’m a perfectionist.