Fellow writers, I think I have found a decent allegory for describing the hardships of writing good fiction. Please, tell me if you understand it and relate to it. If you do, I give you full permission to use it, as long as you say "one of my fucked up writing friends once said...". Oh and before we start, it doesn't apply to non-fiction. Non-fiction (essays, articles, reviews, memoir) is easy. A philosopher said it was like walking around a park. You just have to make sure you pass by every spot and come back to the beginning. It's a question of putting your ideas in the right order. Writing fiction is a completely different sport. Like football, to non-fiction's golf.
So here's my allegory.
You've seen that couch in a furniture catalog and you had an epiphany. You had to have that couch in your house. You love everything about it, the big, puffy, comfortable looking leather cushions. Its four seat width, you even like the way the sun falls down on it on the display picture. Your apartment is set up exactly like this, so you too, could watch television in the morning with the warm sun shining on your face, like the corporate models in the photo. It will transcend your living room, impress your friends and make your life better, the way Debbie Travis never even hoped to. And money is not a problem, you have enough to buy ten couches if you wanted to.
So you buy that couch and your nightmare begins.
First of all, it weights a ton and a half. You and the benevolent friend/furniture store employee that volunteered to help you, spend hour trying to fit it through your front door. Then, once the much vaunted couch is in the middle of your living room, you realize it's going to take a lot of effort to make it fit in your living room. It starts looking like it belongs somewhere else, like a hip-hop mansion or a deluxe hotel suite. It's oversized it's corny looking and you start regretting spending money on this. So you start moving it around. You want it in the corner of your living room, against the window, so the sun will shine on it, like in the add you've seen.
So you start moving this mammoth around your apartment, alone. It's heavy and it seem to be damaging your floor, but you're determined to make it fit in the corner, so you can enjoy those television mornings as soon as the next day. It starts looking better, but it doesn't quite fit in that corner like it's supposed to. Your living room is too small, so the television is an inch away from your face while you watch it. You could easily settle up for this, watch the television from the end of your couch, but no.
You want perfection, like in that catalog.
Then you pull the couch back from its place and start moving he furniture around, so it can fit better. You change the position of the work desk behind the T.V, so you can pull your source of audio-visual entertainment backwards. You slide the couch back in place. By that time it's way passed your bed time, you're tired, your arms are limp and that couch , despite fitting in place, doesn't look all that good under the orange light of your reading lamp. It looks ordinary and you start thinking your friends might make fun of you for it. Exhausted, you fall on your couch and decide to sleep on it for the night.
You pass out and forget it exists for one, relaxing night.
You wake up in the morning and the sun is shining down on your face. It's not like in the publicity though. It must be warm outside, because it's burning your face through the window. There is a weird smell of hot leather in the living room, but it's not so bad. The television is still too close, but you'll have to live with it. It's not anything like you expected it to be. So you have to decide. Will you throw that couch out of the window and buy a new one or will you live the new portrait of your living room and move to a different piece of furniture?
So here's my allegory.
You've seen that couch in a furniture catalog and you had an epiphany. You had to have that couch in your house. You love everything about it, the big, puffy, comfortable looking leather cushions. Its four seat width, you even like the way the sun falls down on it on the display picture. Your apartment is set up exactly like this, so you too, could watch television in the morning with the warm sun shining on your face, like the corporate models in the photo. It will transcend your living room, impress your friends and make your life better, the way Debbie Travis never even hoped to. And money is not a problem, you have enough to buy ten couches if you wanted to.
So you buy that couch and your nightmare begins.
First of all, it weights a ton and a half. You and the benevolent friend/furniture store employee that volunteered to help you, spend hour trying to fit it through your front door. Then, once the much vaunted couch is in the middle of your living room, you realize it's going to take a lot of effort to make it fit in your living room. It starts looking like it belongs somewhere else, like a hip-hop mansion or a deluxe hotel suite. It's oversized it's corny looking and you start regretting spending money on this. So you start moving it around. You want it in the corner of your living room, against the window, so the sun will shine on it, like in the add you've seen.
So you start moving this mammoth around your apartment, alone. It's heavy and it seem to be damaging your floor, but you're determined to make it fit in the corner, so you can enjoy those television mornings as soon as the next day. It starts looking better, but it doesn't quite fit in that corner like it's supposed to. Your living room is too small, so the television is an inch away from your face while you watch it. You could easily settle up for this, watch the television from the end of your couch, but no.
You want perfection, like in that catalog.
Then you pull the couch back from its place and start moving he furniture around, so it can fit better. You change the position of the work desk behind the T.V, so you can pull your source of audio-visual entertainment backwards. You slide the couch back in place. By that time it's way passed your bed time, you're tired, your arms are limp and that couch , despite fitting in place, doesn't look all that good under the orange light of your reading lamp. It looks ordinary and you start thinking your friends might make fun of you for it. Exhausted, you fall on your couch and decide to sleep on it for the night.
You pass out and forget it exists for one, relaxing night.
You wake up in the morning and the sun is shining down on your face. It's not like in the publicity though. It must be warm outside, because it's burning your face through the window. There is a weird smell of hot leather in the living room, but it's not so bad. The television is still too close, but you'll have to live with it. It's not anything like you expected it to be. So you have to decide. Will you throw that couch out of the window and buy a new one or will you live the new portrait of your living room and move to a different piece of furniture?
