Hubris

We writers are a perfectionistic bunch. We have to be. Our obsessive tendencies allow us to write draft after draft and to research a story until they find the detail that brings it to life. But the weight of high expectations crushes many a creative twist or risky project. There are dishes in the sink, and day jobs to perform, and family to entertain, and friends to engage. If a piece won't make readers weep, why begin? Why struggle?Part of "Getting Started" is motivation. For the past few days, I have not written because I told myself I was too tired to write something good. I felt I was getting better, and anything I wrote I'd see as a step back because it did not ring with poetry, or seduce the reader to scroll further and further into a story. I did not think I could improve, so I did not begin. There are a few problems with this chain of thought. First, my previous posts are not anything to get too excited about. A few achieve their objective. But no Nobel prizes are lost in my inbox. And second, there's a very simple trick that I know to use when writers feel they can't write something good: Write something bad.Dani Shapiro says in her book Still Writing: The Perils and Pleasures of a Creative Life that a friend of hers told her she was going to write a short, bad book. And she wrote a short, bad book. And the short, bad book went on to become a prize-winning best seller. So whenever I feel that I can't live up to the hubristic expectations I have for myself, I remember to write a short, bad story. I just forget sometimes.***Once upon a time in a faraway land there was a princess. And the princess lived in a magical castle that contained portals to other worlds. In the drawing room she could learn about the culture in the east. In her bedroom she could speak with her friend, the milliner's daughter. They would laugh late into the night and some mornings the princess would wake up and feel as if she had not slept at all.She did not always make good decisions. In one portal, she met a boy who was handsome, with beautiful porcelain teeth, and he rated her as four out of five stars, just to keep her wanting. He sent roses, and took her to dinner, and introduced her to his family. She kept her rose in water and would hold it in the morning while her ladies in waiting tightened her corset. He was an accomplished knight, a leader on the training ground. She could not have been happier.One night she found a picture in one of her portals that showed another princess in a neighboring kingdom holding a rose just like hers. Oddly, her hair felt heavy that day, and threatened to drag her head to the table as she knitted and passed the time with her friend: the milliner's daughter did not say much for a long time, but when pressed she responded, "I never liked him anyway, princess."The rose drooped and its petals touched carelessly against the wall. The princess did not take it down. Some nights the boy would appear in her portal, and tell her he missed her, and how sorry he was. And some nights he wouldn't call. She felt stupid. And in a way, she was. She could not let go of the dream she had once had of the two of them together.The milliner's daughter forced her to explore other portals. She met a man with a steel horse called a motorcycle. A man with the right last name. A man with the right pocketbook. But none of the men were right. And some nights the boy would appear in her portal, and tell her he missed her, and how sorry he was. And some nights she told him she missed him too.***Getting Started: 3Character: 2Point of View and Tone: 2Plot and Narrative: 2Dialogue and Voice: 2Descriptive Language and Setting: 2Revision: 2Overall: 2*Level 2*