Barbara: I was chatting with
a friend the other day—she’s one of those wellsprings of knowledge, highly
intelligent, astute, straight-shooting, the kind of person I wish I could have
on speed-dial for succinct answers to my ever-wondering questions. I mentioned
to her that I was taking a creative writing class that was dedicated to
developing our novels as a whole
before we started writing the nuts and bolts, so we could have “a blueprint”
first. I explained to her that I had, in fact, already written the novel, but
needed an overview in order to do my next re-write. I had found that I’d come
too close to my work and couldn’t see the
forest for the trees.
My friend pointed out that
this was common for women. Now let me stress that my friend is not the least
bit sexist nor is she a random generalizer: but she had an interesting point
(and she made it far more succinctly and elegantly than I will here, so bear
with me!). If we look back to our tribal beginnings, men had to hone their
broad awareness instincts—they had to see the whole of the forest (or plain, or savannah, or what-have-you)
because that killer could come at him from any direction. He had to possess a
fundamental and pervasive knowing of
what was around him at all times. If not, he risked his own life and the lives
and wellbeing of his tribe.
But our ancestral women-folk
were back at the village, gathering. They needed to have a finely-tuned
awareness of every seed, berry, fruit, and nut, in short, every vegetation food
source that was hiding (but probably not about to kill her) in the thick
foliage of those trees, bushes, and grasses. She had to observe details with
precision and accuracy in order to feed her family a—let’s face it—balanced
diet and so keep them alive.
And these two primitive
conditioners are engrained into our DNA because for tens of thousands of years,
they worked! We survived and developed and evolved into the fascinating and
complex creatures you see before you now.
Of course, I believe that
many of us have developed past this divider between the sexes (yes, there are
women who have broad vision and men who are great with details). I also believe
that we’re able to develop our awareness outside the primitive boxes we may
naturally incline towards. But I really
appreciated this a-ha moment of seeing this particular forest for its trees.
And not only was it an
interesting eye-opener, or light-shiner, but, as these kinds of epiphanies
often do, it suddenly empowered me. If I know
my weakness—and, even better, if I can blame my weakness on genetics!—I can
consciously work to improve it.
Yeah, sure, I had already
signed up for that overview creative writing class, and, yes, I had already
realized that for this particular project, I certainly needed to improve my
ability to see the big picture. But now I know that the skills I build in reviewing
and rewriting this particular project will also need to be skills I carry
forward with me to all my other projects.
I aim to be a nurturer of
trees, but also a Park Ranger of forests. Not just in writing, but in life.
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| Beyond the full outline overview, which I did both in paper Post-its and on the computer (because my handwriting is virtually illegible, even to me), I also decided to tackle a rewrite of a scene by printing out all the relevant pages, cutting out all the detritus, and then layering what was left into a general, cohesive single scene. |
Deb: I have always loved
this expression as it covers so much in life. An elegant saying indeed. I think
you have found the perfect balance for your book, Barbara, in this theory.
Sometimes that which is right in front of us is painful. Sometimes
it’s scary and sometimes it requires us to do things we are not ready to do. I
find for me, I have always been able to see the forest despite the sometimes
huge growth of trees, but am often reluctant to venture in.
