  Mystery
This week: When to Quit Edited by: Jeff  
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"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known."
-- Carl Sagan
Mystery Trivia of the Week: Mary Shelley wrote her classic Frankenstein when she was only nineteen years old. It was published when she was twenty-one. Her early years were quite the roller coaster. She ran away to France with a lover when she was just shy of her 17th birthday. By the time she was eighteen she had already given birth to (and lost) a baby. By the time Frankenstein was published, she had given birth to (and lost) two more children. By the following year, she had another son and had written two additional novels and two plays.
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WHEN TO QUIT
By the time this newsletter hits your inboxes, we'll be nearly two-thirds of the way done with NaNoWriMo and - after nearly twenty days of frenetic writing - I imagine most of us have a pretty good idea how our efforts are turning out. Not just in terms of how many words we've written and how close we are to that goal of 50,000 words or more, but also in terms of how the story we decided to write is turning out. Some of us might be thrilled that things are going well, while others might have anxiety or apprehension about the story not turning out the way we want it to.
As a writer, one of the trickiest things to figure out is when to give up. If we all gave up every time the going got tough, none of us would ever finish anything. But if we all saw every project through to the very end even when we know it's not turning out right, that can result in an enormous amount of wasted time and effort, and even runs the risk of stalling you out when you're just not inspired. It's difficult to do, but each of us has to figure out where that line is between "normal" frustration and the kind where it really might be better to cut your losses and move onto something else.
I've mentioned Terry Rossio's Wordplay columns before, which are a series of screenwriting articles written by the (very) successful scribe. His advice for when writers should "throw in the towel" is simple:
You should give up when it's no longer fun to try.
The context of his quote was more geared toward a writing career in general, but I think it's equally applicable to individual projects too. A story can take many iterations to get right, and go through sometimes drastic changes as the author discovers what works, what doesn't work, and continues to think about the best way to execute the vision in their head. Although individual parts of the process may not be your favorite, the general process should still be an enjoyable one. If you get to the point where you feel like you want to tear your hair out every time you sit down to think about the story, or one where you're constantly avoiding actually sitting down at all by coming up with excuses why you can't work on it, you might be at a point where you'd be better off focusing on something else. There's no reason why you can't come back to this story later, or why you should feel bad if a story doesn't pan out (even if you've spent a lot of time on it)... that's all part of the process. The important thing is that you keep some forward momentum and, above all, actually enjoy what you're doing.
It's important to emphasize, though, that this is not encouraging you to give up every time you get stuck. If the words aren't flowing particularly well today or if you're not happy with the way that chapter turned out yesterday, that's not a reason to give up. Difficulty and struggle is part of the writing process; you don't get to something great without a little blood, sweat, and/or tears. But if you're truly stagnating and struggling to find any kind of motivation or passion for the story you're writing - even if a NaNo completion certificate is on the line - you need to ask yourself if it's worth putting yourself through that anguish instead of admitting that particular idea didn't pan out and starting on something else.
Some might think it's a little odd that I'm writing an article about giving up and even specifically mentioning people's NaNo novels when I run an activity like the "NaNoWriMo Write-A-Thon" , which specifically encourages competition and people to churn out as many words as possible. But your writing and your mental health are far more important than any prize an activity can award. It's far more important that you continue to enjoy the writing process and that you continue to create stories that you're passionate about. Maybe you finish your NaNo novel, or maybe you decide that your time is better spent starting over or focusing on a different project entirely, even if it means not crossing the finish line. All of that is okay, because at the end of the day what's really important is that we all pursue the stories we're passionate about telling. And not every story we come up with is going to be a winner.
It's critically important not to give up just because the road gets a little rocky. But it's equally important to realize when you've hit a dead end. Whether you're competing in NaNoWriMo, writing a poem, crafting a screenplay, or working on a flash fiction story, make sure you don't throw in the towel unless you're no longer having fun with the process.
Until next time,
-- Jeff
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I encourage you to check out the following mystery items:
He walked through the crowded streets, unseen,
Floating past people shopping, like a waking dream,
He could see them walking by – but he was confused,
Their clothes a different era – their speech diffused.
The museum guard was preparing to lock the museum after a hard day of work. His navy blue jeans looked more like huge grey cloth with a couple of tears in it and his shirt was drenched in sweat. It was 7:00 pm and the museum guard needed to get a good night’s sleep for another big day tomorrow. He casually closed the door and locked it with weary eyes. The museum guard trudged to his car with ease when suddenly he heard a burglar alarm go off in the museum. He scrambled to the door only to see that the exhibit’s most ancient item was gone, the golden diamond.
When my mother died, it was like the path to the outside world left with her. She was my sunshine divine. And then, she was taken away from me--a car accident. So clichright? I mean, she was such a great woman, a great...mommy. And just like that, some idiot ran a red light and that was it. She left me. She died. Just died. I was fourteen when that happened.
It was a cold October night. Halloween decorations covered every house in the small town of Hupertino. Halloween was very special at Washington Middle School, and therefore everyone was in the Halloween spirit. Both students and teachers enthusiastically planned out Halloween themed decorations and dances. It was a new school year at Washington Middle School, and during the first couple of months things had run smoothly, until that night.
Mr. Quillsworth is what you might call a thrift store junkie. He had often thought there was something magical about a thrift store. Old unwanted junk, forgotten treasures, books and clothes, all discarded by one to become another's treasured position. What souls did those old clothes bare, who’s mind still lingered in those dusty old books, what child’s spirit still lived in those old discarded toys, and who’s ghost from the past still lived in that old unwanted furniture?
I twiddled my thumbs faster than I ever had before as I sat on death row, aka my psychology exam. I was to arrive to wait there for class every day at precisely 6:55. Not 6:56, but 6:55. At least two number two pencils needed to be tucked at least three fourths of the way in my chest pocket. My slacks could not be wrinkled. One strand of hair could not be hanging out of my hair combed over. The lenses of my spectacles must be spotless. Fingerprints were unacceptable. My posture must be straight. And don't let me forget my review flash cards. I spent hours neatly typing the sample questions and sample answers on each side of the ruled index card. If I wrote the characters by hand, I would make too many handwriting mistakes that would show laziness, and it would be hard for me to read. I was still beating myself up over such laziness. This was no place for mistakes, I thought. After all, this was Harvard.
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Mystery: November 19, 2014 Issue [#6673]
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