When Is It Time to Give Up on an Old Project?

Dear Braindoggies,

I've been editing a manuscript for what feels like years, and at this point I'm afraid I'm never going to pick it back up again. It's not so much an issue of discipline or incorporating structure into my routine, but more that I often don't like the work and, by extension, myself as a person when I work on it. How do I know if I should let it go forever and focus on making new work, or if I should stick it out and see what can happen with this material?

Thanks,

Ugggghhhhhh

*

THE SPREAD

You: The Queen of Wands

The Problem: Nine of Wands

The Ideal Outcome: The Empress

The Means: Three of Pentacles

The Mood: Eight of Pentacles

*

Dear Ugggghhhhhh,

Right out the gate, we know this much: You’re a queen. In fact, you’re the Queen of Wands: creativity and passion are your domain. Which means that, as much as the question presents you as a hapless trudger, you are actually a sovereign working within your realm.

Not that that’s exactly a simple matter. Queens have power, but they are also subjects of a literally toxic lineage. There is no room for self-definition if the circumstances of your birth have the first and final word about who you are and how others see you. And you may find it difficult to get good counsel because, well, nobody tells a queen what to do! That’s the good of it and the bad of it. If you’re surrounded by toadies, you'll hear “yes” over and over again, even if it isn’t the right answer.

How could nine candles possibly be a problem for a queen? Well, the thing is, the queen probably has people to light candles for her. If she picks up the matches, someone will likely whisk them away because it isn’t queenlike to do with your own hands what someone else could do for you. Power isn’t always freedom, especially if it’s granted by stratification.

Hands are tools of the present. That’s why so many of us find it soothing to work with our hands when our minds won't stop spinning. A hand isn’t like a thought: It can only touch something that is right there within reach. Hands can’t do hypotheticals. They can’t hold worries. They can hold carrots and babies and pine cones and chopsticks. They can speak and they can pull air quotes, but unlike our minds, they can also scratch an itch without thinking about it.

The best possible outcome is to be an empress, not a queen. What’s the difference between an empress and a queen? Way less clothing, it seems! Way more frolicking. Rolling around in the pastures of teeming life with all the other creatures. It looks less dignified, I suppose, and there are probably not that many petit-fours on the table, but who cares when you’re having fun?

Here’s the difference: The queen’s power comes from lineage, while the empress’ power comes from her command. Her command is whatever occurs to her in the moment. What that means for you is this: Not wanting to work on a specific project is a perfect reason to not work on it.

As writers, I think we sometimes gravitate toward the struggle ethic because without it, getting to write is just too sublime. Too wonderful, too much fun. This much fun can’t possibly be allowed, can it? So we’ll only let ourselves enjoy writing if we also have to earn it somehow. We make rules to up the stakes. We make up stories so we can punish ourselves if we don’t do something the way others tell us we should.

WHAT TO DO

The good thing is that you can put down this un-fun manuscript for now, but it doesn't have to be forever. You are completely free to pick it up again at some future time, ideally when it seems fun again. Old material is always valuable because it shows us where we were, how we were metabolizing the world. I recently found a massive stash of poems from MFA times and like . . . oof. I was actually really surprised by how much I disliked them. But I could also see myself exploring. I could see myself reaching for masks and party tricks so I could distract the reader and myself from something lawless and uncomfortable that was also there. (Not saying this is necessarily how you’ll relate to this manuscript later on, but it’s an example of the ways old work can be meaningful even if it isn’t Le Book.)

Well, marvelous! So, how to do this? The Three of Pentacles is all about work, yes, but in particular about collaboration. It takes a lot of people to make a cathedral, and a lot of bees to make honey. Ironically, hard work is most effective when it doesn’t feel hard. Bees are a perfect example: they’re busy, yes, but they’re busy waggling their butts. They’re busy dancing. They collaborate with flowers by finding them and showing others where to go. You can do this, too! And it doesn't necessarily mean that you have to collaborate with another writer (although you certainly could). You can collaborate with your shadow, with the moon, with a knock-knock joke. Show us where the flowers are! Waggle your butt!

It’s interesting to see the mirror image of the hands in the Nine of Wands and the Eight of Pentacles. The mood of this reading is to question how valuable notions of power, completion, and product are when compared with process, so it’s fitting to see a hand placing the final block on top of a pyramid, a royal structure which codifies power and wealth. But pyramids are also, in some way, passages to the world of the dead. They bridge a materialist sense of power and influence with an esoteric sense of power and influence. My hunch is that, for you, the resolution of the stuck feeling will ask you to find a way to bridge earth and ether.

WRITING PROMPT

The Seven of Swords

It sounds like you’re overdue for some fun, so why not play a game of equivalencies? How is a raven like a writing desk? Who is sharper, the arrow or the cobra? If you ask yourself any impossible question, the empress will always answer. So ask away!

MUSIC AND POETRY Rx

Listen: “Groove Is in the Heart” by Deee-Lite and “Release Yourself” by Roy Ayers

Read: “Rom-com” by Alejandra Smits

xxx,

Braindoggies

*

Thanks for reading, and welcome to this column! Each installment addresses a craft question with a tarot spread and interpretation.

I know that “craft” usually means diction or dialogue or some other mechanical aspect, but here's the thing: Writing is actually the art of risk. It’s a risk to write anything down, a risk to let anyone read it, and a risk to say what you really want to say.

As such, there are lots of little wars we all have to fight on our way to the blank page, not to mention the doubts and fears we battle when we get there.

Check out previous column installments here:

“Help! My Jealousy Over Other Writers Success’ is Destroying Me”

“Help! How Should I Embark on an Unfamiliar Genre Journey?”

“Help! Should I Write What I Want—Or Should I Try to Make Money?”

“Help! Has Motherhood Made Me Too Sensitive to Write?”

Do you have a question for Braindoggies? We would love to hear it! Please send your writing conundrum to Eliza Harris at eliza.harris@catapult.co with the subject line, “Dear Braindoggies”

• 0