EDITTT

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• October 10, 2016

There’s a reason there’s more people who want to write books than actually write them.  Because it’s an extremely long, sometimes enlightening, often painful process.  And it’s really long.  Did I mention it’s long, often dreadful, with lack of foresight for a payoff?

For as long as I can even remember, I wanted to write a book.  A fiction book, that was funny, romantic, and full of adventure.  These were the stories I relished in.  Later, this obsession translated into a need to write for television.  I was, and am, a TV junkie, but I never saw this as a bad thing, because I’ve never been lazy or inactive.  I love the outdoors, and frequently found my love for television drove my desire for actual adventure.  Fiction and reality have fed off one another my entire life.

When I graduated college, it was my goal to publish a book before I was twenty five.  A rather ambitious goal, admittedly, though I’ve been overly ambitious for much of my life, which is probably why I end up disappointed a lot, discrediting some of the cool things I’ve actually accomplished.  But to my credit, I did write a book before I was 25.  I decided, however, that the book is mostly shit, and it’s fallen by the wayside, in a graveyard of things I’ve worked on that will never see the light of day.  This, though, is not a bad thing.  I’ve never viewed any form of writing a waste of time.

Editing your own work is extremely difficult.  This blog is evidence of that.  When looking at another person’s work, I can see every error, and turn into a grammar Nazi.  But when looking at your own work, obvious errors are often overlooked.  But grammar is just semantics.  I can easily hire someone to find all my errors.  It’s the meat of the work that’s harder to work on, because you’re wholly biased.  There’s no way not to be.  I find I cycle through three emotions:

A. I’M AMAZING

Oh yes, the “I’m amazing” phase is quite fun.  You’re reading, and re-writing, and fully confident in your work and your editing.  You think, this is good, and I’m making it better, and people are going to love this.  I am awesome.  This phase is without a doubt a false confidence.  But the things one can accomplish, albeit manic, with blind confidence is utterly amazing.  Writing is personal, even when it’s not.  These moments where you fully believe in yourself are often short lived, but important.  It’s in these phases I tell people about what I’ve been quietly chipping away on in the solitude of my apartment, and I will, without a doubt, later regret telling them, now feeling a certain pressure to show people what I’ve been working on.  A story, a script, a book… it’s like that old adage, “if a tree falls and no is there, does it make a sound?”  I don’t want to be the only audience member of my work.  I’ve found promising people I’m going to show them something helpful.  It’s a deadline.  I need deadlines.  But finding people whom you trust to give you not only honest, but meaningful feedback which is also in line with your vision is extremely difficult.  Especially if you’re me, and there’s less than ten people in the world you trust.  If someone loves my work, I often think they’re kissing my ass and too nice.  If they hate it, I think they’re an idiot.  The “I’m amazing” phase is dangerous in the sense that it isn’t honest, but you need enough of it to keep going.  Otherwise you die, and your work does too.

B.  THIS IS NOT MINE

This is by far the most productive phase, most healthy, and hardest to achieve and/or maintain.  There are times, I can sit down, and edit my own shit under the attitude that this is not my work, and I’m just an editor.  Tear it apart, without defending it.  If there was a drug or a proven method to keep one in this phase, I would be rich.  If I can edit in this mindset for an hour, that is a very productive hour.  This is the healthiest mind set one could have when editing their work (or others work).  I wish I was better at it, but I’m glad I can accomplish it at all.  It’s really about balance, and not being overly emotional about your stuff.  If I could flick a switch in my brain on command to do this, my work would be almost as good as I think it is when I’m in my “I’m Amazing” phase (which usually is just okay).  Stability and steadiness is short lived, as editing as you’re someone else can only last as long as you can pretend you’re not without your flaws.

C. THIS IS SHIT. GIVE UP.

The most heartbreaking phase, obviously.  The confidence of A has vanished, and the faith I have that I can improve in B is gone as well.  I’ll think I’m a terrible writer, and I should never show anyone this work, because it is embarrassing.  I’ll hate myself, and want to quit, and destroy my work.  This self beating is a punishing I’m not sure I’ve ever deserved, but I’ll always be my own worst enemy.  This phase will come.  It will come hard.  It will make working near impossible.  A lot of times, it’s good to put your work to the side, and come back when you’re not so self hating, but sometimes, this phase can last a long time, and not working isn’t always the answer.  In fact, not working can make this phase longer, and more brutal.  You have got to get back on that horse.  You’ve got to look at your stuff, and see why it’s good.  And if it’s not good, how do you make it better?  There’s credit to just doing.  This is praise you have to allow yourself: I did something.  I was taught this mindset.  It did not come naturally to me.  I’ve written and produced two pilots, and while, nothing happened with them, I received good feedback, and multiple comics whom I admire have said to me, “you actually did something.  Most people talk about it, but don’t do it.  Don’t discredit that.”  It was not easy for me to accept doing as an accomplishment.  Honestly, it seemed kind of lame to me.  But not giving up when you’re in the phase where you hate it all is something worth a tiny bit of celebration.  Artist are driven by passion, but keeping that passion alive is sometimes the hardest part.

Editing is a grueling process, and theses three phases cycle for me, which shouldn’t really be a surprise, since these editing cycles are a microcosm for my moods in life as well.

A lot of editing with stand up happens on stage.  The experimenting, triumphs and failures, are done with witnesses, which is one of the reasons comedy is so difficult.  But the validation or rejection, as much as it can swing you high and low, is feedback.  In the confines of your solitary apartment, where your thoughts and ideas bounce off the walls without a rod to reel them in, the editing becomes a process of sorting contradictions, a test of your passion and ability, always keeping in mind one truth, as Hemingway said: “the first draft of anything is shit.”  Keep going, keep doing.