learning curve

A sharp/steep learning curve is an expression often used when starting something new, particularly a job. It tends to be used, I think, only once the learner considers themselves to be on the descent of the curve/graph, or at least is confident they will reach that stage. It occurs to me that this is often what life itself is about, and could therefore be described as a learning journey, involving a continuous process, sometimes requiring more effort and negative emotions than others.

For writers, this must be the case, certainly for me. I have recently blogged about the process of giving and receiving feedback, of the confusion or at least indecision which can occur when you receive conflicting comments, from the small ones, for example, one reader loving the originality of a simile, another finding it strange, to the larger ones about which character should open a multiple viewpoint novel.

I mentioned to my mentor the temptation to approach some literary agents with one opening version of my novel, and others with a second one, only to be gently pulled up, and told that although I can choose to do this, she has some concerns. These are nothing to do with integrity, more to do with the fact that the opening chapter should contain the voice of the character whose story it is, and - by implication - if I am in any doubt about this, I don't know my story well enough. This was disconcerting. But the more I think about it, the more I realise she is right. Although I know who are the key players, singling out one is proving difficult




As well as learning being an ongoing process, the pace with which we understand and become skilled at deploying a new technique for writing can vary. I have read technical books about how to write in multiple viewpoints, I have read novels told by several of the characters. And this form appeals. I thought I'd learned how to do this. However, although ongoing feedback has been that my story jumps around from character to character too much, it has taken months - and much kicking of my writer's paws - for me to actually be able to see that this is what I've done.

Caught up with the desire to "keep the reader waiting" for developments and resolutions, I've been blind to the fact that I've barely given that reader the chance to draw breath and realise that another character has taken over the reins, before moving on again to another viewpoint. And so of course I'm now involved in a big structural change, gathering enough of the same character's sections to put into a chapter, before moving on to the next character. This has huge implications for chronology. For example, I have ended up with character A talking to character B about the pleasantness of an event, which has yet to take place. So, a lot of rejigging. A huge amount of thinking. And times of muddle when I look at the table of chapters and characters and events and days etc. A necessary process, though, and hopefully a better story at the end of it.

Would I describe this particular problem as a sharp learning curve? No, more like a large bump on the road which I was warned about, failed to see, failed even to recognise as I made my way over it, even though people were calling to me, warning me. I've now smoothed over that bump ( I hope), and await the next one. I was slow. I'm not always slow.




One of the first things my mentor warned me about was a tendency to write in 'slabs'. Like a moussaka with a layer of minced lamb, then aubergines, then a thick sauce. Instead, she has advised, I must learn to weave. A piece of dialogue, with thoughts threaded in and out. Some action, then more thoughts. This was easy to do. And immediately I could see and feel that the story seemed more like a novel, and not several bowls of ingredients on a kitchen table awaiting mixing.






The learning journey can be arduous and weary, but there are moments of exhilaration when you finally understand something and are eager to try it out. I've blogged before about competence - its four stages: unconscious incompetence, followed by conscious incompetence, then conscious competence and finally unconscious competence. At the conscious competence stage we may be clumsy in what we are attempting to do and our efforts require sculpting, smoothing over. But any conscious stages, whether they are about incompetence or competence, signal that we have awareness, and that is the first stage to change.























I liken this to the work I'm having done on my back just now. As well as the realignment treatment I'm receiving, I have exercises to do each day. The one which is making me most aware is one for posture. Now I'm becoming more aware of when I am slumped over my computer, when I am bending my head down in walking. In time, hopefully, the correct way to sit and stand and walk will become the norm.




















If I can bring a similar increased awareness to my writing, I'll be content.

Positively yours


Jane