"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men,
Gang aft agley" – Robert Burn
My father's Scottish, and not that someone-somewhere-in-his-family-at-some-point-was-born-in-Scotland-but-he-grew-up-in-Minnesota kind of Scottish. He is of the kilt-wearing-born-and-raised-in-Dundee kind. I suppose then, it's no surprise that I was raised with the poems of Bobby Burns as my lullabies, bagpipe music on any major holiday, and, yes, wearing little kilts to family weddings, which was no real burden to me, although my brothers took some issue with it.
In my adulthood the fact that my father is Scottish has had little effect on my daily existence, other than giving me a justification for the Celtic knot tattoo that I have (which way too many other people seem to have these days). However, the words of Robert Burns still sting my ears, and I am discovering that the plans made are less often the ones that come to fruition.
The other day I planned on going to the library to do some research, but my car decided to be low on coolant and overheated (I probably should have checked it when the pesky red light started flashing). So I didn't make it to the library. I then decided I would type in my apartment and do what research I could online (although I do prefer books – the internet is so unreliable). This happened to be one of the days when it was raining and my apartment flooded. Within an hour I was standing in an inch of water despite continually mopping it up. I then had to unplug everything because of all the science I learned in school I remembered that water conducts electricity so unplugging my gadgets and preventing this seemed like a good idea. With all these things going awry I expected to be angry. I should have been angry. But instead I just had to laugh about it. If we aren't able to laugh at our own misfortunes I think we'll all end up very bitter.
I'm trying to apply the same mentality to my writing. Particularly in workshops. Certainly I set out attempting to create a certain mood, or response, or to express a certain idea. And I'm finding in the workshops of my work that sometimes I'm not effective, and others I create something unintended. And sometimes, I'll admit, I want to take my paper and just throw it away. It's frustrating to know you poured you heart and soul into a character and he/she lies flat on the page. Or that the twist that you incorporated was completely predictable. And it would be easier to just chuck the entire thing than it would be to go back and dissect it and make the changes you feel you should (because you do have to stay true to your story and some suggestions you receive in the workshop will mutilate that, and you never want to be writing what someone else wants). But the latter is more rewarding, and will produce a better work. I find as I myself look over what others have written, and reread each draft of my work it changes, and I want it to. I add another character, another action, another line of dialogue and sometimes take out whole pages, scenes, characters. That's what it's all about: producing the best work that you can.
The lines that follow those I quoted above from Robert Burns' "To A Mouse" are, "An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, For promis'd joy!" and I think old Burns got it wrong here. Certainly plans, even when they are well made, may change, but this need not cause grief and pain. It's all about your own attitude, and if you're unwilling to change as life necessitates then you'll probably be really angry and frustrated, but I think the best thing to do is laugh. This is serious business, but taking yourself too seriously can be deadly.