For most of October and into November I was on a really good role. I was cruising along as I write Crossline, enthusiastic and inspired. Just really digging in. It was one of those runs that I truly love, when hours feels like minutes, when I can’t wait to get back to the computer and just lose myself in the words.
But as all things do, this run came to an end about two weeks ago. It was the end of a very long sequence, and I just needed to wrap up one final scene. Try as I might, however,For most of October and into November I was on a really good role. I was cruising along as I write Crossline, enthusiastic and inspired. Just really digging in. It was one of those runs that I truly love, when hours feels like minutes, when I can’t wait to get back to the computer and just lose myself in the words.
But as all things do, this run came to an end about two weeks ago. It was the end of a very long sequence, and I just needed to wrap up one final scene. Try as I might, however, it just wouldn’t come. I thought about it, though about it again. I started over. I tweaked, I experimented, but no matter what I came up with, it just wasn’t working. Rather than force it, I decided to take a little break. To step away and work on something else.
Instead I worked on a small section that needed writing, and had a good little run, but I wrapped that up faster than I thought. And then I started on a new section. An important section. It won’t turn out to be extensive, but it will be vital to the overall story. I already had the broad strokes in my head, so I wasn’t that worried about it. Except that when I sat down to clack the keys, the words wouldn’t come.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I made some progress, moving the plot along, only, it was really flowing as much as meandering. I was kinda, sorta making my way, but there was no authority in the pacing, no enthusiasm in the flow. After about a week of getting essentially nowhere, it suddenly occurred to me that the character I was focusing on was really a stranger to me.
Who the heck is this guy? I thought I knew, but it turned out that I had an [i]idea [/i]of who he was, but not who he actually was. What motivates this guy? What brought him to this point? Who is he now, and how will that be different when we’re done with him. Why should we care about him? [i]Do[/i] we care about him?
This started me along the right path, and yet, I was still wasn’t there. So I ran the drill, walking around my apartment, talking out loud, trying to figure out the answers to those questions. I meditated on it. I took a walk through the neighborhood. When I was done, I felt like I had a much better grasp of who he was. I thought, [i]okay, now I get this guy[/i]. And yet I still wasn’t entirely sure where to go from there.
And then it hit me. I had another a-ha moment that comes once in awhile during the writing process, and suddenly I knew exactly where to start, which, not surprisingly, was at the beginning. I lost sight of the fact that I knew (or thought I knew) who he was, and that it would come out through pages. Uh … no. It was a classic show/don’t tell. I had to actually let his journey unfold on the page. We have to spend a little more time [i]with[/i] him so that we can care [i]about[/i] him.
Once I made that decision the words started flowing, and I’ve been writing ever since.
Some of my favorite elements of writing is the process itself. Because no matter how many times I clack those keys, no matter how many times I struggle to find my way, I still get giddy and surprised when the magic flows the way it does. Because when it really gets going, for me, there’s nothing else like it.
Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2008/12/05 11:11
