A Note to my Dear Friends:
I found myself sobbing as I wrote a scene in my novel today. Literally. Tears were not just welling up in my eyes -- they were running down my cheeks (stage 2 crying). Then came the knotting up in my chest and the heaving as I was unable to control, to hold back, the emotion (stage 3). It was a total body reaction to the emotion of the scene.
When I finished the final word, I had to take a breather. I knew that if the content is truly compelling and if the emotion ends up translating to my potential future readers, they will need a breather after that, too. The next scene will be brighter. So I stepped away from the keyboard to put myself in a different place.
When I finished the final word, I had to take a breather. I knew that if the content is truly compelling and if the emotion ends up translating to my potential future readers, they will need a breather after that, too. The next scene will be brighter. So I stepped away from the keyboard to put myself in a different place.
I took time to "visit" some friends.
Some have said that the social media is the enemy of the writer -- that the best way to get your novel or screenplay done is to leave the phone off the hook, disconnect the internet, and cancel cable. I took more of that approach for last year's NaNoWriMo, and I reached my goal -- the completed first draft of my first novel. It seems to me that I poured more time into writing that than I have with this one; yet, even though I haven't been shunning social media this time around, I've been making my daily word count goals, and I may actually be benefiting from the time I've taken reading friends' blogs, and even checking out a few movie recommendations.
Today's scene is a case in point.
I knew from my outline that I needed to write about the mysterious flowers my protagonist received on a dreary, rainy Spring day, and how not knowing who had sent them would affect her. What I didn't know was that a second scene -- at a flower-filled funeral parlor visitation -- would expound on the need for flowers to be rooted to a significant life source if they are to carry any meaning. I didn't know my protagonist would meet a freshly widowed woman who would dig deep into her soul with a simple musing about her deceased husband's aversion to store-bought flowers.
I didn't know any of that until after I read a friend's blog in which he shared about how he had tried to use flowers to woo his estranged wife back. As he grappled with how the flowers he sent failed to melt the hardness of her heart, my characters began to speak to me. They spoke to me throughout the night, and I woke up with this new scene -- a framework in which two hurting women grapple with the meaning of the flowers that surround them. I'm not sure that I would have ever gone there if I hadn't taken the time to read my friend's blog.
I knew from my outline that I needed to write about the mysterious flowers my protagonist received on a dreary, rainy Spring day, and how not knowing who had sent them would affect her. What I didn't know was that a second scene -- at a flower-filled funeral parlor visitation -- would expound on the need for flowers to be rooted to a significant life source if they are to carry any meaning. I didn't know my protagonist would meet a freshly widowed woman who would dig deep into her soul with a simple musing about her deceased husband's aversion to store-bought flowers.
I didn't know any of that until after I read a friend's blog in which he shared about how he had tried to use flowers to woo his estranged wife back. As he grappled with how the flowers he sent failed to melt the hardness of her heart, my characters began to speak to me. They spoke to me throughout the night, and I woke up with this new scene -- a framework in which two hurting women grapple with the meaning of the flowers that surround them. I'm not sure that I would have ever gone there if I hadn't taken the time to read my friend's blog.
Likewise, conversations on facebook have inspired me as well. It's all a matter of keeping balance in life. I think this year's novel just might end up being richer because I'm allowing myself a little more social interaction. Last year's story was about a very isolated woman, so writing from a place of isolation may have worked for it, but this year I'm thankful for a broader, richer context to foster my creativity.
Even if our conversations don't touch on the subject of my story or the content of any specific scene I write, we are connected. I don't live or breathe or create in a vacuum. The quality of my story reflects the quality and texture of the context from which I write... and since you, my friends, are my context, the story can't help but reflect beauty.
Even if our conversations don't touch on the subject of my story or the content of any specific scene I write, we are connected. I don't live or breathe or create in a vacuum. The quality of my story reflects the quality and texture of the context from which I write... and since you, my friends, are my context, the story can't help but reflect beauty.
good piece!
ReplyDeletethank you :)
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