I tell myself that I can make all of the notes I want about my stories and that I can muse about them incessantly as I’m pounding out the miles on the treadmill but that I cannot do the actual writing of them until I’m in the proper mental place (Call it inspiration if you want. Or a kind of essential quiet and solitude. Or maybe just too much iced tea — unsweetened, of course.) And so I often don’t stare at the blank screen, attempting to will the words to come, because I am just not in that proper mental place.
Today was different. I rose early to the quiet house (with five extra people in it including a one-year-old whose birthday it is today!) and sat myself in front of my laptop. I did the usual internet surfing, visiting all of the regular sites (including your blog). I finished reading a novel (Pond by Claire-Louise Bennett). And vigorously avoided opening Word to have a look at any of the four stories I currently have underway. So far, that much was not different at all. But some nattering in the back of my brain (perhaps in the rudimentary brain stem?) told me to just, um, do it. Just open any one of the four and read what was there.
The nattering was such that I couldn’t resist it with my usual rationalizations. I actually did open one: “Fire Sermon.” (I think I picked that one because I’m still in that whole story line, as I mumbled about in this post. But I could be mistaken. It’s happened before.) And I just starting putting down words. Completely outside of that mythical mental place. I’ve always known that it is easier to rein in an overwritten story than it is to pad out an underwritten one. So whatever words I put down wouldn’t necessarily be wasted, even if they were not any good.
The words came easily. I know these characters well. And I know what I want the story to do in terms of tone and plot. I have the theme worked out. I just didn’t have the transition from moment to moment within the story in my mind. And you can’t go forward if you don’t know the way. (I assured myself!) But I did anyway, and it turns out I did know the way. Or the way I chose was a good one that does advance the story.
So I more than doubled the word count on the story this morning (going from 300+ to 700+). And I got over the transition hump so I can get my (drunk) character to say the things that need saying to develop the plot a little more and bring in the theme.
Was a lesson learned this morning? Have I realized that I don’t have to be “inspired” to just put words down?
No, but that’s because, honestly, I’ve always know that to be true. I guess the real lesson I need to learn is how to overcome inertia. (It’s the same with lacing up for a run. It’s so easy to say I’d rather be writing than running and then end up doing neither.)
What works for you. Enlighten me. Please!
*modified corporate phrase to show I’m more than just a shill for a product.