Staring: A Great Place to Start

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getting to know your world again, going back to a manuscript, lost, staring, thoughts, writing, writing is hard

I started working on a new and exciting manuscript…a middle grade horror!

Then I was distracted by short stories.

It happens. And if it’s not other writing adventures, plain old wonderful life sucks away writing time. But after the suckage ends, it always does, after the short stories are submitted…the manuscript waits.

I went back.

And stared at it.

And went on Twitter.

And went back to staring at my ms.

And went running back to Twitter.

And realized that I was running from it cause it was looking at me funny.

I didn’t know it as well as I did. We went our separate ways for a while. Maybe it was mad at me.

Time to get to know that world. So I stared. I scribbled notes. I let my brain live with Ember again. I listened to Nowhere and all my characters. Heck, I offered it cookies and glittery stickers.

And the story began to speak to me! TA DA!

So I am back to writing my first attempt at middle grade. The words are slow at the moment, but I will not give up. Time to focus and finish this sucker.

It’s hard to leave projects…or maybe not, depending…

Possibly harder to go back. But a bit of magical determination, a little bribery to get those characters to talk to you, and POOF the words and ideas return.

So staring…is a pretty great place to start.

 

Words and the World

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characters talk to us, flexibility, never know where the story will go, right, stories, thoughts, writing, writing is hard, wrong

Writing is weird.

Writing makes no sense.

But it must, because so many of us can’t live without it.

I’ve written stories in a few days where every little detail clicked, where there was no need for serious revisions.

I’ve written stories in a few months where every scene was like pulling teeth, where the tale hid in the dark of my mind and I struggled to yank it free…or coax it into the light.

I’ve written stories where I knew exactly how it would end and that was that.

I’ve written thousands of words without the slightest idea how the tale would end.

I’ve written manuscripts certain of the outcome, only to reach the end and learn that I was wrong.

Being an author, for me anyway, has always demanded flexibility. I bend. I skip along the path only to find that the road crumbles away or another less formed path appears off to one side. I have learned to navigate the dark, uncertain streets of my mind, trusting the stories in my head to lead me in the right direction.

For when I fight it, when I make the characters stay within the designated area, they rebel.

So, I remain open. That willingness to listen can lead our minds to wonderful revelations that reveal who we are…showing us how the world, how what’s happening around us can influence us.

I am stepping into the third book of my Doors series…and since I made it a series, I knew how it would end. I KNEW!

But I was wrong. Bryn was my “chosen one”, I suppose, meant to save everyone. I know, how trite.

Over the last couple of days, I’ve been shown more of the end of the chapter of her life that I have been tasked to share. Bryn is chosen. She has a purpose, but it isn’t what I thought. My big bad “evil” The Darkness…is more than he seems. The Light…merely trying to do the best he can.

This final book is resonating with what I see in the world today, with how I emotionally react to what is happening in the world. All the I’m right and you’re wrong being screamed from the very roof tops, all the groups fighting to be heard.

There’s no right.

No wrong.

No good.

No bad.

Only choices.

Only people.

And we all have light and dark within us.

Starting with Nothing

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deadlines, panic, short stories, writing, writing is hard

I have to write a short story.

This should thrill me! I love this! Except the deadline is close.

Cue panic.

Cue trying to force the story into being.

Cue failure.

Cue me beating myself over the head because I’m doing this wrong.

I have images in my head. However, the pictures aren’t coming together to form something solid. I scribble everything I know… I write down whatever comes into my head… I cram all the pieces together and cry when it doesn’t work.

It’s not working. I’m missing something. A thought. An idea. An image. A spark. I’m missing the one thing that will drive this tale. I’ll find it. I will. Maybe all it needs is for me to start writing. Maybe all it needs is for me to take a nap.

There are stories that write themselves. There are stories we have to dig out of our minds with a shovel and pickaxe.  Ow.