A Sea of Idea

Photo Credit: Tracey Lee

It's back. My writing mojo has returned and with it the unrelenting desire to put words out there, to form stories and thoughts and create scenes in the minds of others.

I wish I could describe how it makes me feel when the waves of it crash into me, buckling my knees with their force, my feet mired in the details like grains of sand settling between my toes. Characters yet unwritten surround me, swooping and swirling, calling to me with their voices, shrill like gulls begging for scraps. The keening of my small voice is swallowed up by the roar of the sea, its vastness stretched out before me, mocking my contributions as one drop added to the whole. I am awed by its beauty, hushed by the air thick with promise, warmed by the sun of blessing. If I could let you into my head as the press of it overwhelms me it may feel like drowning to you; an overwhelming sensation of too much information swirling around your head and your feet, pummeling you with each new idea, insistent on being heard.

For me it is the most exhilarating thing I have ever done. Hours sat before a computer screen, my fingers disconnected from my body, tapping out the thoughts that rush in, almost too fast to capture. It begins with a tingling in the back of my jaw, like that anticipation of taste before a feast, or the first sip of fine wine. It lingers in my belly, the butterflies of trepidation mingling with the warmth of an almost erotic excitement. It is visceral, this thing I do; a most private dance done in the public eye for all to see. The body of it is something I discover, curve by curve, moment by moment, even its faults containing a beauty of their own. I explore each feature, take in the sights, sounds, scents and emotions of it. I wait in the darkness, listen for the quickening, hope for a pinnacle to steer toward. Once I recognize it, commit it to memory, once I determine the final act, I write as one possessed. I have to finish, must complete it, push forward toward the ultimate end. The desire to conclude is insistent, overwhelming and undeniable. I am a woman pursued then, obsessed in every way and at the height of its completion, a tiny twinge of regret. When I finish, I am spent, exhausted in the most delicious of ways but I will miss the characters I described. Because I do not create them, only tell their stories as they have told them to me, I am saddened at their exit. I too wish to know what they go on to accomplish, but they vanish with the morning light as I return to my sea of ideas.

Each heroine, in her own way, has whirled herself away from the flock, lighting on my shoulder to whisper her story in my ear, to persuade me her tale is next and cannot wait another minute. If her story is not enough, the details too vague, her cause lacking, if I am somehow not ready she will launch herself aloft again, rejoining the flock allowing another to descend and vie for my attentions. When I accept a story, when there is flesh and heartbeat and desire to it, she signals her cohorts alight around me. They too tell a tale, regale me with their import, compete for a space on the page.

It is a chaotic scene, a symphony of life and noise and awe. I am forever blessed to be among them, these stories that insist on their telling. Not many could stand in their midst and maintain sanity, and maybe one day I too will succumb to the madness, but not today. Today I write. Can you hear their call around you?

Virtuous

Photo Credit: Creative Commons

I am, by nature, an impatient person. I am not a shopper, not a waiter, not a ponderer... I am a doer. I make decisions. Sometimes I make the wrong decisions, but I make them. I am fairly certain this is why editing makes me crazy. Editing is all about patience and pondering and waiting until the right words, the right setting, the right scene coalesces into a describable and captivating existence.

There are so many sites out there about writing and how to do it and what to use to start and how to keep going. There are as many methods and procedures and processes as there are writers. It can be daunting if you try to homogenate them all into something you can use, but there is a common thread. Most of them will tell you, in one way or another, just get it down - WRITE! Finish the idea and get it onto the screen because all first drafts suck. I hear this. I agree with this. Well, mostly I agree with this. I think, however, that my dread of editing is the thing that pushes me to wait, to gain patience and to start with the best version of my story.

I have actually rewritten my own first draft of the first chapter of my third book. Yeah... Weird right? I couldn't leave it alone. I had a major time-line flaw, so that helped, but as I was restarting this morning, I realized I was approaching this draft with patience. Patience! I wanted it to be less about finishing and more about starting well.

Who knows, maybe I am growing up! Or maybe this was just the kick in the pants I needed to get this one rolling. Like backing away from the starting line to get a better stride going. Whatever it is, I am digging it!

The Anatomy of a Best Seller...

Photo Credit: Creative Commons

I read. I read all the time. I read blogs, articles, magazines and books. I read mostly fictional works, but I also read to better myself at my craft... Writing. So you know when I find that one title that says, "How to Write a Best Seller," of course I am going to dive in. I mean, who wouldn't want to know how to be at the top of their writing game?

The thing is, every article I read on the subject has one of two messages: 1) Writing is subjective and there is no way to know what will propel you into the insanity of a best seller or 2) Marketing, marketing, marketing! Flood the market, alienate your friends and family and spam the crap out of anyone you ever met to sell your tome.

Anyone who knows me knows the second option isn't for me. I have done my share of tier marketing, from Mary Kay to horse wash systems, and my philosophy has always been, "I have it if you want it, but I will not chase you down to sell it." I run two other businesses of my own these days, one markets a product, the other markets me, and I still firmly believe in that philosophy. The product is high quality and speaks for itself, and me? Well, art is subjective. If you like it, I have it. So...

Still, there are days I am faced with the lonesome reality that sitting back and waiting for the world to come to me to hear my stories is fruitless. I have no less than six stories running around in my head and all of them have immense potential to be incredibly successful stories in today's market. Well, I have to think that, right? Or else, why put myself on the page?

AHA! (Spins on heel and points accusingly at ... the mirror.) See that's just it. I don't write to market to the public. If I did, I would do some studying and make myself fit into one of the genre moulds of this staid and stodgy industry. You remember here where I told you I got my first rejection letter that fueled me instead of ruled me?  I don't fit into the cubby holes. More importantly, I don't want to fit into the cubby holes. It may mean that I never find success in the publishing world. It may mean that I am never able to say I make a living as a writer. I'm ok with that. I have to be. I'm ok with that because to not write would kill me. To not write would put to death the person I have become. I need it almost as much as I need air, or food, or wine.

So a bestseller? Probably not. If it happens someday I will rejoice loudly! Until then, the best advice any of the how-to articles have given me is write. Until that is done, all of it is moot. So while I am on hiatus right now, getting ready to launch my daughter into the collegiate world, I am still thinking about writing, day dreaming about writing, and occasionally writing. I have one to finish and another to start, and none of them will fit a mould, and isn't that grand?