One thing that I have grown to love about the craft of writing is that it is so dynamic, alive and growing.
This week was very busy in the Larson household and at work.
Ten to twelve projects sprang to life at work, all coming at me at in various conditions and at different points in the project process. One is just beginning and requires a great deal research to start. Another one needs to be started and finished ASAP, in other words, today is too late. The others are there and need attention, are clamoring for attention in fact but are not at a level requiring immediate attention, they're simply there, buzzing in the annoying ways untouched (unloved??) projects can do. All in all it makes for busy day.
Home life is not much less busy. Baseball games, baseball practice, choir concerts, honors banquets, graduation parties...we are simply social butterflies! (Not my style but one must do what one must do! J
All in all this kind of lifestyle is not my number one choice and wears me out mentally if not physically. I am drained. I went through the entire week without stepping foot into my haven which means nothing happened other than more ideas to add to the story. I despaired of moving forward this week, if at all.
A happy opportunity came up on Saturday that broke the despair and opened me up to something that I have not experienced in a LONG time: writing.
The happy opportunity? A minor spat with my wife. Actually it was all me and not her. I was in a mood, an irritable mood and we were trying to clean out the other half of the room my office was born from…our storage room.
I had tried to be helpful but my wife made an innocent comment and I let irritation posses my soul and I walked out before I blew a gasket. (Actually there is some wisdom there perhaps…)
I stopped off in my office and sat down with a heavy sigh, looking at the notes that I have put together I sank deeper into despair. How and I going to move this forward? My mind is not cooperating here!
I need to put in more details! More details! The more my thoughts went to the details the more depressed I got. I want more details, I love details, perhaps I am a detail junkie. (Someone help me!)
Anyway, I whispered a prayer to the Great God, picked up a pen and began to write. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I did not care how crappy the prose was, and it is crappy, and I did not care what scenes I wrote, I just wrote. And as I wrote words came to mind. Conversations, locations, details.
In my writing the story changed and evolved and grew. I worked on a scene, no particular order and wrote. When I felt I was done with a scene I wrote another scene and at a certain point I stopped.
When I finished Sunday night I had fourteen pages! I felt great!
I know, I know! I've read the words: Real writers write. They write all the time. In fact, they can't not write they are compelled. This makes me think less of myself as a writer but as I think about it, I am a writer. I did have to employ discipline to get in the seat and begin but I wrote. And while I was writing I was focused. It was awkward writing a conversation between two people as it happened but I believe that rewriting is what will solve that issue. Now I am just getting the words done. A form of controlled free writing, controlled chaos. It is FUN.
God's grace has been enabling me to do this and I can't describe how it feels to do what I should and how I should. It is exciting, exhilarating.
I do not know where all of this is going but it is fun!
Keeping questing for the Lord. He will be found.
Bye
No comments:
Post a Comment