Right now, my "real world" is not as in control as I'm used to, which makes the world in my imagination even more important. I've been thinking that doing NaNoWriMo right now, trying to write 50,000 words in the 30 days of November, is a silly undertaking with Mom just having moved in. On the other hand, it's a saving grace in much the same way that breastfeeding a young baby was when my first husband and I were in the process of splitting up. Every few hours, I had to sit down and put my feet up and relax so I could properly feed the baby, which helped me keep my perspective.
Writing for at least an hour and a half a day, in the midst of all this change, serves the same purpose. I can't control Alzheimer's Disease. I can't wave a wand and make my mother happy when she's crying, or help her remember where she is and why. I have to be available and alert all the time --- help her find the bathroom, reassure her that she's where she belongs, give her activities to occupy her. With Mom, and everything else that's going on, I can only control so much, mainly my own actions and reactions.
But in Buxton ----- ahhhhh, there, I am God. I decree everything from the weather to who falls in love. I put my characters in sticky situations and either help them get out or watch them squirm. I get to live through their sorrows and their exquisite joys. Last night I put the two main characters, Vanetta and Lou, into their first intimate situation. I'm at the kitchen table with my laptop, headphones drowning me in my Ella Fitzgerald channel on Pandora, while Mom, Jack and Jill were watching a movie in the living room. Little did they know what was transpiring in Vanetta's chamber by kerosene lamp, the night her husband was arrested and hauled off to jail and the children stayed with the neighbors. It reminded me of writing a similar scene for another book while sitting in the rather busy teacher's lounge of some elementary school back when I was doing Travels through Time. There I was in my demure 19th Century clothing, writing a scene that was scorching the pen and paper, while the teachers around me ate their apples and salads and complained about the school food.
It is always this way, I guess, when I'm in the thick of a book. I straddle two worlds, and the one I made up often seems more real for awhile. There's an old song that starts out "Imagination is funny, it makes a cloudy day sunny..." That's what I get to experience whenever I'm writing. Regardless of what's happening in "real life", I get to have something else.
Now, is today the day that Elmer has to die? Or is it too soon? Or will he somehow be spared and mend his ways? Imaginative minds want to know.
Showing posts with label writing process. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing process. Show all posts
Monday, November 21, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
This is what I do
It's funny how summer can have the flavor of vacation, even though I have nothing to vacation from. And now that school supplies are flooding the stores and my teacher friends are gearing up for another year, I feel the old anticipation begin to churn. I'm starting to be productive again.
This has been a writing week. I'm working on my last year's Nano book, planning to finish it in the next three months. I have an approach-avoidance relationship with writing. I can sit down with all the needed tools --- a cup of coffee, my trusty laptop, the proper music for the piece I'm writing, dogs snoozing in the vicinity (essential!) and then proceed to spend three hours browsing around on the computer. As I avoid, the anxiety begins to expand until I finally have no choice but to either jump up and scrub the kitchen floor or actually turn to writing.
Here's how it starts. I read over what I wrote the last time, changing words, re-punctuating, listening for rhythm and pacing. Then I tell myself that nobody ever has to see this stuff, that I'm only writing it for myself, and if I don't like it I can delete it in an instant. After that, I'm ready to close my eyes, put my fingers on the keys and start typing. Almost always, after all that preparation, it begins to flow immediately. All I have to do is reel it off, describe the movie in my head, listen to the voices of the characters and take dictation. Time disappears. I disappear. I have no worries, no problems, no anxiety, no fear. It is like losing consciousness of myself and plunging into the world I'm creating. Often, my fingers fly across the keys faster than I think they can go. I am not conscious of thinking or composing. The story moves forward, often in surprising ways. Characters pop up that I didn't know had been invited. Solutions present themselves, circumstances change, details emerge, and I just keep recording. I get so caught up in it that I can make myself laugh out loud, or type through my tears. I've been known to tie something up so perfectly that I have to get out of my chair to stomp and dance. Sometimes they're belligerent or stubborn and I get so frustrated with the characters that I just have to stop before I strangle them on the spot.
After awhile, usually a couple of hours or longer, something will happen, either in the story or here in "real" life and I am suddenly back in my present time. This body. This house. The transition can be jarring. Often, it takes me an hour or two to completely shake off where I've been while I was writing. When a book is deeply in process, it never entirely lets go of me. I always know it's cranking away, like the background programs on a computer. I may be visiting with friends or talking to Jill or shopping for groceries, but something keeps whirring. I even know where this little engine is located --- in the back, left side of my brain, just behind my ear, like a little fan spinning around, keeping the thoughts going. I dream it, too, though usually not recognizable as the story I'm writing.
I suppose, when I'm in this state, it's not the easiest thing to be around me. I'm distracted and probably appear distant and preoccupied. It takes an understanding partner to put up with it, and I'm lucky to have one in Jill. She not only tolerates these spells of neurotic creativity, she encourages me and feeds me with kisses and snacks and the occasional reminder that life is still happening on this plane.
I do, on occasion, get stuck. When that happens, my best bet is a change of location. I go to a coffee shop or out to Falls Lake and do my writing there. I put it away and read someone else's novel for awhile. When I have a section I simply can't bring myself to write, I can also skip over it and go to some other part. In fact, I don't always write consecutively. I have started in the middle and gone forwards and backwards, I've started with the ending and gone back to write the rest.
It feels like a wonderful gift I've been given, to be able to entertain myself this way. I was the queen of 'let's pretend' when I was a child, and I guess it never stopped. I may or may not entertain other people along the way, but for me, inside myself, this is the most fun I know how to have. I don't know what else I could ask for.
This has been a writing week. I'm working on my last year's Nano book, planning to finish it in the next three months. I have an approach-avoidance relationship with writing. I can sit down with all the needed tools --- a cup of coffee, my trusty laptop, the proper music for the piece I'm writing, dogs snoozing in the vicinity (essential!) and then proceed to spend three hours browsing around on the computer. As I avoid, the anxiety begins to expand until I finally have no choice but to either jump up and scrub the kitchen floor or actually turn to writing.
Here's how it starts. I read over what I wrote the last time, changing words, re-punctuating, listening for rhythm and pacing. Then I tell myself that nobody ever has to see this stuff, that I'm only writing it for myself, and if I don't like it I can delete it in an instant. After that, I'm ready to close my eyes, put my fingers on the keys and start typing. Almost always, after all that preparation, it begins to flow immediately. All I have to do is reel it off, describe the movie in my head, listen to the voices of the characters and take dictation. Time disappears. I disappear. I have no worries, no problems, no anxiety, no fear. It is like losing consciousness of myself and plunging into the world I'm creating. Often, my fingers fly across the keys faster than I think they can go. I am not conscious of thinking or composing. The story moves forward, often in surprising ways. Characters pop up that I didn't know had been invited. Solutions present themselves, circumstances change, details emerge, and I just keep recording. I get so caught up in it that I can make myself laugh out loud, or type through my tears. I've been known to tie something up so perfectly that I have to get out of my chair to stomp and dance. Sometimes they're belligerent or stubborn and I get so frustrated with the characters that I just have to stop before I strangle them on the spot.
After awhile, usually a couple of hours or longer, something will happen, either in the story or here in "real" life and I am suddenly back in my present time. This body. This house. The transition can be jarring. Often, it takes me an hour or two to completely shake off where I've been while I was writing. When a book is deeply in process, it never entirely lets go of me. I always know it's cranking away, like the background programs on a computer. I may be visiting with friends or talking to Jill or shopping for groceries, but something keeps whirring. I even know where this little engine is located --- in the back, left side of my brain, just behind my ear, like a little fan spinning around, keeping the thoughts going. I dream it, too, though usually not recognizable as the story I'm writing.
I suppose, when I'm in this state, it's not the easiest thing to be around me. I'm distracted and probably appear distant and preoccupied. It takes an understanding partner to put up with it, and I'm lucky to have one in Jill. She not only tolerates these spells of neurotic creativity, she encourages me and feeds me with kisses and snacks and the occasional reminder that life is still happening on this plane.
I do, on occasion, get stuck. When that happens, my best bet is a change of location. I go to a coffee shop or out to Falls Lake and do my writing there. I put it away and read someone else's novel for awhile. When I have a section I simply can't bring myself to write, I can also skip over it and go to some other part. In fact, I don't always write consecutively. I have started in the middle and gone forwards and backwards, I've started with the ending and gone back to write the rest.
It feels like a wonderful gift I've been given, to be able to entertain myself this way. I was the queen of 'let's pretend' when I was a child, and I guess it never stopped. I may or may not entertain other people along the way, but for me, inside myself, this is the most fun I know how to have. I don't know what else I could ask for.
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