Sometimes Things Just Click
One of my desires, in addition to becoming a faster runner, is to be a writer. A real writer. Someone who writes each and every day. Someone who has work published. Someone others read and say, "Wow, that was a good read." Today I offered a new piece to a trusted friend, another writer who gets what it means to want to touch others with words that create images and emotions. Her response to my new piece was that she really did get it.
With this short story, I reached a point where I couldn't decide how to continue. I wasn't exactly sure where to take it, though, so I saved my work and closed my computer to take a break. I returned to it a few hours later, started from the beginning, and added in details as I read through. When I reached my stopping point, I realized it worked just the way it was. I sat back, a little surprised with how what I had truly made the story do exactly what I wanted it to do. I reread from the beginning again just to be sure I wasn't reading it in a way that wasn't there. The ending worked.
And my friend's response showed me the piece as a whole accomplished exactly what I'd set out to do. Listening to her made me feel like she'd been in my mind, seeing my intentions, the paths I'd traversed while writing the story. I left our get together stoked and ready to get busy on another idea I have percolating.
The excitement I feel when a story clicks consumes me, makes me want to ignore everything else in my life in order to keep writing. Like just now. My 11 year old was telling me something about something. I have no idea what the something was. I just smiled and nodded as the fingers kept tapping the keys. I can't decide--was that a bad thing?
With this short story, I reached a point where I couldn't decide how to continue. I wasn't exactly sure where to take it, though, so I saved my work and closed my computer to take a break. I returned to it a few hours later, started from the beginning, and added in details as I read through. When I reached my stopping point, I realized it worked just the way it was. I sat back, a little surprised with how what I had truly made the story do exactly what I wanted it to do. I reread from the beginning again just to be sure I wasn't reading it in a way that wasn't there. The ending worked.
And my friend's response showed me the piece as a whole accomplished exactly what I'd set out to do. Listening to her made me feel like she'd been in my mind, seeing my intentions, the paths I'd traversed while writing the story. I left our get together stoked and ready to get busy on another idea I have percolating.
The excitement I feel when a story clicks consumes me, makes me want to ignore everything else in my life in order to keep writing. Like just now. My 11 year old was telling me something about something. I have no idea what the something was. I just smiled and nodded as the fingers kept tapping the keys. I can't decide--was that a bad thing?
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