The longer you write the more you know yourself, right?
But the process is always changing. When I first started out I would sit down; or stand, or lean on a counter and just write. No plot, no pre-made plans. Over the years I’ve found it’s much nicer in the editing process if I give myself some slight directions.
Writing out a few plot points, at least my start and finish, and character descriptions plugs up holes before they form.
But no matter how many changes I go through, or my creativity faces, you cannot always control art. It unleashes the subconscious, demands to be untethered and undefined.
When the writing takes over and drives the story, that’s when the real magick happens. It takes you off course, but that’s the point. Life is never what you expect. Why should writing be any different?
Last night I was working on a piece I was asked to write for a collection. When people seek you out for a gig the stakes are higher but so is the pay. It’s a win/win.
Instead of feeling the pressure, I got into it ready for a thrill-ride. I decided to add a bit of humor to loosen things up, hoping to add more tone, and it went awry. Instead of inspiring quirky laughs, the section ended with a brutal scene where my main character goes nuts with aggression.
I had to sit back and breathe when I finished. Sometimes writing is terrifying, not because of critics or self-doubt, but for what it draws from the author. Lurking within everyone are depths we often forget. Society tames us, or attempts to.
Anyone who doesn’t believe that writing is an art knows nothing of storytelling.
Literature knows what it wants. The writer may be clueless at times, but each line is a guide. It connects the pieces to draw us from ourselves, thrust us into the unknown we’re constantly avoiding. I love every second of it. It’s never what I expect. Sometimes a letdown, but most things come together best when they have the freedom to expand.