Things I Miss About Writing

When I first started writing fiction, I wanted to "have written"; in other words, I anticipated the final output, but hadn't yet discovered that it was the process itself that was the reward. I began haphazardly, really--no outline (I still don't do it!), a hazy plot at best. My aim was to write 80,000 words, because I'd learned that agents in my genre would never consider a shorter manuscript. How times have changed! Now, 80,000 is considered the low end. Good thing that wasn't my reality, or who knows how utterly boring all my filler would have been?

And it was true that my novel had a lot of filler, because I didn't know what I was doing, and I was convinced my story could never reach that target without s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g. Now, looking back, I actually had a storyline that could have become a true saga. The pieces were there--a three-generation plot that showed how each character's story intertwined with the next. 

But I couldn't execute it. I was too damned focused on the end goal.

Even with my second novel, I convinced myself I didn't have the capacity to write "long". Thus, I included flashbacks that dragged on and on. While I thought I was immersed in the main character's tale, half of me really wasn't. Then came my third attempt. My mindset shifted a bit--my first two manuscripts had already been roundly rejected by every agent on earth, so I allowed myself to relax and enjoy writing. (I don't think I was ever relaxed writing the first two. Sad.)

It wasn't until I gave up on landing an agent (the third manuscript suffered the same fate as the first two) that I truly began writing for me. Yes, I can be a slow learner. It wasn't that I hadn't enjoyed the "process" of writing before, but process doesn't produce a winner. I may have admired my pretty words, but they needed to be attached to something substantial.

My revelation was, just write the story; it doesn't matter how long or short it is; just tell it. And for God's sake, don't use a word counter! My initial assumption, that I didn't write "long", was basically correct. And thus, my eight novellas. I'd detested dreaming up subplots for my first three full novels; they were useless and stupid. I just wanted to follow one story from start to finish.  

That's when I truly became immersed in my characters' journeys. (I kind of hate that term. Nevertheless.) I can barely remember my MC's names now, but when I was writing their stories, I became them. I cared about what happened to them and how they would stand up for themselves; how they'd untangle themselves from their circumstances. How their interactions with other characters both complicated and clarified their lives. 

I'd roll ideas around in my mind on my non-writing days, especially when I was in the shower, which, for whatever reason, is a conducive setting for discovery. 

I lived with, or was Leah Branch for almost a year. Not in a psychotic way; I still knew I was me, but maybe she was the "other me"; the one who found myself in impossible predicaments of my own making (mostly); the me who made dumb, impulsive decisions and had to wrangle my way out of them.

That's what I miss about writing.  

I wrote almost all my novellas in a couple of months (each), so those MC's were me, too, but only for a brief interlude. Maybe that's why I'm so stubborn about letting Leah go. I've known her for so long. And yea, letting her go is like losing a part of me. Maybe that's why I stubbornly refuse to let Running From Herself die on the vine. Theoretically, I could start something new; meet a new friend, per se; but I poured so much into this novel that I don't think I could or would want to do it again.

There are other things I miss, too. I suppose I miss my imagination. I'm still in awe over how Ashley in Shadow Song found herself hired as a carnival ride supervisor. Where did that come from? Carnival rides? If I started that novella with any intention at all, which is doubtful, it wasn't that. Oh, and illegal poker games. What? Among those eight novellas, Shadow Song is probably my favorite, because I found myself in worlds I (and obviously, Ashley) knew nothing about.  

I miss the discovery.

Shoot, I even miss, or at least don't regret, the dead ends I led my stories into, because they were clarifying. They taught me that first ideas are sometimes really bad, and they were signposts for where the story should actually go. In Shadow Song (again) I wrote a long section about a farmer from the early 1900's who decided to build himself a ferris wheel out of scavenged materials he either found or bartered for. And to top it off, he and his wife spoke French. I am half French, but I don't know the language, so I had to keep popping over to Google Translate (and who knows how accurate that even is?) to write their exchanges in French. When I say that passage was long, I mean really long. That was not a good first idea. It almost killed the story before it even got started.

Even with Running From Herself, a big part of the story is that Leah and her newfound love, Mick, part ways after sharing a mini-tour of Texas. Neither of them would admit how much they cared about each other, but I knew that at some point, they'd come back together. Well, here we go. Initially, as Leah was packing up to leave Nashville (a failure), Mick surprised her by showing up just as she was loading her trunk. That led to really bad, boring chapters, and worse, a complete dead end. That scenario precluded Leah from moving back home, which would have essentially taken away the last third of the story. Dumb--but clarifying. I think sometimes we discovery writers have to try things to find out how wrong they are. Plus, as one who doesn't outline, I'm feeling my way. My feelers don't always travel in the right direction.

I guess I rather miss everything about writing. But not enough to do it again. I suspect that if I tried, I might well come up with the start of a novella (not a novel!); I just don't want to. That could change, but I don't see how.

I am itching for a creative outlet, though. Songwriting is over, and as a lefthander, I'd make a terrible painter, always smudging everything I did. (I write and draw overhand. It's a disability I've learned to live with.) I'd need to tilt the easel to the left to avoid my hand ruining my work. 

I could conceivably come up with something. I sure hope so.