Oi. Nothing like an early morning drive into the afternoon of 300 miles round trip to get you in a mood to write. But write, I must. Because that is what I do. And after some of the things I saw today, it just makes me want to write more. And more successfully.
‘Cause . . . damn.
Writing was crazy yesterday. I seemed like I was under the threat of constant distraction. Which, for some reason I was. It was do 50 words . . . oh, look. Then another 50, and . . . heee, Shiny! I ended up with nearly 700 words when it was all done, but it was a crazy day of just trying to keep my mind on what I was suppose to be doing, instead of actually, you know, doing something.
Tonight I will rectify that by actually, you know, writing. And keeping away from all the crazy stuff that keeps me distracted. I want to end the part of the Work in Progress I’m in now, and I can probably do that in 1000 words. But it needs to be done. And it needed to be done now. Enough fooling around.
I see what’s happening, though. With the scene I had in mind, I originally had a main character getting way pissed and upset with other people over what he saw as an interference in his life that eventually led to the death of someone close to him. The way I’m writing it, however . . . it’s not like that at all. It’s far more introspective, more, “I wish I could have been there for her,” and no playing of the blame card. If anything, I see the main character having a bit of a breakdown at the end of the scene, because–as it’s already been stated in another part of the story–he hasn’t thought of this person in almost five years, and now he confronting himself with the fact that this other person never forgot him, and even took some out-of-the-norm steps for herself (yes, this other secondary character is a her) because he inspired her to take action.
It’s how it’s coming across to me that’s sort of throwing me sideways a bit. I envisioned it one way, but when I write it–the damn thing is telling me, no, you don’t want to go that way, you want to go this way. Got it?
It is a jarring thing. It shows you just how much the story is really in command of what writer. Oh, sure. It’s our story, we created the character, we gave them life . . . but after that, they can put up a fight. Yes, they can. They can slap you around when you least think so, and all you can do is roll with the punches.
Harlan Ellison stated on many occasion that some of his stories wrote themselves, and I’m feeling this here. I wanted to make the character pissed off–but, no, he’s not going for it. Why? Because, in that character’s eyes, it’s not right. He want to feel some guilt, but at the same time he wants to see what she thought of him, what drove her to run off into another life and see things she never saw before–and all because he gave her the urge.
It’s a very strange thing to have a character do that to you.
I hope it happens more often.
