A Story is Born

from a notebook entry at 5:24 p.m. yesterday after a particularly satisfying work day:

After an exhausting week of mucking through swamps, I found myself fully in the flow today as I worked at my writing desk. Some days I get a taste of that ease, but it has been a while since I have had a day of feeling immersed in it. A day where everything comes together with little or no struggle. Where synchronicities fall like rain. The image that came to mind mid-way through my post-lunch walk was one of scattered pieces of matter swirling around a dark, chaotic universe suddenly and unexpectedly coming into alignment, as if some mysterious force were pulling them together into one big harmonious dance.

It feels so good, this balance of work and play, that I don't want to leave my desk. I just want to bask in this universal flow some more.

What do I have to show for it? A plot line with the story's key energetic markers and a clear idea of where the scenes I have written so far fit into that sequence. I know it doesn't sound like much, but it is. The direction (map) I have been longing for, praying for, seeking and stalking for months has emerged from what I thought was a collection of random scenes.

Today, Gabby was looking over my shoulder and walking by my side, rejoicing right along with me at every discovery.

Is this the birth I have been waiting for?

Gabby was born January 19, 2010 -- the day she first introduced herself to me in a notebook entry -- but her story was born today!  And it was pure magic.

Texas, continued

Turns out Texas (see 9/11/12 post) has some interesting and unexpected landscape features. One of them showed up in my dreams the other night as a swampy marsh (or maybe a marshy swamp) that I was wading in up to my knees, trying to find a way out. When I woke up, I didn't understand the symbolism at first, wasn't sure whether it connected to my writing at all, but after this morning's morning pages, there was no doubt. At least not about that.

Yes, for the past several days (or weeks?), unbeknownst to me, I have been wandering around this natural wonder of the emotional landscape, which we shall call The Swamp of Doubt. While I could get back in the car and just drive around it, hoping to leave it behind, I am pretty sure that is not the way to move on. Writing has a sneaky way of bringing up issues or feelings that are best addressed right now, because if ignored, they may turn into permanent roadblocks, or at least irritating energy blocks.

No doubt my main character, Gabby, is going to experience plenty of doubts as she adjusts to life in a new place. Transitions and new experiences -- any kind of change, really -- open the doorway to doubt. How could they not? Which would explain why I keep running into doubt at every turn lately, including in my writing life.

One thing I know for sure? Doubt's got all of the questions and none of the answers. Questions like: Can I construct a plot that works? Do I have enough ideas to sustain a plot? Will those ideas come together in a coherent way? Do I already have the knowledge I need inside or do I need a teacher to show me how to do this? And those doubts, if left unchecked, spiral into a whole universe of other doubts.

The antidote?
Trust.
Belief.
Faith.

And, perhaps, a better map.

Feedback

The proverbial shoe was on the other foot last Friday. After years of critiquing my students' writing, I decided it was time to put myself on the hotseat. I took a chapter of my novel-in-progress to the Baltimore Book Festival for a free one-on-one feedback session sponsored by the CityLit Project.

I have a couple of what Julia Cameron calls "friendly readers" who have read several scenes from the novel. Their feedback is always constructive and encouraging, and their enthusiasm about the story and the characters gives me the energy to keep writing. But asking for a critique from an experienced writer who knew nothing about me felt like a bigger risk.

Was I doubtful/nervous/terrified beforehand? Yes.
Did I go for it anyway? Yes.
And I'm glad I did.

So on Friday afternoon, after much fretting about what scene to bring and whether it was really ready for an objective pair of eyes (ask my husband, he'll tell you), I sat down with Gregg Wilhelm, the Executive Director of the CityLit Project, who has worked in various aspects of publishing for several different publishing houses. He read quietly, scribbling notes on the pages as he went, and I watched, fidgeting with my pen and reminding myself to stay detached from the outcome and open to his suggestions.

I was pleasantly surprised when he came back with largely positive comments. He said the scene as a whole was well constructed and complimented me on capturing the personalities of the characters in dialogue as well as through their actions. He suggested that I add a bit more exposition -- some details of the room and of the characters' appearances, things that the point-of-view character would notice -- to set the scene more clearly for the reader. We also talked about some specific instances of word choice that will add polish.

What else did I learn Friday? That I can afford to go a lot easier on myself when I am drafting new scenes. That it's okay to let my characters ramble and to use too many adverbs and adjectives and to let some cliches creep in here and there (kind of like that!). And that for now, I can give the madman more room to create and imagine and breathe life into the characters and the story without worrying about how it sounds or whether it will be good enough. That's what the revision process is for.