I have had a series of small, subtle epiphanies since moving to Guatemala in early August, culminating in last night’s maniacal reading / writing / brainstorming session into the wee hours. I realized I am not close to finishing my book. I realized I need to let go of my obsession with planning and self-improvement. To just write. A lot. Without rules.
If my story is a house, it’s pretty cookie cutter and I have to remodel it into a quirky, architecturally innovative, vivid, messy, alive space. I have written scenes in which interesting things happen, but now I have to tackle the formidable task of adding more unique details. As a friend and reader advised me today, "The characters have to start living and breathing on their own." The heroine, Margeaux, is alive and well, because she’s more or less me. But the others are still composites, mixes of people I know or have known. They need to come into their own.
I boiled down the story arc: Girl meets boy. Boy is a guru, and girl is the sole member of his cult. Girl loses herself in worship of boy, and vice versa, until it is revealed that boy is not practicing what he preaches. Girl realizes she must be her own guru. This storyline repeats in part one and part two. Part one involves the pull between advertising and yoga, love and friendship, discipline and carnal lust. Part two focuses on the tug of war between Buddhism and Christianity, belief and action, moderation and excess. Part three is shadowy and yet to be determined but will involve a nervous breakup, nervous breakdown, loss of self and ultimate insight via a glimpse at Truth -- as discovered through that most divine wisdom, experience.
It is pouring out of me like molasses. In Guatemala, I have attained right-brain mindset. But it probably won’t be ready in December or January. Then again, I am (finally) participating in this NaNoWriMo nonsense that I first heard about several years ago.
If my story is a house, it’s pretty cookie cutter and I have to remodel it into a quirky, architecturally innovative, vivid, messy, alive space. I have written scenes in which interesting things happen, but now I have to tackle the formidable task of adding more unique details. As a friend and reader advised me today, "The characters have to start living and breathing on their own." The heroine, Margeaux, is alive and well, because she’s more or less me. But the others are still composites, mixes of people I know or have known. They need to come into their own.
I boiled down the story arc: Girl meets boy. Boy is a guru, and girl is the sole member of his cult. Girl loses herself in worship of boy, and vice versa, until it is revealed that boy is not practicing what he preaches. Girl realizes she must be her own guru. This storyline repeats in part one and part two. Part one involves the pull between advertising and yoga, love and friendship, discipline and carnal lust. Part two focuses on the tug of war between Buddhism and Christianity, belief and action, moderation and excess. Part three is shadowy and yet to be determined but will involve a nervous breakup, nervous breakdown, loss of self and ultimate insight via a glimpse at Truth -- as discovered through that most divine wisdom, experience.
It is pouring out of me like molasses. In Guatemala, I have attained right-brain mindset. But it probably won’t be ready in December or January. Then again, I am (finally) participating in this NaNoWriMo nonsense that I first heard about several years ago.
Just as I was coming up against a major wall, I embarked on my Masters in Education last week. Unbelievably, the first course is called Teaching the Writing Process. Even more unbelievably, the professor (a live wire of a sixtyish American woman who lives in a co-op in Antigua called La Casa De Tres Gracias) is putting us through the writing process in lieu of lecturing on the pedagogy of teaching children to produce literature. The “final exam” is reading aloud a piece we've workshopped in the course. So, rather than putting the manuscript on the back burner, I am working on it for the class! Crazy, huh? And the reading for the class is any book on writing. I chose Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg. It is splendidly amazing so far.
So here's the terrific epiphany. I am shifting paradigms. I don't need to (and cannot) know where I will be in 2011, or 2012, or tomorrow. My intention is to drop plans, objectives, goals, to-do lists. To just do it. Write. Right!?
Blog Title Credit: One Continuous Mistake: Four Noble Truths for Writers by Gail Sher, which I haven't read but may someday.
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