Writing and Picking Blueberries

Writing can be like picking blueberries. I am not constitutionally wired for leaving any leaf unturned or ripe berry unpicked, no matter how much I must stretch and contort to reach it. This tends to drive my family nuts when they pick with me – I expect the same dedication (obsession?) from them. In writing, it means hunting for just the right words that are fully ‘ripe’ for the idea. As with the berries, I have sometimes left one that wasn’t quite right. That doesn’t mean the word or the idea was bad. Occasionally words or ideas need to ripen in the mind before they’re ready to pick.

I have also written a few truly beautiful scenes that had to be cut because the story simply didn’t need to go there. Rather like the huge, juicy berry that I couldn’t ever quite reach. No matter how I stretched and contorted the story, the scene simply wasn’t going to go into it. Leaving that tantalizing berry on the tree bothers me. I don’t like waste. I can taste the sweetness of it and find it hard to move to a more accessible spot. I find it distressing to leave out a scene that is juicy and ripe, full of humor, heart wrenching sorrow or riveting action just because the story doesn’t need to go in that direction.

At least with writing, those scenes may find a place, in one form or another, in a different story. I suppose I don’t really begrudge the birds their share either. Though I often wonder why the very best fruit seems to be where I can’t get it.