So Not What She Asked For
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A couple of weeks ago, a reader made a simple request of me. Jo Ann has a new blog up and running. She’s going to start writing more and wants a few paragraphs about digging to make the words flow.
Well, I have both dillied and dallied at this task. Her simple request gave the uneasy and ignored voice inside me the impetus to start yelling. Finally, yesterday I sat down and the following is what came out. Since this is not what the lovely JoAnn asked for, it might as well be a blog post.
Being a fiction writer, one of things I dislike most is having to tell the truth. It’s inconvenient, for one thing, and a big elephant in the metaphorical room. There’s only so long you can pretend it’s not there before you finally summon the courage to charge at it head on. Even though there is a strong possibility of getting bruised or taking a tusk in the solar plexus.
With apologies to Jo Ann, I’ve been putting off writing this for too many days now. Her seemingly simple request threw a glaring spotlight on the distinctly large pachyderm in my kitchen. There has been a malingering question lurking around for some time, it’s high time for an answer. It’s an age old question, sometimes even a question of age. My 50th birthday is zooming towards me like a runaway train, age is on my mind.
But it’s a question plaguing many of us: Do I still have it?
When I began writing the Song of Solstice series over three years ago, three and a half books were written in very short order. Over the course of about eight months, I was consumed with the story and it spilled from my fingers like magic. Working out a chapter per day, sometimes I wrote for seven hours at a stretch. Often, I was still in my pajamas by late afternoon.
Looking back now, I see what a wonderful luxury it was to have that kind of time. A time free of other distractions, the time to worry about nothing other than the story. Those months are gilded in my memory as some of the happiest of my life. Perhaps it was magic, because something magical was born from it.
It couldn’t last, of course. It didn’t last. Life intervened in a series of great losses and upheavals. With so many urgent situations requiring my full attention, Solstice fell away from me. The luxury of time was not on my side anymore and I stopped writing the story.
Now that the earth around me has stopped quaking and most of the rubble cleared out, it’s time to start writing again. I’ve been saying that for a few months now and even wrote a few chapters for book four here and there – we’ll get to those in a moment. It’s different now. Everything about the way I write has changed, there is a very high level of discomfort in that realization.
I’m using a different computer. I have different pets. Everything I’ve learned recently about editing colors every word. My dad is no longer alive to encourage me. My favorite cowboy pajamas finally saw their last rodeo. Everything is different.
So the question malingers: Do I still have it?
Can I continue writing the story as a changed author without an interruption of voice? If so, will it be a greater or lesser work because of the changes? Let’s go back to those recent chapters. After reviewing them with fresh eyes, they are actually pretty good! They flow harmoniously with the previously written chapters and there’s clearly more refinement to my craft nowadays.
I can’t be the only writer who’s had to answer that malingering question. Life happens to us all, we are all forced eventually to break from the familiar and find new paths. It’s scary stuff, trying to figure out who I am as a writer all over again.
My writing style is evolving. I can either embrace the changes or stop writing altogether because it’s never going to be so simple again. Every writer has her own style. Maybe each writer has several different incarnations and each one writes differently from the other.
The only thing I really need to remember is that the voice is still mine. The outward trappings don’t affect my inner voice. It’s my journey, only I can walk this path.
Now that’s out of the way, perhaps I can focus on what Jo Ann really wants. In the meantime, please go visit her blog, Shhh! Can’t You See I’m Writing? and give her some blog love.
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