There is a constant in writing. At some point, you will come to the end of the story. If you're an outline writer, you have a clear outcome in sight. If you enter the world of story by the seat of your pants, you're more inclined to follow the yellow brick road.
I typically chase munchkins. I wish I were more of a visionary, because those who can pinpoint their story on a visible path have a quality I simply do not posses. I have to go on faith alone. Which, if you've only got one crutch to lean on, I believe faith is the best one to clutch. But it's still clutching.
A type A wonder girl, I struggle with the unknown. Ironically, I really don't want to have the control. It's too much. Too much pressure, too heavy the expectations - much too much muchness for me.
When the pressure is applied, the fun runs out the back door. I am such a work in progress, and one of the things I am most committed to is letting go. As a reader, the novels I most easily gobble up are the ones that surprise me. The stories that seem to throw me a delicious twist when I thought it'd turn.
It reasons to follow that life is a similar animal. When it goes according to plan, the ups and downs become obvious, unexpected pot holes. There is no great rising of joy, than from something that was unforeseeable - a flash of brilliance that brings great blessings. That unexpected miracle of promise.
Now to be fair, I bet that the outliners have great, sweeping overrides by their characters. Where they cartwheel away from the hand of the author and race through the jungles of forbidden imagination, paving the way by their specification.
It's all a journey. It doesn't matter if you buy the road map, grease the wheels and plot your moves. It costs you no more or less to hold up your britches and sprint around like a hopped up jabberwocky. It's more and less than anything you can expect, and it's only ever what you make it.
Today's word is: superfluous
No comments:
Post a Comment