3,135 words, which would be very good for me, if it had been on the story I am currently working on. The alarm told me it was time to get up, but it seemed impossible that it could already be morning. Next thing I know, my contacts are in and I am brushing my teeth, and the whole time, this story idea is just churning away in my head, since it wouldn't shut-up I got my notebook out and wrote it down. I was almost late getting my son to school, because everytime I tried to get up, I would think of something else, and go back and write it down. It was odd, in that it was so complete. Usually my ideas are fuzzy, then after awhile I know this, then I know that, over months, and then a line or two will come to me. I mean if memory serves, it usually is almost a year till I have the basic outline set in my head, till I know the beginning, the middle, and the end. Then the parts that fill in all the spaces come (or don't) (sometimes I don't know the transitions even generally). This however had a beginning, middle, and end, just like that, no percolating. Doesn't mean it is better than the others, but I guess it doesn't have to mean that it is worse.
I typed it up today, not because I am excited about it, but because my handwriting is awful, and I want to know what I wrote, in case at some later date, there is something in it I can use (in my notebooks I often come across pages of stuff I can't read, could be great stuff, could really suck, I have no idea). This story is a love story (I don't write love stories per se) and it takes place in Africa. A place I have never been and know next to nothing about. (I blame this story idea, on Anderson Cooper and Oprah) ( I must be more careful about what I watch before I go to bed) (there is a rape in it, aids, death, things I don't like to know exist, let alone would want to emerse myself in a world of, day in and day out, to write about). Of course the main character (and all the surrounding characters) are African, because I know so much about being African. (not!!). And of course the main character is male.
This problem seems to be a theme- Echo- takes place in Japan, with main character Japanese man. Fresh Oranges- starts in Austria, main character Jewish man. And today's idea- Love among the bones, or, field of bones (both titles probably already taken, no matter)- takes place in Africa with main character male. I am not a man ( and can't claim to know that much about them), and I know nothing about Japan, or Austria, or Africa. I have done plenty of reading this past year on Japan, and I do have a stockpile of books about Austria, and being Jewish etc. I'm really not in the mood to start collecting books on Africa, besides if I can finish these other two stories, good or bad, within the next two years, it will be amazing. I do have one story idea with a woman as the lead character and it does take place in the northeastern part of the U.S (well at least until she moves to the southwest). It would be so much easier if the stories that came would be about women in the U.S, in my state, heck in my neighborhood. But the stories that come aren't like that. If I felt like I was making them up, composing them, then I could easily make these decisions, tailor it to what I know about. But it feels more like I am uncovering them, some things come, and are just known, other things I guess at and ask questions till something resonates, and says- that is it, and when I look at the piece later, it seems as though it was always that way, had always been.
Someone dies in each of my stories. I hate death, I struggle with it, I don't understand it. I knew the basic plots to Echo and Fresh Oranges before three people that I loved died. It is harder to fully write these stories out now, as I read over parts that I have written, it is more real now, more painful. But I guess that is why now, I truly do need to completely write them out. If I sat down and tried to make up a story, compose it from my imagination, decide what happened, no one would die in it. No one. I am starting to see what the stories have in common, and the differences. The theme is pretty much the same in all of them, it must be something I need to have told to myself, need to learn. That is also what makes them more difficult to write. Here are my two favorite bits, from what I did work on today (I am disappointed that I got nothing done on Echo). This part of the earth knows us, through the soles of our feet through to our souls. The path knows why my brother and I walk apart. (and then near the end of the story) "I will not live this life. I will not bury child after child afer child, my family will not be a field of bones" (it sounds weird here, standing alone, but within the context of the rest of the story idea, it sounded right to me)
I am noticing there is certain way I write. I don't mean my grammar, I mean the way I say things. I don't try to do it, I am just writing, he feels this, and she says this, and then this happens, and suddenly I am talking about the dirt path he walks on everyday with his brother, and how their footsteps are no longer side by side...(and I go on a bit with that idea, and then write, about the path, it) knows us from the soles of our feet through to our souls. And I like the sentence, I like the sound of it, I like its meaning. I like things like that, but I worry, that it isn't palatable to other people. I worry that I am overly sentimental, and corny, and that I..I don't know the word. Like Echo for example, I consider it the song of my soul, that story is the song of my soul. I like saying that (though the only person I say that to is me) (this blog doesn't really count, I'm fairly certain that I am still just talking to me), that is how I see it, feel it, know it. I realize, I do like pretty ideas. I worry that what is beautiful to me, will be seen as wispy, and saccharine to others. Well I guess there is no point in worrying about it, it doesn't change anything, and I am who I am. And the stories are what they are, and I need to write them as they are, and then maybe after they are done, I could write something else, that would appeal to people. Oh, part of me just said, no, I will write the way I feel, the way the stories are revealed, craft I do intend to improve, but sentimental, eh I wont fix it, that will stay. Oh, well, I guess I shouldn't think of being a published writer as my goal, just think of writing out these stories the best I can. And if I don't like them, if they don't ring true to me, then they are to be changed.
oh I have to go, I am missing Anderson and Medium.
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