Sunday, June 19, 2005

Who me?

Several things.

A friend asked elsewhere to someone else, do you ever wilt not being able to get the words? This struck me hard. I have found in the last year, when I have had an abundance of words in many places, that by having this abundance, it has made me value the words even more. It does pain me when I can’t find them, when I want or need them. When I can feel the word just out of my grasp. It really is physical. While writing this story (more on that in a moment) I know what I want to say, plot hasn’t been the hard part, but how to say it how I know I want to say it, is so hard. When you read others writings and see the beauty, see the coming together of the words so that the words become invisible to the ideas, I want my story to be like that. I know it isn’t anywhere there yet, maybe will never be, but yes, I wilt. I can understand completely why people give up writing, or drawing. To stand in front of the greats, people who have shook your world to the core, and say, "Here is mine," well, that is harsh. Like Little Cindy Lou Who, who was no more than two, handing the Grinch the Christmas ornament. Like that. That makes you put away the paper and pen, lock it in a drawer, throw it in the fire, toss it in the trash. You’ve heard the stories. I can understand that. But in my naïveté, I keep going. I think if I weren’t naïve about this a little, I wouldn’t do it. But what the hell. I have failed before, so what? Been there done, that to employ a very over used cliché. Now on the other hand, if I were to succeed in this, well, haven’t done that before. That would be nice wouldn’t it?

So research. Yesterday I was able to get quite a bit of the back story written about poor Chad. Alcoholic, soccer ball kicking, manslaughter goal making 11 year old. Yes, I am still using his name, but I haven’t decided it he will die by hanging yet. That joke might not be sensitive enough to what is happening in the story. For the time being, I will keep that idea percolating, just to see what happens. Right, research. Yesterday I researched EMT’s, body disposal, small town police procedures, paint cans, and wine cellars. All of this just for one short chapter of back story to be inserted somewhere. I haven’t decided where I am going to put this yet. It needs to be placed appropriately, because it explains how Trapper, in part, ended up where he is. Butterfly chaos. It will float around until it tells me where it should be. For some reason, don’t know why, allowing the floating of these bits seems to work well. I think inserting myself into the process wrecks it. Much laughing here. I seem to be able to rewrite something into oblivion. Gotta stay out of it.

Thanks for reading!!

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