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<\/a><\/p>\nI have been here before and it is the death knell for my work. I try to nose out of the story tunnel, see a needle of light that tells me the end is near but I refuse to buy it. I fear I don’t have enough story and scramble back into the dark where I plot and scheme some more. I become frightened and can’t handle the light. I want everyone to go away. I dream of gaunt banker types smirking at my folly and dream again until I knit up a tangle of plot. Then I go back to the beginning, the middle to make it jibe with the new information I have added. In so doing I remove some of the earlier work, often the parts that flow most nimbly.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n I have spent August trying out new and more lavish scenarios, almost but not quite dismissing the story that I had set up. I lost trust and didn’t allow the story to lead and surprise me. I tried to save my best ideas for ‘later,’ forgetting that when I put out my best, better follows, logically, organically out of the story’s natural forward movement.\u00a0 I stopped listening and then finally, stopped writing. And I have been here before. More than once.<\/p>\n There are many ways to cope, but for me, I think I will always have to outrun these demons, keep moving, serpentine through the landmines.<\/p>\n Here are a couple of things that may work for others, but are deadly for me:<\/strong><\/p>\n 1 – Correct as I go, constantly returning to earlier sections to enlarge a character’s role or improve on setting.<\/em><\/p>\n 2 –\u00a0 Outline extravagantly – some do this so thoroughly that if they popped in a word or two on each point it would form a sentence. Said sentences\u00a0 form paragraphs, then chapters until the book is done. Great, but I suspect that this would take me a decade or so. In fact I’m six years into one myself.<\/em><\/p>\n This week I erased the new plot points, and returned to what I most love, what haunts me about this story: Elle, my main gal, the meat and the bones of this read. I admit, I am inordinately fond of Elle. I am her personal stalker. In fact I may be so interested in her that when I finally put this novel to bed she may wake up between the covers of another book. Hmmm . . To do that I have to keep her alive and I am not sure what will become of her.\u00a0 Because someone is out to get her and she looks a lot like these ladies:<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n And someone else looms in the background but they don’t want anyone to know so won’t let me take a picture.<\/p>\n But I am back on track, on a smoother ride, another 10,000 words to the good, coughing and sputtering to the finish line. Not quite like this little guy who is happily out of the tunnel, but not in danger of conking out for the moment.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Anyhow, to stretch the metaphor, I want to provide my readers with a good ride. In fact that’s how I described it to my sister. I told Katie that I hope someone gives me a blurb, calling this novel “a rollicking good ride” which is something I would have cringed to hear in my MFA days!<\/p>\n Don’t think, write. Sometimes, think, write.<\/p>\n Last month I dodged a bullet and almost changed the thing that I love the most about my story. I had a breakthrough after being reduced to praying about the story, begging for direction and then suddenly it was there: my ending. And there’s nothing as sweet as writing when you know where it’s going. But the muse only shows up for me when I show up for her or him for days on end. That’s the deal.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n