From All Hallows to Candlemas, the weather turns cold, wet, and dark. But beyond then the weather is good enough for writing outside. Sometimes, when it's not False Spring or Fool's Spring or Spring Cleaning.
Okay. I've moved outside to the deck and the new sectional furniture with tea, the writing table and a straw hat to keep the sun out of my eyes. Off to flights of fancy and lexical dexterity. With color and light. And shaking the rust off. And writing a story.
And hummingbirds visiting the fountain. The flash of color over the gurgling fountain. The lavender making a brave comeback after a cold winer and a summer of overwatering. The birds in the sky cry. A killdear, I think. The neighbor's open cable box. That would be a place to hide something in a story. Black wings in the air and I just got cawed at. And the dogs are barking one house over. And the dogs are barking three houses over. And the dogs are barking a block away. And my co-workers are not going to call me on my cell phone today, thank you very much.
And we'll see how well my stomach is doing, because something upset it last night and I'm still feeling off after a 3:30 AM mug of peppermint tea. I'm sure more black tea will help.
I wonder what I should write, because the stories I've started recently have stalled and—Okay, my earbuds have died. Bother. I'll have to use some headphones, which means not wearing my wide-brimmed straw hat. Which means the sun is in my eyes. And my face will get sunburned, which will make my impending old man wrinkles worse.
Let's get back into the flow. Really. Here we go. Let's just write. Here we go. Yes. Let's start with a character. Because we enjoy this. And writing is fun. And the words will flow off of my fingertips and into the readers' brains.
...Brains.... I have submitted this logorrhea for your reading pleasure. It's words desperately in search of a plot. I need more tea.
Right. A character. Here we go. Let's go. Undoubtedly a family member will call with some kind of family emergency. But they haven't yet, so seize the moment. Even though at any second the phone could ring, heralding a ninety minute conversation that could have been an email.
No, no! Don't look back. Don't look forward to interruptions that haven't happened yet. Just keep writing.
The setting.... The olive tree held up leaves against the noon-time sun. How about two trees? Jill? Pat? Chris?... Chris sa—Lord Almighty, the Child has applied his cologne, possibly with a bucket, which is now wafting through his open window and settling in the back of my throat. What the hell is the point of writing outside when your family opens all the doors and windows in the house and all the distractions follow you there?
Okay. Back to the scene. And Writing. Which I Enjoy Very Much.
Do the things you love, they said.
My husband is now spraying Scotchgard onto the outdoor pillow slipcovers, and that is wafting over from the garage, where it settles next to the cologne in the back of my throat.
Maybe I'll just write an essay about art instead.
During a Leveling Up In Bad-Ass scene, the archery-master grandma tells the movie sidekick, "If you aim at nothing, you hit nothing." Special effects fighting, archery, and magic follow in pyrotechnic glory, but her action-movie words of wisdom are the story's heart for me.
So. We're going to write. And hit a story.
The character: Tim. The antagonist: Jill. The question...
The problem writing character driven stories is that I'm more interested in setting or story question or poetry than I am in character. I think this makes me an extroverted sociopath or something.
Augh! Character! Tim wants to get to point A, and he does.
The Quest....
Oops. I was staring off into space.
Character! ...All he wanted... was some tea, which has gone cold.
I'm sure there a metaphor in there, somewhere.
