Magic Happens

Kind of a long post today, on 40K day, because the overlap between fantasy and reality continues to amaze me.

This morning, I could not get started. I sat down to write and had no idea where to go. My characters just stood there, arms crossed, staring back at me. I got up, washed dishes, called home, sat down again. Still nothing. The plot flat as a post-mortem EKG. Things outside the novel didn’t help either. Events of the week had left me stirred up and unhappy with my own company. We were all in need of a change of venue.

I headed out to a coffee shop. First thing, I see one of my characters, the one with the Great Dane and the little mutt, halfway down the block. Thing is, he and his dogs are not one of my based-on-real-person characters. I thought he was pure fiction but there he is. Perhaps this is an encouraging sign from the muse.

At Maxfield’s, I grab a coffee, plop myself down, and plug in the headphones. I am determined not to get up until I reach 40K. I poke at my characters, elbow them in the ribs, place banana peels in their paths, try my own angst onto theirs to see if there’s a fit. Somehow, somewhere, something sparks. Words start to flow, dialogue emerges out of nowhere, truths began to be told. And I push past 40K!

Walking home, I amuse myself by pretending—atleast for this month—that I am a ‘novelist’ and thinking that actually, it’s kind of a lonely of way to make a living.

I round the corner by my house. Coming towards me: a skinny, grey-bearded homeless guy is pushing a shopping cart full-to-overflowing. We nod at each other. “You’ve got a lot of colorful stuff there.” I say in passing, impressed by his bounty. Twenty yards later, “Hey lady!” I turn and look back. He’s walking towards me, holding out a fancy mylar balloon with streamers and stars and the words “Happy Birthday” across the middle. “I’ve got two of these, maybe you know someone who’s having a birthday today.” I thank him and smiling, turn away thinking that’s me: today, I’m giving birth . . . to a novel, to a self, to possibilities.

I can’t help but wonder. Was he real? Would I have seen him had I not spent the morning writing fiction? Perhaps fantasy, rather than being an escape from reality, nurtures it. Perhaps creativity makes magic happen for real. It did today.

On the Rebound

Yesterday, what I swear will be my lowest daily word count was logged. Today we're on the upswing again. I visited with my people for 832 words. You wouldn't think that was much but it was enough to let them know that I'm still here and were going to get this party started again on Tuesday, full out to the end!

And lest you think I'm making this whole thing up (which I am, the novel's content not the novel itself) here's a little tidbit that contains the 25,000th word. (remember: editing comes later).

“Allen’s a bit too much of a dick for that.” he found himself saying out loud as he placed one more wine bottle into the array. He pulled out his tire bouchon, the one he’d found in the antique store in the Marias during the last wine buying tour he and Allen had made in the summer. With deft hands, he flipped open the little knife and sliced through the lead foil around the cork. Snapping the knife back in place he pulled out the corkscrew and lever and made quick work of twisting it down deep into the cork and then pulling it free. Now that bottle could breathe too.

Slow and steady

OK, I know the word count was a bit low today, but it was a big day. Lot's going on in the outside world (that is the world outside the novel) including Prop.8 rally in Seattle and ongoing delightful visit with friends.

It's alright though. 804 very good words today representing a headlong dive into the plot. I'm still on track and intend to spend heavy time at keyboard tomorrow while my friends bike.

I feel good, I feel strong, I feel curious about how this will all turn out :)

P.S. Thanks to all the notes of support. VERY MUCH appreciated!!!