On Sunday afternoon, I sat outside with paper and pen in hand and wrote what I think is the last part of the first section of the novel. The Smiths were playing on the stereo and there was a warm breeze through the tree that I was sitting under. I didn’t even know what time it was. Nor did I care.
That is what I call a perfect day. Five or so hours later, I was exhausted. A good exhausted. Like I’ve gone into the depths of myself, tapped into whatever it is that I call creativity, and came out the other side. I know that this is me.
I notice that many writers talk about the amount of words they are writing, that they have a certain numeric goal to attain. I don’t seem to have this. I wonder if that is because I didn’t know that is how it all worked. But, I think now that maybe it has more to do with the way I decided to approach the writing. Allowing the process to be organic.
The funny thing is, I didn’t even know, at least on a conscious level, that the end of the section was near. Lately, I go to write what I am calling “the break up scene” and I wrote something else – something that is going to make everything all that much more tragic. So, it is that whole, “make a plan and God laughs ” thing. Like life, the writing needs to happen without expectation. You can have a general idea, but unless you let go of the expectation of what you think is going to be, you’ll never be open to the possibilities.
That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t reign it in at some point. Or, that the writing is perfect, for I know that there will be tweaking and editing to do. But, for now, I can say that I accomplished the beginning of something.