A funny thing happens when I get in a writing groove. I begin taking on little pieces of my characters and their lives. I couldn't figure out this morning why I felt so depressed. Then it dawned on me half way through the day I was in character.
It makes sense I guess -- you invent these people out of bits of your reality and perhaps the realities of people close to you You destroy their lives as you must to make their stories compelling. You speak for them. You think for them. And sometimes you kills them. It's easy then to forget sometimes that you AREN'T them.
I might say to myself -- out loud when I'm in the zone -- "you didn't shoot so-and-so in the stomach." Or, "Your husband didn't cheat on you with your sister, because you don't have a sister." (Rest assured I'm not writing a cheesy romance novel. The previous scenarios are illustrative only.)
I lose track of reality sometimes. I'll be talking to myself about something I'm working on and -- OMG -- I'll realize I'm standing in an elevator full of people and everyone is staring at me. No one ever says anything, so I'm never sure "Did I say that out loud?"
I was working on something a few months ago that I couldn't get right. It was so bad I abandoned typing and picked up a spiral notebook hoping the physical act of writing would unscramble things. I was sitting in the courtyard outside my office.
Write.Scribble. Write.
Scribble. Scribble. Scribble.
Write.
Scribble. Scribble. Scribble.
"Dammit to Hell, mother f***er."
I didn't realize I'd said anything until an Armani-suited man who'd been sitting one bench over walked by me slowly and said, "Give 'em Hell."
He must have thought I was practicing for a job interview. Or maybe he thought I was firing someone. It didn't really matter -- I'd been caught talking to myself in public.
I used to keep a headset in my car so I could talk to myself while I was driving and people would think I was on phone. That's how it is when I'm writing. I'm CRAZY. (It's more exciting if you SING the "CRAZY.")
It makes sense I guess -- you invent these people out of bits of your reality and perhaps the realities of people close to you You destroy their lives as you must to make their stories compelling. You speak for them. You think for them. And sometimes you kills them. It's easy then to forget sometimes that you AREN'T them.
I might say to myself -- out loud when I'm in the zone -- "you didn't shoot so-and-so in the stomach." Or, "Your husband didn't cheat on you with your sister, because you don't have a sister." (Rest assured I'm not writing a cheesy romance novel. The previous scenarios are illustrative only.)
I lose track of reality sometimes. I'll be talking to myself about something I'm working on and -- OMG -- I'll realize I'm standing in an elevator full of people and everyone is staring at me. No one ever says anything, so I'm never sure "Did I say that out loud?"
I was working on something a few months ago that I couldn't get right. It was so bad I abandoned typing and picked up a spiral notebook hoping the physical act of writing would unscramble things. I was sitting in the courtyard outside my office.
Write.
Write.
"Dammit to Hell, mother f***er."
I didn't realize I'd said anything until an Armani-suited man who'd been sitting one bench over walked by me slowly and said, "Give 'em Hell."
He must have thought I was practicing for a job interview. Or maybe he thought I was firing someone. It didn't really matter -- I'd been caught talking to myself in public.
I used to keep a headset in my car so I could talk to myself while I was driving and people would think I was on phone. That's how it is when I'm writing. I'm CRAZY. (It's more exciting if you SING the "CRAZY.")
Comments
Post a Comment
I showed you mine -- it's your turn now.