I wrote more of "Secrets" last night, and the Christmas morning bits have become a sort of scene in their own right. It feels odd to be writing this story again, perhaps since I let it slide for several months this winter, perhaps because I've been spending so much time working in a different fandom (Naruto), and perhaps just because it's been almost three years since I started writing "Secrets." I'm stumbling a bit in my own story, like I'm a stranger in my own imagination.
Oh, it'll read just as well as any of the other chapters, I'm sure, but it feels different as I put the words together.
Sometimes when I write, everything comes together and I know that the story is going to say what I want it to say, be what I want it to be, and be true, even if it may not be the best writing ever, or the most well-constructed plot, or particularly brilliant dialogue. Other times, the words flow easily and I'm just having fun, even if I don't feel particularly inspired. There are times when writing is like pulling teeth -- sometimes because I can't figure out how to say what happens, and sometimes because I just don't know what happens next. Sometimes both at once, which is usually when I take a break for a few days until I can work past the roadblock in my subconscious.
Right now, though, the words are coming without much trouble, and I can figure out what happens without beating my head against a wall, but it's not all that fun, and the story isn't pulling together and saying "This way, now, like that." It's just words on a screen, and they're rambling. They'll get me where I want to go, and I know from experience that people reading later won't really see any difference between words I write this way and words I write other ways, but I know.
And I want the fun back. Or the rightness. Or even the brick wall, because at least then I know that somewhere in the back of my mind I have a plan important enough that I can't go against it.
Just now, I'm not connecting with my story. And I hate that.
Because when the story isn't in me, and I'm not in the story, it feels hollow.
Oh, it'll read just as well as any of the other chapters, I'm sure, but it feels different as I put the words together.
Sometimes when I write, everything comes together and I know that the story is going to say what I want it to say, be what I want it to be, and be true, even if it may not be the best writing ever, or the most well-constructed plot, or particularly brilliant dialogue. Other times, the words flow easily and I'm just having fun, even if I don't feel particularly inspired. There are times when writing is like pulling teeth -- sometimes because I can't figure out how to say what happens, and sometimes because I just don't know what happens next. Sometimes both at once, which is usually when I take a break for a few days until I can work past the roadblock in my subconscious.
Right now, though, the words are coming without much trouble, and I can figure out what happens without beating my head against a wall, but it's not all that fun, and the story isn't pulling together and saying "This way, now, like that." It's just words on a screen, and they're rambling. They'll get me where I want to go, and I know from experience that people reading later won't really see any difference between words I write this way and words I write other ways, but I know.
And I want the fun back. Or the rightness. Or even the brick wall, because at least then I know that somewhere in the back of my mind I have a plan important enough that I can't go against it.
Just now, I'm not connecting with my story. And I hate that.
Because when the story isn't in me, and I'm not in the story, it feels hollow.