Part of the reason, I think, that it takes me so long to rewrite
something is because when I write it, I only write the story. Here's
the hors d'oeuvre, maybe something light to keep things going, try
this meat and before you finish it there are vegetables of course,
are you ready for something hot and sweet as a desert? There, wasn't
that a good meal? What else could you want?
Oh, that's right. I need to put all of that in dishes before I serve
it. Those clothes weren't expensive, were they?
I tend to not make an outline of a story until I'm either done or
almost done, and even then I only make it to get all the time-lines
straight and make sure I haven't had someone die before they do a
chain-saw ballet. Maybe at one point I'll try outlining something
before writing it, but sitting here writing this, just the thought of
deciding how a story is going to develop more than two or three
points ahead of time feels like getting locked into a box and mailed
to France, but for real. I can feel a small space getting smaller
with me in it, being dragged and shoved to someplace foreign where I
don't know the language or the people. If someone forgets to put the
right stamps on my box, I'll end up collecting dust in a corner of an
empty building.
You see, the unknown is part of the fun. As I write, I may have some
idea of where I want to end up, but it's only an idea. Half the time
I get there, half the time I discover someplace better to be, and the
third half of the time I find out the spot I once had in mind was
never there in the first place and I have to plan the trip all over
again. It's a journey, one I enjoy taking and inviting you along for
the company. In real life I try to plan trips ahead of time, because
I don't like getting lost. When I write, I love getting lost.
So when I'm done with the first draft of a story, or even better, a
book, it's got no dish to sit in. It's a big pile of meats,
vegetables, and scoops of ice cream, sitting together on the table.
I've taken a fun journey, but I've also made a mess. The food needs
dishes, and my story needs a world, a time, someplace to happen where
the people and events can stand out from all the background. It
needs all the things that it isn't, so we can clearly see what it is.
This is where shoplifting comes in handy. The person next to me at
that inconvenient red light has no idea my story even exists, nor do
the three women ahead of me in line at the restaurant I once ate at,
nor do all the people who post remarks online on the websites that I
get my news from. All of these people drive, walk, make conversation
to pass the time, and scratch the backs of their ears when they have
an itch. They have jobs, pasts, love lives, and their own outlooks
on life and death. Their minds are as filled as yours or mine, and
everything they do puts those minds on display. All you have to do
is open your eyes and ears to catch those tidbits that are useful.
Now there is a line between picking up useful tidbits like how those
ladies refer to their medications, and violating someone's personal
space. When I shoplift words, phrases, or mannerisms from people I
do it hit and run style, and I do it in public where I reduce my
chance of getting sued. If you do it some other way you might just
find out what the stalking laws in your area are like. Remember,
you're not the one who decides when you're too close, the other
person is, and they might be toting mace or a pistol.
(Oh, and if I get a call from your
lawyer, asking me to appear as a witness for you? I'm deleting this
post, and when I call him back I'll pretend I only speak Russian.
Привет !)
Remember, the point is to add to the
story.
The point is to write.
