Thursday, June 2, 2011

The People Who Live in My Mind and...Painting Stories #2

A friend of mine said to me today, 'your writing output is crazy lately.' I took that as a compliment. I'll let you in on a not-so-secret-secret: I don't write everyday. I'm not ashamed about that small fact. I don't write everyday because when I do write, I generally produce anywhere from 1000 to 3000 words in a three or four hour period. I can't write at work because the distractions of smacking, gossiping, fussing fellow corporate drones is a bit too much for the muse to ignore.

So I come home, deal with my green, furry and real children, get dinner prepared, catch up on any BDCWB duties I didn't get to during the day and THEN I decompress and finally write. Sometimes, when the muse is in a particularly creative mood, that means all other duties are cast aside. That might mean I'm a bad mama or networker or editor. But I simply can't help it.

Fortuantely, during the past month, the spurts have been wonderful and many. I've revised one short, (nearly there), written an entirely new 4k word short and submitted it in addition to writing three more chapters in my novel. Not bad, I don't think, for a month's work. Bear in mind that on top of all the above, we are renovating on the weekends, visiting family and preparing for the forthcoming week.

I am busy...very busy, but you know what? I still find time for my little spurts. When they come, particularly when they compel me to keep writing, they are, for me, bliss.

My muse puts me into these worlds - these fantastic, grand, eerie, mythical worlds that captivate me...that hold my attention so that all I want is to be there, to live and breathe with these wonderfully flawed people who exist only in my mind.

That's where I am now. My thoughts and attentions are focused completely on my young protagonist and the odd freak that follows her around like a puppy. I am right there with her when she runs from mythical creatures who scare the crap out of her. I'm hunkered down and shivering as she leaves her life behind in a futile search for her mother. My heart skips when she realizes, unexpectedly, that she loves that freakish puppy.

This total immersion doesn't happen with every story I write...God knows I wish it did, but I think it's common with stories we write that have greatest potential. I'm thrilled when that happens, depressed when it doesn't.

So, I guess this post has been pointless, but I just wanted to encourage you to find the story that compels you. My prayer is that you can be immersed in a world of your own design - living lives that shadow those of your characters, even if that immersion doesn't happen every day, it's still nice to visit.

Painting Stories #2

What I got from this image:

It was then- when the road rose up, clear and present, when the winds had died and the light ahead came from a rainbow and not the blazing glare of a bomb - that she remembered hope. She had long forgotten the sensation, but now it came to her and settled over the loss, the danger and covered her heart.


adrienne said...

You are a shiny, shiny rockstar. I love that last passage especially, but you know I'm right there with you for the rest. I'm happy you've been productive--it's a good thing. :)

TS Tate said...

Thank you, bess fran. I love you to pieces.

Elaine Lowe said...

I love the article, and the great passage. Really well done!


Leprechauns don't live at the end of the rainbow, but that doesn't mean a rainbow isn't a gate to another reality. It's not easy passing though one, but when you do all the rules you've ever known are torn asunder.

TS Tate said...

Nice! Love that, honey. Thanks for playing! :)

Tyrone said...

I like this - you're not weird. Just different. It's OK to tap into the world around you, then nestle back in for some kickass productivity. It doesn't have to be drudgery at all.

Judy the Lovely said...

Good stuff...yup...

TS Tate said...

Thanks, Tyrone. Thanks, my Lovely. I appreciate the comments.

Bryan said...

"Between one blink and the next his vision went skewed, his right eye went bad as always, the rainbow's colors muted and the clouds gone dark and ominous. His left eye showed what he'd always seen, a bright shaft of multi-hued light arcing over the road and the shifting grasses. Prophecy always gave him one bitch of a headache."

TS Tate said...