We always want the pleasure piece that most often, we cannot have.
Like tonight, I went to bed exhausted, which always means I'm going to bed with cold feet. I mean, the house was cold, to be sure. So, I did what any normal person would do and layered my blankets fuzzy, down, fuzzy. I was cozied up. And then I woke up hot. So, I'm awake, blogging. Because humans are fickle.
I found that after I kicked the blankets around for about 13 minutes and 24 seconds that if I took off the top blanket, kicked my leg out and wrapped the (cold) down blanket around the warm fuzzy one, placing the cool blanket against my legs and the hot blanket trapped somewhere in the down, that I was suddenly...just right. Exactly the opposite of where I had been two hours before.
That's why I like writing. I can change my mind 18 different times, draft it out, erase it, rewrite it, and then draft it out again, only to cut that scene and write something completely different, and the shade of truth becomes a different shade of reality.
Maybe I'm just delirious.
It is 2 am, after all.
When I wake up again, I have to get back to ripping off the veneer and finding out what's been crawling under the surface in order to get at what matters.
In writing, it all matters.
Perfectly laid plans often go awry.
I'm relaxing in a hotel, prepared to write, but enjoying the coffee and the calm far too much to engage my brain deeply.
I'm violating all of the writer rules. I immersed myself in my story last week, and haven't been back to it in days. I'm going to lose my mojo, if I have not already.
But the coffee is good and the calm is quiet, and writing is really hard work.
How badly do I really want this? I want it badly. This blog may be my warmup. It may be my day. I'm not sure yet. But for another five minutes. I'm going to let William Faulkner's, Ernest Hemingway's, Stephen King's, and Michael Connelly's advice bits remind me of what I should be doing, until I'm ready to do it.
It's a beautiful morning. Maybe it's time to get cracking.
Peace out, homies. Have a good one, wherever you are.
The danger in using people you know and love or once loved as characters in your murder mystery is that you must analyze them...how would they speak, think, act? And what if they are considered a suspect or a culprit? It's a curious thing, this writing thing. I am dreading writing a scene between two people I care about very much, but I don't think I've made my audience care about them. I could write anything I wanted. I could make the audience hate them. I could make the audience love them, and weep when I kill them off. There is so much power in words. So much power in the art of storytelling. I love it.
But back to my point. Danger. People. Murder. Mystery. And the art of avoiding being sued. Dare I publish that on this blog? Does anyone read this blog any longer? I feel isolated, and the murder in my story is a fascinating way to examine that. Don't think I'm the victim. I'm actually a part of each and every single one of these characters. That is probably the most fascinating piece...that I do empathize with each of them. Each person contains a piece of me as the author. What a trip.
The End of December. That is my plan. You can buy it then. Hey. Maybe that's a great title.
Love you, boo. Have a great day, wherever you are.
Wanted: a good set of sentences to grab you from the depths of the internet. I keep trying to catch your eye.