randomly randomly twitching its tail
Sep. 4th, 2012 09:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lagilmanWorking on the new proposal this morning - tweaking existing words and adding new flourishes - and I'm amazed again at how things unfold between brain and page, as though my fingers know what's going on before my conscious thought can get there.
I deleted some foreshadowing, thinking that it would run better as a total surprise to both the reader and the POV character, and came to a spot three pages later where the lack of foreshadowing turned two sentences from a confirmation-of-events to a lovely little thundercrack of realization.
I know that many folk think that you're either a plotter or a pantser, that you either know where everything is going or you are writing blind-and-hopeful, but the truth for me, at least, is that a living story, like anything else, has both direction and surprise. It's the twined two together that give a story energy, coiled and sprung.
This return I left my bags at the door, ate my terrifying dinner, put myself under the shower, and almost fell asleep there. I didn’t rest easily in hotels, never when I was on the job, but this was a safe place. This was home.
I was in bed, asleep, before the water had entirely dried off my skin. And, for the first time since the desert, I dreamed.
I deleted some foreshadowing, thinking that it would run better as a total surprise to both the reader and the POV character, and came to a spot three pages later where the lack of foreshadowing turned two sentences from a confirmation-of-events to a lovely little thundercrack of realization.
I know that many folk think that you're either a plotter or a pantser, that you either know where everything is going or you are writing blind-and-hopeful, but the truth for me, at least, is that a living story, like anything else, has both direction and surprise. It's the twined two together that give a story energy, coiled and sprung.
This return I left my bags at the door, ate my terrifying dinner, put myself under the shower, and almost fell asleep there. I didn’t rest easily in hotels, never when I was on the job, but this was a safe place. This was home.
I was in bed, asleep, before the water had entirely dried off my skin. And, for the first time since the desert, I dreamed.
