05 March 2007

Gloriously No Longer Stuck

In trying to describe the writing process, and what happens in my head, I'm totally lost on how to explain how I got unstuck. I was stuck for about a week, editing, editing, editing, and staring at the screen, trying to figure out how to move forward. Then I'd jump away from that, visit the forums, and come back to it, to stare blankly again at a point in the story that just couldn't seem to move on. It was very frustrating.

The book, as I have said, is almost all that I think about. How to make it better. How to improve a scene. How to make the reader see the same thing that I'm seeing in my imagination. I've told a bunch of people that I'm writing a book, hell, I've told the whole world, potentially, here. But it isn't all that I talk about, most of the time I don't mention it unless someone else brings it up.

Yesterday, I was on the forums, as usual, with about 6 tabs open on Firefox, and I got a phone call telling me that it was time to go. I gave the book one last look and signed out of all the forums, going downstairs and getting into the car. My mother had come to pick me up, my dad and DH were working on a project at my dad's office. The office is about 15-20 minutes from my home, and as we drove, we talked about the weather and the project the guys are working on, and I was staring out the window, thinking about the book. My mother's been asking to read it, and avidly interested about what it is about; I'm not ready to share it just yet, I've told her over and over. (Sorry! Not yet, either!) Seemingly, though, out of the blue, she asked me how it was going, and I told her about being stuck, and gave her some details, for the very first time, of what it is about. I told her about how I couldn't figure out how to move from where I was to the next plot twist, and as I was telling her about it, I just got a sudden flash of inspiration that if I simply went back and re-wrote from a certain point, changing a few details, the story would move forward naturally.

When I talk about knitting, I often say that my fingers itch to work on something; that I get this urge to have the yarn in my hands. With the writing, I'm feeling something similar, that I have a NEED to get in front of a keyboard and get cracking. Perhaps this is a manifestation of my OCD, I dunno, but when we got to my dad's office, I wanted to run right to a computer to work on it immediately.

The plan, however, was to leave the office and go to dinner. But since the plan is not often what happens, the boys were still working, and my mother and I stood around for a while, waiting for them. When I could see that it wasn't going to just be a few more seconds, (They were working on a car, did I mention that? No? Well, now you know.) I pushed myself up from the bumper of my dad's truck, and I told my mother, "I need to write. Now."

And I ran up the stairs to the office portion of the building, without a further word to anyone. I got about 10 minutes of clacking happily away on the keyboard before they yelled up from the garage that they were ready to go. But I'm unstuck! And I know what to do, where to go!

The Internet is such an amazing thing. I don't know if I've mentioned before that I'm writing the book inside of Google Documents, which means that I can work on it from any computer in the world that is connected to the Internet. So I'm not limited to the desktop at home; I can work on it wirelessly on my laptop at a Starbucks, I can work on it at my dad's office. And I can share it with anyone in the world that has a Google account, when I am ready to do that. Gotta love Google.

Now, if I could only dedicate more time every day to actually working on it, it might be in a bookstore near you soon.

One other thing to share today......

Apparently, I'm not evil enough to be banned in China. I saw this on Aunty Marianne's Blog, Tomato and Basil Sandwiches, and like her, I am much disappointed by the fact that I'm not enough of a rabble-rouser to be banned. Guess I'm less of a punk anarchist than I thought. Bummer.

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