I had a bit of an epiphany/Moment of Truth the other day. After being swamped with work (and feeling a bit lazy due to being in a lull), I finally sat down and started working on the novella (yes, that novella).
Now, I had read Stephen King’s “On Writing” not too long ago, and he talks about not using plot so much as creating characters with problems, and they work those problems out. So I took some of this in mind. I have a general idea of how I want the story to end, but nothing is set in stone. It’s more of a “what would he/she do?” in a situation. It requires putting on the skin of that character, to see everything through their eyes. I won’t say this is a painful process, but it most certainly draining. But I love that feeling.
So, I sat down and started writing. It felt good. And cathartic. And I felt that feeling of apprehensiveness was pretty much gone. I studied this feeling with great interest. I was her, and he was, well…him. But for the first time ever, I was her, but he wasn’t him. He was the character. And the words flowed. Because I no longer felt a sense of embarrassment. It’s hard to explain, but to me, this is more than just a story. It was therapy. But perhaps now, I no longer need this as therapy, but the story needs to be finished. So it can be buried. the final nail in the coffin (Or, maybe…just maybe…I’ll be invited to the Brooklyn Book Faare, heehee).
I got excited. Was the pain finally over? I wondered. I’ve noticed that those feelings of nostalgia and revenge were gone, almost. And I didn’t even have to ask myself, “How do you know when you’ve let someone go?” Because you’ll just know. There isn’t some checklist for these things.
I dunno. It’s a feeling of lightness, of calmness and clarity.
So yeay for me! I live for these light bulb moment.s