The Story heads to the lab

The story I was writing was never, well, it was never actually supposed to be a story. It started out as just some exaggerated rendition of my state of mind one day, but then as I added paragraphs, it seemed to want to wander, like an eager dog pulling on a leash.

So, I gave it more line and figured, "Fine, this will be a fun little piece that I will wrap up in tomorrow's blog." Well, as you know, that didn't happen. The more I wrote, the more it just seemed to grow out of control.

I wrestled with how to bring the story to a close in a fourth installment. Unfortunately, all the options were rather trite. I hate suicide because that is simply not an end. That is cheating the reader, just as in real life, it cheats survivors. Plus, in a good tragedy, the intentions of the protagonist to control his circumstances eventually led to his own demise. We struggle against futility. Hopefully something is learned in the process. Or by watching the whole messy affair.

Anyway, once I let go of trying to come up with an ending, and instead started focusing on the character, his story started emerging. Instead of trying to splice on appendages, like a Frankenstein, I started asking questions. What started emerging is a powerful story. I hope I can do it justice with words.

So, this is all just an apology for leaving you with a cliff hanger.

I have been spending the day doing research on his love of yore. And the other characters. Sort of like meeting someone new. You want to know their whole story right away. But you can't absorb it all anyway that quickly. You keep going back and asking, "Wait, let's get back to this thing that happened to you. How did that make you feel? How did that impact your life?" And you are off on a new tangent, and never got to follow the first one.

then there are the characters on the periphery. Of course I have to get to know them, but what a bore. Their impact on the whole story is so minimal, and I am much more excited about these three main people over here. It's sort of like being at the wedding party, and forcing yourself to go over to the parents' table and sit down and actually listen to their stories of how THEY met so many years ago. Meanwhile you just want to go back to that sexy bridesmaid and get her more punch and ply her about the reference she made about her and the bride being "intimately connected."

So, then when I think I got it, I write down this exercise; a scene that the character told me. I write it down and then read it aloud.

"What the hell is that?" says my character. "That sounds like an obit. Scheesh, friggin reporters! That's not my story. Those aren't my words. That's some school report about what happened to me."

I hate this part of story telling. The inspiration phase is so sexy. Now all this works starts.