Writer Unboxed

I still remember the day, years ago now, when I sat with some critique partners and one of them said, “The little voices came to me last night. I was sitting there, eating dinner, when all of a sudden some chick inside my mind started talking about her problems.” I was fascinated and a little freaked out by what she told us. It was like tuning a crackling radio, she explained, trying to listen closely to what this imaginary woman told her about her troubles. “Come in, Houston, come in,” she joked. I wondered if she might be mentally ill.

Until it happened to me, months later. My characters, it seems, don’t like to “talk” to me over dinner; they prefer the shower. And then they talk and talk and talk…

I’ve taken a mini break from my wip. I’m not sure why the enthusiasm drained so suddenly from me for my story, but I have a few suspicions: my vacation, coming down with a pretty rough case of strep throat, having to give up my hopes of reaching the 50K mark for NaNo, Christmas shopping demands, etc… As I’m sure many of you know, it can get a little depressing–not writing–but at the same time I think it’s important sometimes to listen to what your body and mind are telling you: Take a break. Just do it. Listening to this voice, allowing my muse to refill her writerly gas tank, may even prevent a more serious case of writer’s block, who knows. Bottom line is the same, though: I’d willingly–almost gratefully–put myself in the equivalent of a writer’s semi-comatose state.

Or so I thought until the little voices woke this past weekend.

I think I stoked my writer’s brain while viewing the director’s notes for the film Eight Below, after watching the film again with my family. I loved listening to Frank Marshall’s editing process and began taking notes about his decisions (to cut scenes because they told things where he’d shown them well enough later, recognizing that his focus had been too strong on a sub-plot or that he’d been taking too long to get to the Real Story or that his tone had been off point, etc…)

The next day the voices kicked in. Some were the voices of my still groggy characters–”hello, remember us?”–but some were new. Like my former critique partner once said, it required really listening, tuning in to what was being said. I am a young man from the 1920s, an organist who plays background music while others watch a silent film in a cold theatre. I am an improviser and am quite good. Some people come to the theatre just to hear me play, or hear how my music will change the feel of a film from night to night. I do not speak, but I am not a true mute. I am injured.

How? I ask. He hasn’t told me yet, but I have a few suspicions.

I think this character has potential, though I won’t let him derail me from my wip. (I swear this oath right now to my critique partners, who will slay me if I do otherwise.) Still, isn’t it interesting how you can take a break from writing, but it doesn’t really take a break from you? How you can send your wip and characters into a deep slumber but your writer’s blood still flows strong through your veins, simmering with new ideas?

Maybe the season is starting to spin its magic for me, finally, because today I can’t help believing that being a writer, for all its many challenges, is a wonderful life.

Write on, all, and enjoy those little voices.

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