It’s been a sunny few days here in Vancouver. If you’re at all familiar with the area, then you’ll know that this is pretty weird. It’s generally delightfully grey and drizzly until about June, when we’ll get two months of sun, and then more grey. Anyways, I’ve spent most of my time outdoors, rather than in, and have been bad at getting all of my writing finished. I’m sure the feeling will pass and I’ll be back to the ol’ grindstone before I know it. Oh, also, I had the best gelato ever today, no really, it won both the critics and people’s choice in a Florence gelato festival. I’ll make a point of posting the link at the end of today’s writings.
So, the last two blogs have been rather different from one another. The first was more or less me rambling for a page and a half, and the second was a far more writing intensive bit of writing. I suppose the second post really does have more of a reason to be on this site, seeing as it really should be about writing, but then again, it’s also about me, and my brain. So, to strike a middle ground, I’m going to be talking about how I am reacting to a semi new writing emotion(?) that I’ve encountered.
I came up with the idea for this post just this afternoon while I was sitting out on a restaurant patio with Charlotte in the sun. We were enjoying a couple drinks and chatting about our usual stuff, mostly lifting weights, when I brought up Dreamstate II. I’d mentioned how far along I had come working on it, especially considering the bit of a break I took in the middle to deal with From Ash (coming soon). She seemed surprised that it was going so well—it was then that I said that I felt a bit like the story was getting away from me. She seemed intrigued at this concept, or at the very least, she feigned intrigue to flatter my author self.
What I mean when I say that the story is getting away from me is not that I don’t have control of it, but that I tend to forget where I am or how far along I’ve come. This happened near the end of the first Dreamstate, Dark Eyes, when I hit a good two or three week stride when I nailed my 2000+ word count a day. I knocked out about half the book in just a few weeks, but my brain was still somewhere in the middle. I feel the same way right now, where it’s as if my thoughts are only halfway made up on what’s going to be happening to the characters, and how their interactions might shape the events. The problem, though, is that I’ve already written these chapters—lots of them. I suppose I can always go back later if my head catches up with my hands and decides it hates what I’ve done and redo it, but I don’t think I’ll need to. I like the work that I’ve done, and I think the story is coming along quite nicely. The characters are developing well, the worlds are new and interesting (at least to me), and the plot-series is sailing along quite smoothly. Everything is really quite nice; I just don’t necessarily feel like I’m involved, even though I’m doing all the work.
I don’t know if other people, when they write, feel the same way about their projects, but it’s a strange sensation. I took a couple days off to play in the sun this weekend, like I mentioned before, but I don’t know if it’s really helped. I’m charging back into the writing mix come tomorrow morning, but I’m not sure if I feel any more in control than I did on Friday. Maybe I just need to sit down with my journal and cram, or on the other spectrum, maybe the story just needs to get away from me a bit to grow on its own. Once again I find myself on unfamiliar territory making it up as I go, but I suppose it’s worked out so far, so I might as well just keep on faking it.
Oh, also, the gelato place—if you ever find yourself in Vancouver: http://www.bellagelateria.com/