It's very similar to directing your dreams. You pile into bed, pillows just so, cuddle down with your cuddle-cat, real or toy, and just before you turn out the light, you set the stage. Where you want to be, with whom, and the basic scene.As you feel yourself slipping into rest, eyes falling shut, limbs heavy, bed starting to spin....however it is you do it, you try to hang onto that scenario, and with any luck at all, in part, this will be involved in your dream...or dreams. But then, as with all things related to sleeping, focus as you might, your dreams may have absolutely nothing to do with anything you wanted to dream about. Or, they might!
It's the same identical thing, when writing. You can write a perfect outline. Have a rock solid ending and some strong idea's as to the plot and motivations as you move your characters thru the story. But somewhere along the way, a notion hits your fancy that just tickles you to the core,and you go with it, only to write yourself into a corner, taking the whole thing into a direction you hadn't anticipated at all. Of course, you can re-read what you have written, and decide that the story has gone awry...delete,delete,delete, and force yourself back on course, meanwhile you are heartbroken knowing that the words you are taking off the page would have been such a delight to the reader,and you will never find a place to put that particular turn of phrase again, and then sit there for half an hour staring at the page,mentally kicking yourself for not keeping it, and at the same time, trying to re-boot your focus. At this point, finding a way past that point can be one of the hardest things a writer will ever have to do. Almost as difficult as killing off a beloved character, but not quite. After all, they are both, "your baby".
That is when it is time to let go, and drift for a while. Allow yourself the latitude to dream,before hitting the delete button. I save it, set it on the back burner for a while, and go make a cup of coffee or tea, and sit and gaze out my favorite window, and let my imagination take me away from the problem at hand.
This morning, I looked out on a whole new landscape.As I sat there sipping my mocha, I saw a gray pre-winter scene, where only yesterday it had been autumn. All the brightly colored leaves have been raked from the trees by the wind and rain that have prevailed the last three days.Those same winds that have jangled my big wind-chimes on the back porch, and howled around the house and trees, urging the black squirrels along in their final quest for nuts to be sorted and stored. Now my vision to the Avenue is totally unobstructed, there are no shaking limbs festooned by green and colorful fetters to block my sight any more. All that is left are the bare trees, dark and dripping,shaking upraised arms to the sky, tossing their naked tendrils as stiffened hair; no longer in a tender bowing motion to come out and play, but now, rather in the fashion as a warning that now the landscape is an inhospitable one. A still one, where no child plays with a ball, tossing it into the hoop on the corner lot. I can see clearly three blocks now,but other than the wind tossed trees, there is little to see. Stillness greets me, but for the occasional vehicle that drives by, or the few bundled figures staunchly braving the wind and cold,heads down, hands stuffed into pockets. On the next corner,a couple in olive drab parkas, a stride or two apart, carrying their angry words into the icy gusts turn, utter secret blasts to each other, which are quickly caught away by the howling blare,and then their heads go down, and they press on, out of sight. Two corners away, I can see the grocery store parking lot, where a figure in a bright red coat minces along,a light quick step. A lady who shouldn't have worn a thin jacket, and high heels to go shopping, but now must hurry into the store before she freezes. As gray as the scene is, as still as it seems, above all of these black twisted tree limbs and scudding gray clouds, there is a layer of pink and white and blue sky, peeking at me,and up there I catch a sudden glimpse of an eagle, wheeling over the river. His huge wingspan spread out to glide in ever tightening circles as he zeros in on his dinner. Then he stoops,and dives, and he too is gone from sight.
And right about this time, Yon son comes into the Kitchen, and turns on the light,and the fan starts up,and my reverie is over. I blink, and sip from my cup, and find myself refreshed,however reluctant I am to leave my solitary thoughts,still, it had to happen some time.And now, I can make that decision. Alter my focus,and begin again!
OUI?
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