I have good news to share with you, dear blog reader, if you’ll indulge me! Since my last post – Back Story – When should it be Front Story?, I decided to move the large slab of back story to the start of my novel. I’d like to say it was due to an epiphany that hit me whilst doing something unrelated to writing – sitting on the toilet maybe, or brushing my teeth.
That sounds all arty and authory doesn’t it? A slither of inspiration sparking inside my noggin at a strange moment. But no. There wasn’t a flash of light. No sudden realisation or breakthrough. No moment of clarity or beam of light through the clouds. And there have been a lot of clouds over the UK recently.
Just lots of thinking, mulling, ruminating (procrastinating to a fair degree) and churning it over like sizzling word noodles in the wok of my mind. Eww. That sounded quite distasteful.
I cry your pardon.
It simply made sense to have the story all flowing in one direction. The act of highlight, copy and paste (never cut and paste) felt like sabotage. Like I was betraying the God of Stories or at least giving him the finger. Hmm. Maybe I was throwing him (or her, depending on how you view your writing deity) a quirky salute. I’m sure my inner writer is happy with the changes. I know I am.
More than happy. I’m relieved. Over the moon. Joyous. Beaming!
The problem with my back story is that it was just too big. I wanted to tell so much that I was sure it wouldn’t sit well with the reader. It was too much to expect them to put the story on hold and head back for so long…aaaaaand then pick up the pieces, which by then I figured they may have forgotten what was going on. Now I’ve written 2 brand new opening chapters, added some much-needed dialogue and character creation stuff. I still have some bits and pieces that need editing to gel the new start with the rest of the story, but hey, the weight has been lifted and my confidence is back!
Late night writing rocks!
After the copy and paste issue was done – something of a deep breath, hold onto my pants moment – I wrote those 2 new chapters in one night. It was 5am when I looked at the clock. Good job I wasn’t at work the next day! Imaginationland opened its doors, threw on the lights and beckoned me inside. And what a wild ride it was!
I love that feeling when the words pour out of me like punching a hole in a dam wall so the torrent can roar down stream. I was listening to the sound track to Sucker Punch, an awesome movie, kinda quirky but a real visual treat, and the music pumped adrenaline took control of my hands and made them fly over the keyboard.
When the last few words of those chapters landed on the screen I sat in my chair and grinned.
I grinned at the screen.
I leant back and grinned at ceiling.
If I had a mirror I would’ve grinned at my grin.
I was exhausted but so very, very happy. My inner writer wanted to keep on partying till the sun came up, but I was done. I didn’t want to push it further and risk derailing my mojo. It’s still there. The mojo. Waiting. Ready to duck, ready to dive, ready to say it’s glad to be alive.
A big thank you to those who left comments on my previous post, when the dilemma was on a knife-edge and I couldn’t figure which way to slice the pickle, or whatever it is you slice with a knife, tomato or maybe a nice bit of cheese.
Kinda hungry now.
But anyway, thank you kindly dear blog reader, you helped and I’m grateful.
Gotta love writing!
- Character Back Story (destinyseriesbook.wordpress.com)
Linus King, or Lingus Dingus as his meagre collection of friends called him,stared at his journal. The empty pages mocked him. He was scared to put the nib of the pen against the paper because once he started he didn’t know if he could stop. He fought against the urge scrawl words about the darkness that sought to consume him.
Yet as he gripped the pen in his hand he realised he had no choice. He had to write about it. About them. He didn’t want to but he felt compelled to trap his dreams between the pages in desperate hope the nightmares would dial it down for one night. That was all he begged for. A single night of emptiness and solitude. With a shaking hand he touched the nib of the pen to the page.