A few posts ago I wrote about being stuck in the midst of writing the first draft of my new story. There are days when I write and it is just drudgery. There are days when almost no words emerge. There are days when the story just…lies there and has no pulse.
This was not any of those days.
Today was one of the magic days when the locks open, when the knots fall apart, when the sails fill with a wind heading straight toward home. My fingers don’t stop moving the whole time and, I think, I have some form of content smile on my face. (I write in solitude, so there’s no one to confirm this point.)
It felt like a strange place to get stuck, at the time. The two main characters are sitting on a jetty at a beach, trading painful tales of their romantic history. Getting to know one another. He said his stuff. No problem. Then she got up and all hell broke loose.
And she’s mute. And he barely knows any ASL yet. So, one might think, her comments might be brief. There’s only so much she’d write in the sand to supplement the ASL he does know.
Ah, but there’s the rub. She’s the one with the complicated back story. And, for the story to work structurally, many things go unsaid or are implied or are simply misunderstood by him at the time. There are holes in the quilt. But the holes are part of the pattern. So, I had to let things play out a bit, figure some things out, and then compress it all into what will actually (I think) be there in the final version.
All of that happened today, which got today off to a very satisfying and upbeat start.