Speculative Fiction
Biblical Worldview
Biblical Worldview
Pressing through...
|
While working on my current novel today, the plot took an unexpected turn. Here, I thought I was in control. Yet when my fingers typed and the change suddenly occurred, I shouted, “Why did I do that?” Now I have to reconfigure the outcome. More details to sort through and write. I had presumed I was home free and nearing the finish line. Stories sometimes have minds of their own.
2 Comments
 Ahead of me in a store’s checkout line, a conversational clerk asked two young women, sisters perhaps, “What do you do?” One bubbly answered, “I’m an interior decorator.” While the other in contrast sardonically responded, “I’m a writer, it’s complicated.” I chuckled under my breath. Because I am a writer, I know “it’s complicated” could mean a variety of things maybe even all of the following. 1) It’s difficult to make a living as a writer though it’s your number one passion, 2) carving out a niche sometimes seems impossible, 3) the world doesn’t take you seriously until you have enough titles or experience for proof (especially true if you work from home), 4) you relate to people better with written words rather than spoken and so keep outward responses uninviting and compact, and 5) you don’t just “do” writing you eat, sleep, and breathe it. “What do you do?” is a loaded question for a writer, especially a novelist. The answer is equally loaded. Everything you experience in life is fodder to process for potential stories. There is no vacation from writing; it is not a 9 to 5 job. Even on vacation, you are thinking about the next stage of your plot. Not to mention, the oddity of the profession can creep in, threatening to expose the fact that you’re not always aware of speaking aloud dialogue in public places by make-believe characters from whom you never want to part. That’s messed up. And perfectly acceptable. The rest of the world may never understand. Writers don’t just do. They are. So be.  The deeper the darkness, the deeper the awareness of grace.
From where has God brought you? A writer, I often prefer stepping away from safely bubbled literature into something rawer, more tragic and real. Drawn to the psychological divergence of the night season, it's not quite the night season of temporary circumstances - but the powerful light near the end that beckons. Light appears brighter as you step from the shadows. Grasp that light tightly with newfound gratitude...I do every time. There is a sacred purpose for everything, even literature bordering a darker side. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. What then? Within this framework, one can hear HIS voice distinctly calling, “Child, come home,” whispering, “child, be healed,” shouting, “Child, I forgive you.” This is the way, walk ye in it… From where has God brought you? The deeper the darkness, the deeper the awareness of Grace. My horse-based contemporary romance novel I wrote a few years back, Madeleine's Ranch, is currently being promoted on Riding & Writing. As a novel often will reflect an author’s personal experience, perception, or interest, I thought I’d also include a few pics here of some these great loves in life…
 This season, I had the privilege of donning my ballet shoes to dance with the liturgical lyrical ballet group, Solum Deum, under the direction of my friend and gifted choreographer, Tess Dempsey (two named “Tess” in one group, imagine that!). It became an interesting contrast in my mind when, in one of the dances, we represented holy angels. Considering that one of the three novels I am currently working on has to do with the Nephilim, descendants of the fallen angels, and because of that research and the fact that, often, I have to dive into dark subject matter, the elements of this dance were refreshing. A refreshing experience on many levels! I continue looking upward and forward.  There was an interesting experiment put forth by the novelists of ChiLibris about ten years ago. The trial was launched from the common dreaded question: WHAT IF SOMEONE STEALS MY IDEA? The result grew into a collection of 21 short stories, one by each of the 21 participating writers, entitled, What the Wind Picked Up: Proof That a Single Idea Can Launch a Thousand Stories.
The novelists of this experiment used the same basic scheme, having to include five elements in their works of fiction.
Fascinated by this literary test, I’ve picked up the volume to reread recently. As someone submerged by the arts, I see all of those around me as creative beings made, gifted, and propelled by a creative maker. I recognize truth from Ecclesiastes 1:9, “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.” But what varies is how we execute our thoughts and what can revolve around a single idea. What transpired in this unified literary collection went far beyond expectation! Not one of these 21 stories resembles another, even though they each had developed around five exact, basic elements –and some of the writers came from similar backgrounds and/or education. Even if someone had stolen an idea, the effect would materialize into something greatly different from who was considered the originator. We, as individuals, are diverse. A single story idea, yet 21 outcomes and styles prove poles apart. It makes one want to relax and focus on being productive, active, ongoing and positive, rather than wasting negative energy on the fear that someone might be stealing your labor of love. The world is big enough for everybody to do their very own thing in exactly how they want to do it – even in a shared corner. Although not unique, it’s a lovely, colorful, enriching, and freeing concept. "They say all art— whether books, music, or visual— is a reaction to other art, and I believe that to be true." ~ Blake Crouch, Author I had once imagined that writing as a day job meant having the leisure to sit around eating bonbons while big bucks overwhelm my bank accounts. However, bonbons and sitting almost never equate to cash flow. And I’m way beyond unreasonable expectations. Granted, I will pull story ideas from the clouds, sometimes, while savoring a square of dark chocolate, now and again. But I've learned that writing is hard work requiring willpower, particularly when the earnings sway more often conservatively. Writing demands so much time that on occasion I do wish I could sit the day away eating bonbons, one by one, as clouds drift by, one after the other. Nevertheless, if one is not disciplined, driven to completing tasks, projects of any kind would never get accomplished. A writer’s mode of operation is dedication – and dedication can be summarized into another smaller word with greater meaning: love. Writing is a labor of love.
Some authors know right away in what genre they’ll write and the audience for whom they’ll work hard to prepare manuscripts. I admire those authors who stick with one heading, for I've always had trouble classifying my writing…a little this, a little that. When a particular interview gave me fodder for a little on-the-spot transformation (talk about impromptu), what I had planned to say was never said, yet the things I hadn't planned to say seemed to have already been spoken. “What do you write?” the inquirer asked. Something more categorically concrete should have come out of my mouth, such as romance, or political intrigue, or fantasy, but before I could formulate those thoughts the answer readily answered for me. It was already there. “I write forgiveness.” “What does that mean? Who do you write for?” Forgiveness literature is something that spans across all of humanity, regardless of where we tread in life. In that sense, I suppose I write for everyone. At the same time, I don’t think I write for everyone. My books wouldn't appeal to someone, say, who only wants fiction like their eggs, light and fluffy—not that there’s anything wrong with that. Whatever the genre, the common thread for my writing is forgiveness. Forgiveness brings healing. That’s my focal point. There is much in this world that is broken. I don’t know why but I see it so much of the time, awareness that things, situations, people are hurting or distressed. Things need fixed. Forgiveness is like a fragrant balm that lingers, constantly reminding me that without it there would be no classification. Without it I’m not sure I’d write romance, or political intrigue, or fantasy, or anything at all. I write forgiveness fiction. The rest works itself out. “People forgiven much are called to forgive much.”
“When we forgive…we free ourselves.” —Pastor Brad Brinson A love/hate relationship, that’s what I have with my smartphone. I love that I can access a library of books and music wherever I go. I love certain apps from the convenient GPS to a metronome. I even favor the alarm clock feature. And there’s a certain level of security with a smartphone. If you get stuck, virtually anything is one call or swipe away.
I hate that I've come to carry my smartphone from the downstairs to the upstairs, room to room. When I realized that leaving the device behind made me apprehensive I decided to go dark for a few days. Yes that’s right, I turned it off and shoved it aside. You know what happened? I plugged into my writing better, met a deadline faster, etc., without multilevel distractions. I had clarity of mind, focus, and the environment held peace. Later in the day I acted kinder, with more patience. And I slept well without the bombardment of texts that I've known to continue to 1 AM. I remember the day when it was considered inappropriate to makes calls or visits after 9 PM. Does text etiquette exist? I wouldn't know. Maybe this course of action wasn't such a good idea in its entirety, because I did happen to miss a few impromptu engagements. But, I don’t know, it seemed some detachment was needed. Hello again, world! I've come back to you, to the crazy, hectic, and always a tap-call-or-buzz away by the power of a button. It’s me and my smartphone again. Together we love/hate. Although, I've since come to believe that absence truly does make the heart grow fonder…and healthier…and maybe I shouldn't depend on a device so much, or be at communication’s beck and call without a little therapeutic solitude now and again. It was a dark and stormy night-- Ball? Ball? Ball? Play ball? Wanna play ball? Wanna play? Play ball? Wanna play? Ball? Ball? Ball? Play ball with me? Ball? It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning flashed-- Walk? Walk? Walk? Go for walk? For walk? Walk me? Walk? Go for walk?—CAR RIDE! Car ride? Car? Ride? Go for ride in car? Ride? In car? Car? Ride? It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning flashed. Thunder cracked-- Ball? Ball? Ball? Wanna play ball? Play ball with me. Ball? Ball?.....Ball? (Sigh). Sometimes, the pup just needs to come first. |
TESSA STOCKTON, AUTHOR, BLOG -
Pressing through life, love, a few things that matter, and some that don't.
(I'm also a spirit-filled Messianic Jew, so you'll find a lot about that here too.)
|
RSS Feed