So Jane Resh Thomas says, "Go to where the white-hot center is. Write about what you fear the most." So I've been working on a new story which, as I've said, I'm not going to talk about yet because: fear.
have been throwing down as many words as I can. This is not a draft
where every word is made of precious precious gold. I’m just diving into
the big swamp and digging like a crazy woman in hopes that I’ll find
something precious – a bog woman with lips still red -- a sunken
treasure -- even a little trail through the pit of despond, which is
where I am at, a trail that will lead through the swamp and around the
quicksand and water moccasins and out to the other side and the sunny
uplands, though technically we don’t have uplands here. Ask mama if she
cares; that’s a Churchillian phrase.
Is it brave that I’m going
this route? More like foolhardy. But that’s where the fire and the fear
is. And then I take it and splash it all over the page, knowing that
someday I'm going to embarrass the hell out of myself
but shoot, maybe by the time I get through with several drafts, we won't
even recognize anybody. That's my hope, anyway.
But, unlike my
other book, I have got to remember the seed of this book and where its
heart is, and keep that fear and passion at the center of this book. The
MC doesn’t give in to temptation, and there’s going to be a lot of sad along the way, and you
know, there’s not going to be a happy ending, though there will be the
satisfaction, such as it is, of sticking to your moral compass, insofar
as possible. At least that's a plus.
My gosh, I could have written all this about Shy Gal Runs Screaming from Love. That's probably why it's my favorite story.