Found found found

Okay, we were talking about narrative and structure and shit. And then things happened in my personal life and now I suddenly find I’m midway through plotting a cracking yarn which frequently makes me giggle with glee. How did that happen?? Well, the first thing you should know is It Was A Miracle. Ok, no it wasn’t. But it feels like it.

Rummaging through my sick mother’s DVD collection (well she’s not watching ‘em) I found a film on a topic I like. Not a clever film, but relevant to my soul, and also free. So we watch the film and I get inspired, not with a new plot or anything, but inspired to take Christopher Vogler’s screenwriting book off the shelf. That’s a big step right now.

So I read a little Vogler and think “let’s brainstorm something”. It helps that I have a rough outline for a story in the same genre as the movie we watched, so it’s kinda fun to line up the story-beats with his 12 steps. I figure this is a good way to map out some brand new stories to the steps, but it takes so long to get the rough outline written up that there’s no time for anything else. That night. And that’s it for a while.

Then something magickal happens. Now, it’s worth you knowing that my ‘rough outline for a story’ is a true historical tale which I’d researched to death and just couldn’t sort out. So I have a character, this guy, living in my head somewhat but trapped in the sorry prison of his own post-destined life. Hanging out, bored, with about 100 other characters who do little more than punch me from the inside at regular momentary intervals.

Anyway, I’m driving along a highway and a different, younger version of this real historical figure wanders into a room and there’s someone in the room. And she says something - she says three quick sentences. And suddenly I know her like I’ve known her all my life. And he’s free from his history, reborn into a whole new life I see stretching out before us, all three of us. It’s so clear that I can’t unsee it, it’s simply happening everywhere around me.

I get where I’m going and quickly fill eight pages with dialogue, action, other characters and weird, open-ended references I don’t understand. At that point I’m just the scribe, the person nearby with a pen. I’m sure I speak for all writers when I say THIS IS WHY WE DO IT.

That was ten days ago. Since then I’ve recaptured the magick a few times, and also found really satisfying answers when I’ve slept on very precise questions. I didn’t write anything over the last three days – there was nothing new to add. But this morning a whole scene suddenly ended right and then other huge chunks started to make sense.

As you can tell I’m not rushing it. When I rummage around in my subconscious it’s still there, I can feel its pulse. I want to know what happens next but not so desperately I’m going to start just making shit up. I hope, for your sake, you know what I mean.

If not, it’s possibly as simple as this: I’m only writing down words I’ve heard in my head. I think it, then I write it. I don’t let my hand just jot down any old nonsense. I’ve got books full of unthoughtthrough halfideas. No more.

And that’s where I’m going to stop. Stop! Said enough for now. Glean from this what you may, and gather rosebuds, and do what you wilt, and whatever. Love.