Writing as an Unfolding Enigma
One might suppose that the writer is aware of what he or she is doing, but that’s not necessarily the case. One of the reasons I find the writing process so fascinating is that it is often a slowly unfolding enigma. I can’t speak for anyone else, but in my case, I seldom know what I’m doing. (When I’m writing, I mean.)
In the next few posts, I’ll give a few examples, and will be interested in finding out if other writers feel the same way, or if you as readers agree or disagree with my observations.
First example: My characters tend to muse a lot about themselves. It’s a kind of introspective process they go through, and I thought they did it because they’re all in some ways reflections of me, and I am by nature a verbose muser. Talk to myself all the time.
Then my early readers come along and red line paragraph after paragraph of my characters’ most intimate and deeply felt thoughts. I’m not hurt by this, in fact I appreciate the help. But the characters whose words are cut are deeply insulted, and I have to go inside and pacify them. As I do so, I have to ask my early readers why these golden words are being deleted, and I have to ask myself, why write this stuff if I’m going to agree later on to have it deleted?
Early readers say all the musing is my version of telling, not showing; it gets in the way of the story, breaks the flow. And I realize that I do it because I have to. It’s the way I get into my characters’ heads and hearts. Once I know what they’re thinking about themselves and their worlds, I can capture what they’re capable of feeling and doing, and that’s the essence of what I need for my storytelling.