This past week we drove two hours to Yazoo, Mississippi to visit my brother in law and sister in law for Thanksgiving. Let's call them Preacher and Graceful. We have a sort of family tradition on my Husband's side. We take turns on who is hosting Thanksgiving every year, that way it doesn't fall on his parents every time. This year it was Preacher and Graceful's turn.
As soon as we walked in their house, it was like coming home. Their house was beautifully decorated with fall decor, the Christmas scented candles filled the home with a feeling of holiday cheer and of course, there was family.
The house they are living in is old. Ancient even and belonged to "Old Money". It's evident in the tile of the bathroom, the layout of the floor plan, and the servant's quarters. Yes, you read that right. Servant's quarters. No they don't have servants, but whom ever built the house many years before once did. Honestly, the house could be cold and unfeeling, even frightening but they had filled it with their love and cheer. Now it felt warm and inviting. A home that just screamed "Welcome".
It gave me inspiration for my book. I wanted what once was a cold and frightening life for my main character to be something that had been transformed into something warm and inviting. Comfortable and filled with love.
After I got home, unpacked and rested a bit from the long drive, I sat at my computer and started writing. But everything I wrote didn't...feel right. When I am writing a scene it usually comes with a certain feeling in the pit of my stomach or my heart. This time though, nothing. Emptiness. The words were void of spirit. They were just shapes on a white screen, stacked and shuffled. No feeling, no warmth, just... words.
I couldn't figure out why. Why was it not flowing the way it did at Preacher's house? Why could I not feel the warmth of my character's love in my words? What was causing the emotion and the feeling of endearment
and honesty to be filtered out before it reached the page?
That's when I realized, it wasn't the words or the story. It was me. I needed to feel those emotions, that warmth in my own home before it could be transferred to another universe of my own making. I am the creator of this world, I am the storyteller, therefore, I must feel those emotions before I can make my characters feel them.
For the reader, the story is immersive. (If it's written properly) A well written story will transport the reader to another world. It's like watching a movie in your head, only the cinematographer is you. The author is the screen writer and director. It is our job to make the story come to life for you to enjoy. That's where the hard part comes in. If the author doesn't feel what the character's are feeling, its not going to convey in the whole. And ultimately the story feels stale, almost fake. Like a poorly produced B movie with bad actors and shoddy special effects. It just doesn't feel genuine.
I don't want my book to turn out like that. So what did I do? I made my environment match the feelings I wanted to convey. I lit some scented candles, played some music that matched the environment around the characters, in this case folk music like Mumford and Sons and The Lumineers. That's when it started to flow and I was back on track.
I have learned what my writing preferences are, I have learned what inspires me to write and I've learned what keeps me going. Writing is a learning process and the only way to learn is to just jump right in and do it. What worked for me may not work for you, so you have to figure out what makes you tick. Not only is writing a book learning how to write a well written story but its also learning about yourself. Who knew?
Well that's it for today readers. I'm going to write a bit more and hopefully get the first draft finished by the end of next month. My first quarterly goal is to get the first three drafts done by March, then find some beta readers. Wish me luck as I wish you luck. With all my heart.
