So Mister, you Think You Can Write?

I thought I might go back to the reason I started my other blog, The Pencil Pusher. However in this one, as I did then, I'll talk abut what I love the most. I am a writer or at least I pretend to be one. I am learning to enjoy the craft.
Now that I've gotten the "I's" out of my system we can proceed, (That is if you are still with me!)

To be a writer you have to read. Other writers in our group who have a grater experience than I, often told me that they have learned technique from the books on their bedside table. Ways to say or explain things that aren't text bookie. When I began writing fiction, my content work presented many different and unexpected challenges. Previously, a Grant Writer by trade, I wrote words down to address medical and social needs in the community.

However, for the past three years I've been writing fiction. There have been several promising nibbles from the publishing world but no firm deals. So I sit alone plugging away, words piling on the pages, one after the other.

I was asked to send a manuscript to an Agent in New York. It was a first for me and since it had been requested I thought the next step would be a check in the mail. Not to be. The Agent and her son were remarkable; very kind people. They turned my work down but I wasn't bloodied by their words of rejection. They both sent me an e-mail, thanking me and saying that my work had merit. Nice, huh.

My spirits did fall a bit and I put that work aside. A few months later I picked it up again and started to look seriously at the piece. What did I see? I saw problems.

My Grant work had conditioned me to take the most direct path to a problem. Identify what the problem is, explain why your organization is best positioned to solve the problem, and what networks outside of your organization you intend to use to access your target population.

You have to write realistic goals and objectives; outline a plan for evaluating your project that is measurable and not just the number of heads that walk through your door.

This format was my problem. My mindset dealt with facts, numbers and, in my case, the real world. I had to free up my mind and allow myself to slip into the shadowy realm of a writer.

I needed a strong story line on which to build. My characters had to be developed so they could realistically carry the story through to its climax. The language of the story has to push the reader to read the next page, but also the next chapter. The story helps to do this through the twists and turns, you create, to excite the reader.

Even though the story comes from the writer it needs to be believable. With these things in mind I looked critically at my work. So many errors, no wonder it had been sent back. A major fault I did not fully develop my characters until the sixth chapter.

Prior to that chapter they were simply names doing things. I wasted words describing my characters' emotions. First one way and then another. I used the passive voice too often and lost excitement. My descriptions of scenes and events were good, but that's from the grant writer in me.

I even killed a character, early on, who somehow managed to be there when the book ended, 538 pages later. It was a mess. I could see why it was rejected. Once again I put the MS aside and focused on other stories. I let my novel percolate in my subconscious. I wrote down on Post Its every idea that floated to the surface. I kept a log book of ideas, locations, character strengths and flaws. My story began to take on a life of its own in my imagination.

I read period books to get the flavor of the times in which my characters lived. I read and reread reference books to identify the landscape, topography history of and plants and animals living where my story was placed. Then I sat down at the computer and opened the pages to start reworking my flawed work.

A few days later I was startled when I saw my characters begin to come alive. They began writing the story. My fingers placed them on the page but the characters led me through their lives and the events that challenged them. Things started to happen on the computer screen. I suddenly saw action taking place, conversations between characters I hadn't thought about. All of these wonderful things sped before me on the screen.

So, now I am at work again. My book is fiction, but for me, it has now become a living, breathing entity. A place where my characters play with me and each other. I think, perhaps I may be on my way to becoming a story teller.

Can I write? Perhaps. I have been worked on my novel for two years. However despite the days spent on the book, it still remains fresh, just as fresh as when I placed the first letter on the screen. Then perhaps, I probably am a writer. A writer who is still learning, still hoping to be published, and still in love with my characters.