I had an easier time writing fiction when I didn’t have all of these technical rules and writing techniques to cloud my judgment. I could pick up a pen and start writing. Anything. And I thought it was some of the most compelling writing in the world, I might add. My grade school teachers and college professors thought so too. I feel like I’m anticipating some grand idea to pop into my head for the perfect story. As if God will bestow a blueprint or some guidelines on how to begin climax and end. Although I can’t say I wouldn’t mind a small hint every now and again. The leaves are finished falling. Winter is here. Now, the dawn of a new year. Annnnddd…nothing. Absolutely nothing. Certainly nothing. Definitely nothing. Unquestionably, nothing.
Bringing authenticity to play with structure has proven to be a tough feat these past few years. Activating “writing-mode” throughout college has always entailed perfectly articulated ideas and MLA formatted pages. I had single-handedly pre-programmed myself to write like a student. Not like a writer.
I should write how I talk. Holding back from my real voice has been frustrating me. Instead of focusing on simply getting words on the page (or in my case, the screen), I tend to concentrate on how the characters should sound, what they’re like, where the story takes place, who. will. save. the day? I fell in love with crafting stories, mainly because of the ability to invent the world that I want. At some point along the way, I was told to write my world another way. Not like a writer. Like a student. Thus, the beginning of the end. The Alpha and the Omega.
This has made it easier to work through the issue(s).
A brilliant idea hits me like a Panthers linebacker.