It is one week to my self-imposed first draft deadline. I have decided to take a detail – word count – and obsess over it to the point of paralysis. I think my book is too short. Well, I know it. And I am locked in mortal combat with that mean inside-my-head voice that is telling me my book will never, ever, ever sell.
I'm just going to talk myself off the ledge here for a moment, okay?
Paris was only one month. Lots of funny stuff happened, sure, but not THAT much funny stuff. Unless I do a godawful 20-page background dump of where I grew up and what my mom used to pack in my lunch (2 pieces Wonder Bread, 1 piece bologna, love note on napkin addressed to Munchkin), there is a finite pool of material to draw from.
Facilitator Bill would say, "Make stuff up." He'd say make up scenes and events and push the writing further. That I can decide if it's nonfiction or fiction later. That none of those things matter right now.
For example, this book I'm writing is begging for a lesbian love scene. Begging. For. It. I did not have a lesbian encounter while I was in Paris. Nor did I witness one. (Boyfriend will be glad to hear this.) But I've got a naive Canadian girl hanging around with worldly gay women in Paris. The Canadian girl is coming of age – as an artist (and probably as a woman in various ways). She HAS to lose her virginity at some point.
Okay, see, this already helped. Obsession never works. You just spin your mental wheels and get nothing done. A fearful mantra of 'too short, too short, too short' is not going to help me. Exploring what the story needs in order to be delicious DOES help me.
Did I mention I'm in Cold Lake? I've never been this far north before. Which isn't saying much, but I stare at every person I come across here and whisper, "Why?" Although I will say, we passed some wetlands on the way up here – so beautiful they made my heart hurt. But this hotel? Not beautiful. It has maroon carpet. I want you to think of one circumstance in life when maroon carpet is a good idea.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
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