I have been writing for the better part of my life. My story came to me around age 9 and I've been fascinated ever since, but I noticed that the older I got the more trouble I had finding something to write about, until this week. I mean other churning out an article for The Odyssey when I get the chance I honestly haven't done a lot of work for writing. Like the stuff that I know I want to write.
This week for my writer's workshop in class we had to come up with an idea for a novel or a collection of short stories. Well, short stories aren't really my forte so I chose to work on a novel. One that I've played around with before but never really dug into. Never really sat down and let the words flow from my fingers onto the page.
Before this I really began to wonder about my craft, was I really cut out and up to the task of becoming a known author, but I think this is something that author struggles with at one time or another.
So, there I was pondering at my work desk if there was an idea bobbing around in the background of my head. Was there something that I could turn in for a class that would really make me happy with my choice. It came to me from the story I had played around with before.
My initial thought was no, it's not good enough, but then another thought came and that was to try it out anyway. So, I opened my Google Drive, something that they don't block at work, and I began to read over these words that I had written almost two years ago now. Mind you they were not that good but the story was there hiding in the prose.
After some editing and some rewriting, I was happy with what I had and began to write more of the story.
Let me give you some background, The story is literary fiction with a slight thriller flair thrown in. It's loosely based on the murder of my grandfather. So there I sat, taking calls with my work brain and writing with the creative one. The words seemed to just pour from me and I could barely keep up with my mind as it, for lack of a better phrase, puked these works from my fingers.
I learned something very important for myself as a writer. The story and I melded together. As my fiance told me later that day as I was explaining what happened at work, that the story was meant to be written and I was the one meant to write it. I took from that that this story. One I had played with for a few years on and off was meant to be written.
Often I would open it and want to write more but I would get distracted and close the word doc and say I'd do it later. Everything else I have ever put my hand to write would be a struggle, and I'm talking book-wise, not an article or simple short stories (although I am long-winded with these).
Not this story. Not this time. I simply feel that I am the one meant to write this story and it only unfolds for me because of that. Is it because it's something that happened in my life? Possibly. Something that I know most of the information about? Probably.
In all the books I've read on the craft of writing they all mention the same thing; write what you know. I think this is something any writer should take to heart, especially when starting out. Then, of course, the writer has to grow so their work can grow.
I'm glad that I learned this about myself this week. Now my writings won't be as much of a struggle to get on the page, or at least not this story.
Good luck writers and Happy Writing!