She’s Hearing Voices…Again
Last night while the hubby golfed and the kid watched baseball, I had a few hours alone to myself. On the first night of summer vacation from school, this was quite a coup. No pool party to oversee, no dinner to whip up. Just me, a book I’d been itching to start reading and a beautiful sunset. I’d barely snuggled into the lounge chair–cover still closed on the book–when I heard the voice.
How would you feel?
Excuse me? I asked my muse, who approached me in the voice of my heroine. Where did that line come from? I sensed the question wasn’t about my reading material, but I played along.
I said–how would you feel?
Feel about what, I questioned.
Feel if you found out what Em told me. How would you feel?
Em is the younger sister of my heroine M. (I abbreviate M. because I’m not sure her name will stay. Em, aka Emily, probably will). In the most crucial scene of my WIP, which at this point was only a single line scratched on an index card (“Em tells M. THE SECRET”), Em reveals a secret that will literally change my heroine’s life and perception of the life she’s lived to this point in time. I really hadn’t been worried about the scene, knowing when it’s time to write it, I have faith that it will flow. I was a little worried a few days ago when I got the scene, the whole axis of the story, that maybe I couldn’t do it emotional justice since I’d never experienced something like it in my own life, but still had faith that I could tell M’s point of view successfully in that crucial scene.
I played the M.’s game. “I’d feel like my whole life was crumbling. Like I’d lived a lie.”Having a sense that the M. was going to give me something good, I set the book down and got up to get a notepad. “But what does that matter,” I questioned. “This story isn’t about me, it’s about you.”
She laughed. Cackled actually. “That’s where you’re wrong, big shot. This story is about you, too.”
“Me? How in the world is a fictional story about [insert black moment scene here] relevant to my life?”
“As I said, how would you feel?”
Up for her challenge (and to make her hush so I could read my book in peace), I grabbed the notepad and pen and wrote her question at the top of my page.
How would I feel?
I assumed it’d be simple and straightforward. Angry. Mad. Deceived. Humiliated. Like I was living a lie. As I wrote, however, I felt myself go through the stages of what it must have/will feel like for M. to find out her sister’s secret. In my logical mind, I could toss out a few words on the subject, all appropriate for index cards. In my subconscious, the one that M. tapped with that simple question, I found chaos. Messiness. Words I wouldn’t have used in a million years. A perspective I could respect but in real life would have no way of knowing or feeling myself.
I also found the point of view of my story. Instead of the default third person limited character M. has been to this point, I found strength in first person. Pain and humility. Humanity and honesty. In six pages, she took me on the emotional journey from discovery to realization that I might never have gotten had I not listened to her.
She gave me the scene (albeit in very rough draft, very bare-boned form) that my entire WIP is leading up to. And a few additional scene ideas that need peppered throughout the first 2/3 of the story.
And she left me exhausted. Good writing will do that to me. That’s how I know I have something valuable. I feel wiped out and like I need a break before I continue.
It’s so easy to pass up the muse’s voice when I’d rather be doing something else, but I’ve chosen to invite this chick in for her ideas. I can’t risk shutting her out and missing a crucial part of the story. As long as she’s not waking me up in the middle of the night–which I know she will, sooner or later….
Tweet
It's pretty simple, really. I'm a writer who loves writing about writing, and sharing all the tricks of the trade with other writers. And when I'm not writing, I'm thinking about writing. I have a hunch you know what I mean :)