Beginning, Middle, End

This past weekend tested me. The beginning was good. Family came in from out of town. My daughter graduated from high school, and a friend's daughter went into labor. It was the start of a new chapter for Linnea, and the start of a new life for baby-to-be.

The middle was disastrous. My friend's daughter couldn't deliver, and after 36 hours of labor, was taken in for an emergency C-section. My aunt called to tell me that my uncle (her brother) had passed away just a few hours earlier. My friend called to say that mom and baby were doing fine. A massive storm swept through the area, knocking out power and flooding streets. And then, my mother, visiting from the other side of the state, couldn't breathe. We rode to the hospital in an ambulance, taking at least four detours due to flooding. After several hours, she was finally admitted for observation, and I got to go home for some rest, with only eight hours until the graduation party.

The end of the weekend, while less frantic than the middle, was still mostly a blur to me. After falling asleep at 5:00 am, I woke up at 10:00, three hours until party lift-off. With the help of an army of family and friends, final prep was flawless. An hour into the party, I got a phone call that Mom was being discharged. Off I went again. Got home in time to say goodbye to everyone, and then start the clean up. The end of the hospital stay, the end of the party, the end of the school year, the end of the weekend: they all converged.

As I have replayed the weekend in my mind, I realized that I had just had the privilege of attending a free, albeit incredibly intensive, novel workshop. Strange, I know. But here's why.

Beginnings

The novelist introduces characters, setting, and plot. All my characters arrived just when they should have. I had multiple settings, to keep the story fresh: my house, the graduation auditorium, the farmer's market, the hospital. And the plot was clear: watch daughter graduate, throw her a party, everyone lives happily ever after.

Middles

The novelist introduces conflict. Without obstacles, twists, or surprises, the story is boring. So here they come, in the form of emergency surgery, a birth, a death, a storm, an ambulance ride, and a health scare.

Ends

The novelist creates the climax of the story, in which the main character faces her nemesis, or obstacle, or fear, and comes out on the other side a slightly different person. Without this growth or change, there is no story.

Character Arc

So how did this change me? What did I learn from all this? For one thing, let me state for the record that I do not believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe that things just happen, whether due to physics, fate, or happenstance, it doesn't really matter. What does matter is what you choose to take away from your experiences (if you choose to take away nothing, then clearly there was no "reason" for event X to occur). We all know people who choose to ignore the chance to change their way of thinking, or their behavior, even when faced with the overwhelming evidence in front of them that, whatever situation they happen to find themselves in, they have played a part in it somehow.

I could very easily have fallen into the "Why me?" category. After all, I really had no control over any of it. But instead, I chose to view each obstacle as simply something that happened. Not to me. Just plain happened. I reacted when I needed to react, changed what I could change, and ignored what could be ignored. By then end of the weekend, I didn't change so much as I came to a sharper realization of what I already knew, and a determination to make sure others knew it, too: that I have a wonderful husband, amazing daughters, incredible family, and supportive friends whom I can always count on. So now you all know.

But the even bigger culmination of the weekend's "character arc" was the epiphany that I could use this tiny little weekend as a barometer by which to measure my novel. If this weekend represents a workshop-worthy roadmap for storyline and character, then I need to be sure my novel matches it. Fortunately, during my first run-through, I feel confident I've nailed it. However, I plan to spend a little more time going over everything in a bit more detail, because I learned one more thing from the weekend, too.

Everything goes more smoothly when you know what you're doing.

The End

I Have a Pen and I am Not Afraid to Use It

Well, sort of. I do have a pen. And most of the time, I pick it up and scribble with no more thought than a passing whim. Check writing, calendar entries, lists (I make lists like no one's business), all those college forms my almost-freshman daughter needs to have filled out and signed. Oh, yes, and the occasional letter to the editor or public comment in front of the local school board (some of you know exactly what I'm talking about).

(Pardon me while I have a small musical interlude here--my daughter is playing the theme to Amelie on the piano.)




Okay, back to the pen. Most of the time, I do not have any difficulty whatsoever saying what I want to say, being blatantly (some might use the adverb "rudely") honest. I suppose I could be described as opinionated, or merely confident. Regardless of what people think, I try not to be swayed just because popular opinion travels in the other direction. In other words, I have the strength of my convictions to bolster me. Of course, I do try not to be offensive when I am in the minority, but mainly that's because I don't want the crap kicked out of me.

So why is it that I sometimes have difficulty picking up that pen to finish this novel?? Six years is a long time to be working on this project. It really is almost done. Mere moments away from "The End," in fact. But I know that a couple things are working against me.

Obstacle One: Me
That's right, I am my own worst critic/enemy. It isn't ready yet. It isn't good enough. The competition is better. Whatever. I am working on changing the language of my internal monologue. It is good enough. It is actually better than good enough. It is just what Agent X is looking for.

Obstacle Two: Me
Really? Why, yes. Yes it is. It's that whole stupid fear thing. Fear that once I finish this, I won't have any other stories to tell. That I will be finished. You've heard of the sophomore slump, right? That second CD or that movie sequel that never quite lives up to the debut. Yup. That's what I worry about. So I have to tell myself, codswallop! (I love that word, don't you?) My little Moleskin notebook (which travels with me everywhere) is already chock-full of new story ideas. And I have two other novels in draft. I am not a one-trick pony, thank you very much.

Obstacle Three: I'll give you two guesses
Shocker, I know. When you've worked on something for so long, something that comes from a deep place in the soul, it is hard to let go of it. But my baby is just about ready to leave the nest, and I'm not talking about my daughter. I need to push this one out the door so I can give the other babies what they need to grow into novels.

After my homespun therapy session, today was a great writing day with my group. Eight pages re-written, and more tweaked. A character name finally figured out (and it's a good one!). Resolve strengthened. Obstacles? What obstacles? I have a query to write.