Spotlight on Writing

Edit: You may think this post is all about COVID-19, but no. I’m just overly dramatic and excited about writing, THE END. For a full post on what to do and how to face COVID-19, see my post here.

While Ashley was busy proofing When the Rain Falls over the last couple of weeks, I completed yet another chapter in Darkness, Set Us Free. It was freeing to finally write a chapter that was not only action filled, but a little more uplifting. We’re ramping up to the big finale, which means our characters are finally resolving some emotional issues, and the plot is beginning to intensify, too. I have all of two chapters left to write, and it is amazing how fast this book is coming to a close. My final two chapters are the final chapters.

With two of us writing, we don’t always get a chance at writing the beginning, or the end. It mostly depends on which character is best suited to telling that part of the story. Last time, Ashley had the honor of writing the final words. This time, I’m excited that the task has landed with me, but a little nervous about it too. It’s a big responsibility, those final chapters. And though we have a clear plan, I have very little idea of how it’s all going to go down.

I like letting our characters lead, and recently I discovered that I’m not the only one who writes this way. I’ve been reading ‘On Writing: A memoir of the craft’ by Stephen King, and found it somewhat surprising that he rarely works to a plan. We have to, with collaborating, but we leave flexibility in how our characters get from one situation to another. And if it doesn’t ring true to them, we change it. Stephen King calls it ‘situational’ writing. Letting the book unfold, as if you are unearthing a fossil. So far, we’ve got a huge chunk of the fossil above ground; just the tip of it is still buried. I can’t see what the head of the thing looks like, but I know I’m close…

Unearthing your novel is a bit like digging up a fossil. Like these giant dinosaur bones displayed in the picture. You keep on digging, until you can see the whole thing in all it's glory. That's when you know the story has reached the end.
Story-time with Sarah
Story cubes, laid out on green velvet. The end is nigh.

I went through a carwash.

That doesn’t sound very exciting, but when you’re me, it is.

New Zealand carwashes are like many other things in New Zealand: a little old, not highly efficient but, for the most part, a relaxing experience. You drive up, pausing to swipe your pre-purchased barcode (usually stretching insanely out the vehicle in some sort of complex twisted yoga pose) and then bumble on in before turning off the engine. The carwash sprays and squirts and suds all over, and then it’s done. The light turns green, you turn on your car, and you’re out of there.

In Canada, it’s a different kettle of fish. You have to line yourself up with the ticket reader (nothing new there) and then pop onto these rollers that propel you through. There’re little to no instructions (or if there are, you roll on by so fast you don’t have time to read them) so you’re like, shit. Do I turn my car off? Put it in neutral? Brakes? Who the heck knows. While I’m trying to figure all this out, this guy comes running up and tells me I’ve left my fuel cap undone, and he’s frantically trying to put it back on for me as I’m rolling hysterically towards this open mouth that’s waiting to fill my fuel tank with soapy bubbles if he doesn’t succeed, and no way to stop. I’m screaming out the window, “THANK YOU! THANK YOU!” before he finally succeeds and I decide I’d better roll my window up, pronto.

I keep on rolling toward these awful, terrifying washing arms that look so solid that I’m going to crash right on into them, and to my horror, I realize in all the excitement, I’m OFF CENTER. It feels like I’m slowly angling to the left, where I’ll run straight off the rollers, and because the car behind me is on rollers too, he’ll probably end up in my rear end and all hell will break loose.

I turn the wheel, which is the one thing I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to do, but I don’t think it’s making a difference anyhow. And just as I think I’m definitely going to be flung into the machinery…I can see freedom, at last! I may actually get out of here alive! A minute later and I’m out in fresh air.

All I can say is, thank God that’s over.

Spotlight on Writing

Edit: You may think this post is all about COVID-19, but no. I’m just overly dramatic and excited about writing, THE END. For a full post on what to do and how to face COVID-19, see my post here.

While Ashley was busy proofing When the Rain Falls over the last couple of weeks, I completed yet another chapter in Darkness, Set Us Free. It was freeing to finally write a chapter that was not only action filled, but a little more uplifting. We’re ramping up to the big finale, which means our characters are finally resolving some emotional issues, and the plot is beginning to intensify, too. I have all of two chapters left to write, and it is amazing how fast this book is coming to a close. My final two chapters are the final chapters.

With two of us writing, we don’t always get a chance at writing the beginning, or the end. It mostly depends on which character is best suited to telling that part of the story. Last time, Ashley had the honor of writing the final words. This time, I’m excited that the task has landed with me, but a little nervous about it too. It’s a big responsibility, those final chapters. And though we have a clear plan, I have very little idea of how it’s all going to go down.

I like letting our characters lead, and recently I discovered that I’m not the only one who writes this way. I’ve been reading ‘On Writing: A memoir of the craft’ by Stephen King, and found it somewhat surprising that he rarely works to a plan. We have to, with collaborating, but we leave flexibility in how our characters get from one situation to another. And if it doesn’t ring true to them, we change it. Stephen King calls it ‘situational’ writing. Letting the book unfold, as if you are unearthing a fossil. So far, we’ve got a huge chunk of the fossil above ground; just the tip of it is still buried. I can’t see what the head of the thing looks like, but I know I’m close…

Storytime with Sarah

I went through a carwash.

That doesn’t sound very exciting, but when you’re me, it is.

New Zealand carwashes are like many other things in New Zealand: a little old, not highly efficient but, for the most part, a relaxing experience. You drive up, pausing to swipe your pre-purchased barcode (usually stretching insanely out the vehicle in some sort of complex twisted yoga pose) and then bumble on in before turning off the engine. The carwash sprays and squirts and suds all over, and then it’s done. The light turns green, you turn on your car, and you’re out of there.

In Canada, it’s a different kettle of fish. You have to line yourself up with the ticket reader (nothing new there) and then pop onto these rollers that propel you through. There’re little to no instructions (or if there are, you roll on by so fast you don’t have time to read them) so you’re like, shit. Do I turn my car off? Put it in neutral? Brakes? Who the heck knows. While I’m trying to figure all this out, this guy comes running up and tells me I’ve left my fuel cap undone, and he’s frantically trying to put it back on for me as I’m rolling hysterically towards this open mouth that’s waiting to fill my fuel tank with soapy bubbles if he doesn’t succeed, and no way to stop. I’m screaming out the window, “THANK YOU! THANK YOU!” before he finally succeeds and I decide I’d better roll my window up, pronto.

I keep on rolling toward these awful, terrifying washing arms that look so solid that I’m going to crash right on into them, and to my horror, I realize in all the excitement, I’m OFF CENTER. It feels like I’m slowly angling to the left, where I’ll run straight off the rollers, and because the car behind me is on rollers too, he’ll probably end up in my rear end and all hell will break loose.

I turn the wheel, which is the one thing I’m fairly certain you’re not supposed to do, but I don’t think it’s making a difference anyhow. And just as I think I’m definitely going to be flung into the machinery…I can see freedom, at last! I may actually get out of here alive! A minute later and I’m out in fresh air.

All I can say is, thank God that’s over.