February was an intense writing month. For me, "intense" means faithfully writing for a (predawn) hour a day, every day, up in my writing nook, with all my cozy paraphernalia (fluffy bathrobe, lap-size afghan, hourglass, tea or hot chocolate, and candle lit to consecrate this holy hour). It also means - gasp! - occasionally having a SECOND writing hour somewhere ELSE. One day I took my writing self to the elegant lobby of the posh St. Julien Hotel; on another, to the Bookmark Cafe overlooking Boulder Creek at the Boulder Public Library.
No other book of mine has invited me on such a meandering journey to find my way into the heart of the story. This was also the work-in-progress where I somehow managed to leave all my notes-in-progress and beloved, battered, fifty-year-old clipboard on the plane, gone forever. I kept reminding myself of Tolkien's oft-quoted line, "Not all those who wander are lost." Except that I WAS lost.
But then. . . as I kept on wandering . . . I got found. I guess I could say the story found me, or else that by dint of daily diligence with pen in hand, I somehow found it myself. What bliss when the path before you finally becomes clear!
I'm calling this my "Bluff Street book" because it's set in a cottage like my cottage on a street like my street, where I'm making use of the abundant whimsy and wonder I've found here, courtesy of neighbors I've never met, such as in this sign:
I'm making use of it all - the fairy garden across the street from us, the mailbox that offers free seeds, the beckoning path up to tiny Lovers Hill Park.
But for the longest time, all I had was a jumble . . . a mood . . . four characters with their heartfelt yearnings. What I didn't have, and readers seem to expect in a book, is a PLOT. And now . . . I do have one! I've been writing scenes that are very exciting (in a quiet way, of course! there is no murder or mayhem, no mystery, no adventure, the stakes so small ... but oh, so important to the children who care about them).
I wrote the most thrilling (for me!!) scenes this past week. One left me so drained I had to take to my bed after the writing of it! It was the single most exhilarating hour of writing I've ever had. Now all that is left for this first full draft is half a dozen short scenes that follow this climactic moment to bring all these strands together in what is (I hope!) a wonderfully satisfying way. Then will come weeks of revision, and sharing it with my writing group, and more weeks of revision. Who knows if it will ever get published? These days, I take nothing for granted. But when the magic DOES happen, when the Muses finally reward a writer's faithful toil, it all feels worth it.
It really does.
