ClawofCat (clawofcat) wrote,

Writing Process - Ain't it a bitch?

It appears that my brain is back into fic mode. Since signing up for IWRY and starting to read through my judging categories this weekend, my mind has been percalating. I dusted off a Faith/Wood fic that I started in December and felt myself warm to it, my thoughts rushing in to fill the empty spaces. My process right know is creaky though. The words don't come exactly, but there's this eloquent jumble of emotion sort of circulating, waiting until it can link up with some consonants and vowels. I'm not sure when that will happen. I can't force it, unfortunately. So I ponder and dream up what it all looks like and I'll worry about the words later.

When I write or think about fic, I visualize it as though it were on film. I imagine many people do this. How else could we choreograph a scene if we didn't have some sort of imagined visual reference? The last day or two I've been rather consumed with a particular image I've dreamt up for a possible Buffy/Angel fic and what kills me is I don't know how I'll put into the words the beautiful serenity of what I've imagined. Does that ever happen to you where you hit a dead end and you just think, "How could I possibly explain this so that the readers see what I see?" It makes me wish I had some artistic or graphic skills. Maybe I'd be able to translate better if I had my hand in both worlds. But I suppose that's the challenge. Make the words breath taking, illuminate that white page with splashes of color and sound and sensation. It's hard work to bring the written word to life, but I suppose it's also all the more satisfying when you succeed. 

A little excerpt from the Faith/Wood shot, for example:

He thinks of the Pilgrims, of the irony of her statement. Starved, diseased and dying, they found that self-reliance wouldn't save them. It was the softness, the kindness of Native hearts that bore them through that first, long winter. Compassion and learning helped them survive until the darkness broke and spring warmed the earth.   

I look at that, that beautiful parallel metaphor to Faith's emotional present, and I think "Well, where the fuck do I go from there?" That's the last bit of text I put down before I stopped writing. A bit intimidating to know how to follow a doozy like that.
Tags: writing process

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