I bet some of you wish I would talk about absolutely anything but writing. I know. Sometimes I wish that I could sustain thoughts that don’t involve writing for just a little bit. I could have bigger fish to fry that’s for sure. So, I’m reading Thunder and Lightning by Natalie Goldberg and there is this passage that literally jumps out at me.
My understanding of myself is always changing, my image moves like a kaleidoscope. One week I’m struck by my need to travel more and live in foreign countries; the next I begin to type up a resume, I’m going to apply for a Ph.D. in literature. A month later I settle down into cooking- I want to learn the best chicken recipes. Who am I anyway?
I am a runner, a reader, a writer, a fitness guru, a lover of all things home decoration, a painter (specifically walls, but all my canvas painting experiences have been fun as well), a gardener. I’m all these things and so many more. Even so, the words still call to me. So, I told you I was going to let you all in on some exciting things that are happening. I have found a writing partner. We actually swapped our first set of words this morning, and I have got to say, this girl is going to make it. Her first scene had me begging for more. This sharing of words is probably the scariest thing I’ve ever attempted, mainly because once the words are out there, someone else gets to judge them. They are no longer my precious. That’s okay, I’ve decided. In November I wrote a novel that I have since called the Garden Novel, and I’m going back to that story with more understanding of structure than I ever thought I would know and a deeper understanding of my characters. I say I’m revising, but I’m really rewriting the whole thing. Scenes will make it, but the majority of the novel just wasn’t accomplishing what I needed it to.So, as I delve into revisions, I’m going to share one tiny little section to give you a very small, quarter teaspoon sized taste of my current work.
“Why do they call it Starryton?” a tiny Georgia asked her grandfather as they laid on her trampoline watching the night sky for aliens and shooting stars.
“Because, my little warrior, at first all the little girls have stars sparkling in their eyes,” he replied, brushing one wayward red curl from her forehead.
“Momma doesn’t have stars in her eyes. Where do they go?” she asked.
“Life steals them, and only the best and strongest have the courage to go looking for them again.”
“One day, I’ll go after mine, too. Even if I have to go all the way to the moon to find them,” Georgia responded.
Grandpa nodded his head, his thinning gray hair covering his wild eyebrows. “I know you will,” was all he said.
Told you, quarter teaspoon sized. Happy writing, y’all.