I'm currently working on book two. I write in a funny way. I typically write the beginning first, then perhaps a middle chapter and then the ending. I do this so I can figure out how they get from the beginning to that middle, then from the middle to the end. I'm having a hard time with this book, in particular the ending because for whatever reason it's the hardest. Well, it's not for whatever reason. It's because it entails death. I can't go into too much detail only this, I am literally murdering my darlings. And by "darlings" I actually mean characters.
The phrase, murder your darlings, comes from (depending on who you talk to but I'll go with whom I was told said it) William Faulkner. It means to take the bits you think are "so good" and edit them out. When you edit your writing you're supposed to remove about 10% of the text.
With this last scene I am actually having to dig deep into my psyche. Having lost so many people you'd think I was an expert on loss and that would qualify me to write a piece. It's also in the first person narrative. These feelings the character is feeling are exactly what I feel when I lose someone, right?
No.
I push all of those horrid feelings away and put them out of my mind. I shove them off for as long as possible because who wants to feel loss or sadness or that crippling depression? I've spent years in therapy trying to successfully manage myself while I deal with them. I envy no one that task. But writing is how I've learned to do it.
So this scene, which required me to mine every single ounce of sadness and emotion I've ever felt when someone I loved was on the cusp of death all the way to how I've felt after they passed, has been the worst and hardest I've ever written in my life. Because I've had to call upon memories and emotions I've fought to keep at bay. It's not easy and its ridiculously painful.
Unfortunately this scene I wrote will most likely be murdered. I feel it's absolutely brilliant and that means it goes. So while I have the hardest and most emotional part of the story written, it might all be for naught. That suffering I went through in digging up every aspect of emotion I have towards death might have been a waste.
What does this means for blogging? Absolutely nothing. Minus that editing tip - that shit is real. Pare it down. I just thought I'd share what I was doing. You know, while I'm not actively blogging. My writing is being used elsewhere. Sorry. Maybe someday you'll read it. Then you'll understand.
How is your weekend?
That's really cool. I wish I could write stories. I do like drawing though, so I'd at least like to draw for a graphic novel or something.
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