“Do you know how the snail made it to Noah’s ark? ...Through persistence.” - One of my awesome friends, Jarred through Facebook chat
I’ve always known I wanted to be a writer. My parents have as well, as they sat through many impromptu story tellings, usually starting with, “Did you know that …” One of my favorite home movies comes from Christmas on my fifth birthday. Sitting on the fireplace ledge, I had a piece of paper about the size of my little five-year-old palm in my hand. I looked up at the camera and said, “Mommy, did you know that there’s a story written on here?”
I proceeded to tell the story of Jesus, Mary, and “Jofus” (I hadn’t mastered his name yet) in detail from each of their perspectives. When I finished and smiled at the camera, I dropped the paper which, actually, was a piece of packaging I ripped around a sticker of a snowman and definitely too small to hold more than a sentence.
However, now that I’m older and have studied the art of writing, I understand that being an author isn’t about rambling and pretending stories are hidden in snowmen. I understand plot outlining, rising action, falling action, character connect-ability, climax, moral, themes, flaws and dialogue. I know what rules you NEED to bend (in school, we were taught to never use “said”. In authoring, you rarely use anything else!) and which to strictly adhere to. This knowledge, however, does not produce best sellers. And when you, like me, cannot think of a plot, you have nothing.
Recently (like the past year and a half) I’ve slaved and prayed and studied over tips for developing plots. I have a file full of developed characters and developed scenes, but right now they’re on a bus; I don’t know where they’re going or who will end up sitting next to whom. I vented my frustrations on all who would listen and received a lot of “don’t worry about it” sentiments and “just keep developing your scenes and look for a pattern.” But that’s not what I needed; if I ever wanted to become successful, I did need to worry about it and I needed to stop wasting my time perusing fictitious snippets of Arlington National Cemetery, two girls applying make-up, a woman grieving her brother’s death in the first months of our current war, and two detectives who (surprise, surprise) find solace in each other’s company to splice together a Mondo-plot. I needed to let these scenes go on suspended animation and start by thinking of interesting situations. What I needed did not rest with the caring “It’ll all get better” statements, but with one powerfully quiet sentiment IMed through Facebook by a very good friend of mine:
“Do you know how the snail made it to Noah’s ark? ...Through persistence.”
And then … like the final twig snap that unleashes the dam’s flood, I had two plots. TWO! This is monumental because I can finally enjoy the process of writing instead of starting in the middle with a broken compass. I can guarantee I will be much happier in the coming weeks!
And why can’t a novel be as easy as sitting on the fireplace ledge, letting and alternate reality become tangible, real? It’s what I love, so I think it’s possible to find fun in the complex and challenging.
