Sunday, April 29, 2012

free flowing

I've been a writer since I could hold a pencil and form words. My first books were spiral bound notebooks with the text at the top and a picture on the bottom half. Course, one of my best works back then included a family cruise ship called the Toilet Bowl 2000 and in another work a hysterical narrative involving a runaway avalanche from a porter potty. Let me just say, I was mature.

Now how I get my ideas are a bit different. The first one I know is a little weird but it works.  I stand around and act out potential scenes. I stand and whisper: "You're not goin' home tonight, not in this snow." Then in a lighter voice, "Mr. Cookston... folks will talk, my sister will be worried."
Then I draw out my characters. I draw them happy, sad, bewildered, and confused. Then the perfectionist in me kicks in and I gotta look up exactly what my character's dress would look like, and draw that out. Before I know it, I've got entire scenes mapped out in front of  me. Once I even drew out a graph so I would know who was where when in a particular scene.
Sometimes I get stuck and I can't get past either of these methods... I'm stuck drawing surprised faces over and over again before they turn into sloppy lines thrown together to barely resemble a human. Then there are other times, like last night, where I was daughter-free and got to spend hours at McDonald's writing so fast my hand was cramping up. I love those times, when the story flows freely and I can't write fast enough to keep up with it. And then before I know it, I've got pages and pages gone and my story has been created.

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