Now that January’s come, and nearly gone, we know the Mayan calendar was wrong. Not to worry—this is something that any writer knows—the end of the story hasn’t been written yet.
I’ve been writing for decades now. One of the earliest lessons I learned, once I’d turned from short stories to novels (I’ve written several, but The Passion of the Titans is the first to interest a publisher), is that writers are near-sighted. Oh, I’m not denying that there are visionaries out there, but when I write, I may have a plan for my characters that is never realized. Like in life, unseen circumstances intervene. Some writers, I’ve been told, sketch out the storyline ahead of time and know just what is going to happen.
Like the Mayan, however, they might be surprised. At least I am. I start a novel with an end in mind: my personal 2012. That end suggests a beginning, for there’s a story here to be told. The means of getting from the beginning to the end are unpredictable. Who knew that mysterious visitor was going to drop in?
I’m a self-taught writer. I’ve never taken a writing class other than the hundreds of books I read and continue to read. So when I sketch out a plot it is with an amateur's eye. Still, it is coherent when I’m done. Because it’s organic.
The difference between a sculpture and a cast statue has to do with the process. The cast is formed from a mold of an original. The end result can be fine, a valuable art piece in its own right. The sculpture, however, bears the brunt of the artist’s inspiration. Mistakes that lead in new directions. Yes, a vision is present, but that vision grows along the way. The closer we are, the clearer it becomes.
I thought of this post January 1. Now the month is almost gone. Who could’ve foreseen that?
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