There is something about the written word that frees my soul. It is a part of my life, the days, the hours; it allows me to feel full and complete—within your creativity. When I started writing the short story for a friend, that love, that sort of intoxicating feeling you get after being introduced to something that interests you…consumed me.
I have finished the story. Thank god. It took a couple of months to pen out the 100+ pages, but I am proud of that story. My friend loves it, and it was something that I needed to do. It was a wakeup call for something that has been missing for months.
Writing comes naturally, it’s a love, but to take so much time and invest it into characters and a plot and actually post it out for thousands to read opened up my eyes and opened the doors to opportunities.
It has opened the doors to fresh ideas, new people that I honestly never thought I would talk to, people that have become daily contacts with conversations I look forward to. All because of a few words that were penned out.
The story Reading the Defense is in total six chapters, after the fifth chapter I clammed up and didn’t get writer’s block…but did get a sort of ‘conclusion block.’ I had become emotionally invested in the characters that had been created, emotionally invested in the people who it has been reaching out to since the end of May. I knew that in writing the ending I would have to really step up my game and put everything into it. But I had stalled, for nearly a month. I received emails from people wondering what was going on.
Would I finish the story?
When would the final piece get posted?
Stress consumed me, over a short story. A very good friend that I am eternally thankful for, has a house in New York. On the Pennsylvania border, in the woods. It is secluded and on a private lake, where coverage for your phone and email is non-existent. The land is rich with history—literate history. Playwrights once lived on the lands, current writers live there, artists have homes, etc. It is a prime area for the creative mind.
She and her husband knew I was writing and trying to wrap up the story, knowing this they invited me to come out for a weekend getaway. To get lost in words. I hesitated at first, because I am obligated to my job. Obligated to my work ethics and morals.
Forget my work ethics and morals. I slept on it and decided to listen to my soul.
Listen to the words that were taunting me. Dreams that were begging for me to pursue.
I went to New York. I spent three long days taking in the raging sun, dipped into the lake, watched everyone play bags and drank a few too many drinks. And wrote.
Wrote the conclusion.
Amidst the wooded bliss, I was able to listen to the ideas freely and pen the final pieces down. It was like I was possessed for those few days.
It was the exact place I needed to be, and the fact that friends saw and knew that warms my heart. I got home and transcribed my notes, rushed it out to my editor and…posted it. Online first and then converted it over to send to my friend.
The response has been overwhelming. To some people it may be nothing; to me it is the world in gaining enough confidence and networking the most out of something to make a go of this story. Of future stories. There have been requests for an epilogue from several readers, because they too are invested in the characters.
It has been a tumultuous couple of months getting this story locked down, it has come miles from the first section when I didn’t have an editor to the last chapter where the writing expanded and my editor made less marks and praised the work.
I am proud of the little story that could, and am going to keep writing for the site that is hosting it for now. Until I find another site for another genre,until I get fully published, though I must say, writing Women’s Fiction/Chick Lit…is fun.
If not a little racy at times, but still fun nonetheless.
A part of me thinks that I would still be twittling my thumbs trying to sort out the conclusion had I not gone to New York. Had I not been sitting amongst the high trees and gentle breeze, sweating and drinking. I’d like to think that I owe New York for that, that I was in a state of mind that can only be visited when there for this one story. And for this story, it was perfect.
For a better look as to what this post is about, follow the link to Reading the Defense. As a general note, the piece is romance/erotic in parts.