I drove to Grays Harbor again yesterday. On the way, I listened to my CD of writing inspiration for Blackbird and thought about how my book is shaking down. I’ve made a huge leap forward over the past couple of weeks. Something has come unstuck, and the problems that plagued me earlier don’t seem so difficult now. I just have to keep writing.
Sometimes I lose sight of the obvious. I’ve spent so much time worrying over the voice for this book (nothing brings out my insecurities like trying to pin down a voice), and experimenting with tense, point of view and structure, that for a long while I was missing the point. I forgot I was telling a story. Two weeks ago I took an old index card and flipped it over and wrote myself a note which I’ve clipped to my work-lamp: JUST TELL THE STORY. WHAT HAPPENED? If the index card were bigger, it might also say: Averil, stop looking for gimmicks and pretty words because you’re afraid of what you’re writing. Be brave, Chicken Little. Tell the fucking story.*
What’s taped/clipped/pinned to your workspace?
*Thank you again, CJ, for the mantra.