Vignettes

I have a series of partial one piecers on my computer that I've been posting the last couple of days and I find it hard not to expand them into big fat stories. It's just a built in mechanism, I like big fat stories in my mind I guess. I've also had an unprecedented three story ideas for original stories in the past two weeks. I'm not entirely sure what's going on but I'm not complaining too much.

I seem to find it difficult to set aside time to do nothing but write. Every time I seem to sit down at a computer my logical brain kicks into gear and I find myself coding even if I had intended to do other work. Maybe it's because I prefer quieter settings to do most of my writing, and let me tell you it isn't quiet here.

But I've also discovered something about myself. I'm not a "writer" or an "author" - when I put pen to paper or fingers to the keyboard it's not in anticipation of creating beautiful flowing prose. For me that is poetry and meta fiction, and although they are lovely in their own right it's not what I feel the urge to create. I write to tell a story. To show a picture, a scene, something jumping out of my mind and onto the page. I found a collection of poetry written in one of my college classes and was interested to discover that even when I write poetry, I do it to tell a story. My poems were all on scenes of everyday life - my battles with depression, my fight to find a meaning in being a mother, my failing marriage. There was no ode to love or blabber of words to paint a picture with sound. It was meaningful, it was story and scene, character not composition. And I like it that way.

I think I've been focusing too hard on the semantics, the grammar and composition, and not enough on the story, the characters who used to live in my head and fight their way into existence. Well, they're coming back into being so I won't dissapoint them.

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