I finally got it today. I “got” my story.
For NaNoWriMo I had done a first outline to give me some kind of direction into the story. I didn’t go to deep into it so I could have space during the writing process. I created some of the main characters to provide some grounds to the action.
Today I just opened up a complete new space that uncovered some deeper content. I spent a lot of my time today, writing in a little notebook things that I should not forget for later in the story.
While I’m writing I always have this question lingering in the back: What are her/his motivations/intentions to do/say/think this? As I find some answers, it all starts to make sense.
Anytime I work a new story or poem, it is only an intangible feeling that seems to wander in my mind without any grounds. And then I start with a word, a sentence and then it “appears” in my mind – the whole story, the images and emotions associated with it. All the fun is in the process. I just love to start each day on a blank page and go on with the story. It is interesting that I’ve never feared a “blank page” or a “writer’s block”. I don’t say that it can’t never happen, I just don’t fear it will happen. I just trust the process. And in the process I find many things inside myself : treasures, tears, laughters, shit, anger, gold, hate, light, darkness, love, humanity, compassion, etc. And when what I write is useless, I don’t make it mean anything. It’s just part of the process of letting go whatever is inside. Just like yesterday and the cheezy stuff.
About romance… It’s not that I don’t like to write romantic stuff. I know a bunch of writers who do it very well. I am just not into that. Maybe that is why I call it cheezy and that I’m being a little cynical about it. But if I think that what I write is somehow related to something going on (or not) in my life, or a feeling that may hide inside, I just have to be responsible for it. It doesn’t come from the neighbor… So yes I would love a little cheezy romance in my life…. and by the way the romantic scene I wrote yesterday? Even with a promising start and maybe some hot action, ended in a fight…. (that’s me being cynical about relationships.)
Ok enough of that stuff already… how about a short excerpt?
Murrogh finally sat after his latest tour of the huge kitchens settled in the semi-basement of the castle, where near a hundred people were preparing the banquet. The week of the Comet was the busiest and he had to requisite almost every young man in age of working to help. The job was rough, the kitchens being a stressful environment and an accident could happen so quickly. How many cuts, burns or bruises happened over the years? He could not recall. Wiping the sweat on his forehead he looked around in satisfaction. This year’s feast would be one to remember.
In the latest delegation of foreigners that came a few months ago, there was a cook with many tricks who showed him how to create arts and sculptures with the many dishes that were presented to the guests. Since then, Murrogh had been wandering around the land on a secret mission, looking out for sculptors that would create masterpieces made of fruits, vegetables, meats and breads. The first time he gathered his team composed of butchers, bakers and pastry cooks, many where skeptic in front of the different ideas he showed. After a few heated discussions, they all finally agreed to give it a try, knowing the challenging days coming ahead.
But the best was yet to come. Murrogh kept a final secret from all of them. The centerpiece of the event would be a full-scale sculpture of the goddess, seated on a huge wave. At its base, a basin filled with live fish and other sea creatures. Around it, many smaller sculptures of forest animals stuffed with fruits, slowly melting along the week releasing their gifts. Everybody was so busy with the preparations, that no one noticed he had set a room next to the main hall, where five sculptors and their apprentices were creating the ice pieces. To top it off, he asked one of the city magicians to create a spell to keep it frozen all week.
As Chief executive he was definitely proud of his work. The huge tables of the main hall would show the abundance of their land and feed the hundred of guests that would come along during the week. And he knew for certain that the poets would sing his name for centuries to come.
Murrogh was not a king, but he fed them with panache.
With great respect!