If you are a writer, you will get this. If you are not a writer, it may not make as much sense, but please bear with me. It might make sense at some point or you'll leave scratching your head and wondering why I'm not in a hospital somewhere wearing a very special jacket...and maybe a mask...you know...so I don't...well, you get the point.
|What became of your lamb, Clarice?|
Anyway, the long and short of it is, I'm going quietly crazy writing this story. This is not a unique thing to happen just to me. All writers hit that point somewhere in the process. The story gets so overwhelming, the emotions get so deep, the tension invades your dreams, your life, your every waking moment. There are times when I just want to cry for no reason. Other times I want to hit my head against the wall...again for no reason. Except there is a reason. The reason is the story. It's always the story.
You can put the phone down. I'm not that crazy, I'm a writer.
I imagine that a lot of insane people will probably say the same thing. Does that make me crazy? I guess this would be a bad time to tell you that the characters talk to me when I'm writing. Not actually talking to me, not in the sense that most people would assume, but they do. They whisper to my unconscious about what they are needing to do to propel the story forward. To build the tension toward the inevitable climax. To elicit the reader to feel, to dream, to cry, to scream. To feel every feeling that they, the characters feel. Which in turn, I as the writer, must feel and therefore express.
Make sense yet? Confused? Worried about my continued sanity?
Don't worry, I'm completely sane. Of course, Hannibal Lechter would tell you the same thing. Or maybe not. It would depend on what he was trying to get you to do and feel at the time.
The more I write this, the more I doubt my own sanity, but bear with me.
Anyway, I was talking to mom the other day. As awesome as she is, I couldn't explain it to her in any way that made sense. I told her what was happening. Her response was simple.
Mom: "Stop thinking about it when you aren't writing."
Me: "Um. Can't."
She didn't get it. As awesome as she is, she didn't get it. I didn't expect her to get it. I think she was a little worried about me. I would probably be worried about me too if I didn't understand.
So here's why I can't stop. Stopping the story in my head would be akin to not breathing. I won't stop because it can't stop. To stop is to cease to exist. This may sound dramatic, but trust me, everyone has that inside of them. That drive, that need, that to stop means to cease to exist. To curl up into a ball and just stop.
I've gotten to the point in my writing where it isn't just a want, it's a need. Even if the story is driving me crazy, I can't stop. I don't want to stop. I want to take this whole crazy train to the end so I can look back and say "Wow! What a ride!". So that when you, the reader, pick up the book you can't stop reading it. It won't let you because you will feel all the pain, love, happiness, and fear of every character. That you will dream about them and you'll be desperate to KNOW what happens even after the last page is read.
See? I'm not crazy or maybe I am. Ultimately, it doesn't matter. I have a story in my head that won't go away. I knew this was going to happen before I started it. I also knew that resisting it was like stopping the rising tide or the setting of the sun.
|Resistance is Futile|
'Till next time.