Tag: Fictional characters

Under Construction

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Writing can be gratifying, but it’s not easy. It requires introspection, imagination, and a healthy dose of discipline away from the demands of the day.

As I write this, my creative inspiration has been less certain and more diffused. Perhaps the construction cones, yellow tape, and jagged chunks of sod–prominent through the screen of our kitchen window after the replacement of a water main valve this week–are a fitting metaphor for the disruption I feel.

I’m living between and among several writing-related projects that deserve attention. The largest of these is a novel I’ve been mining … and drifting in and out of for the past eighteen months or so.

It’s a compelling (I think) fictionalized story of twin brothers navigating the pitfalls of their differences and a significant/sudden loss that muddies their family waters and transforms them.

I’ve written six or eight chapters, spent significant hours developing the back stories of both characters, and have a clear idea of the troubles they will face and how the story will end, but there is at least a year of research, writing and editing ahead. That feels daunting.

In the near term, I’m committed to blogging once a week and working with Marc, the artistic director of the Phoenix Gay Men’s Chorus, on another libretto later this month. This one, called “Encore”, will appear on stage in late June.

I’m also refashioning a retrospective essay about a teen’s emerging gay identity. This is something I’ve submitted to a few literary magazines. So far, no takers. But I’m determined to find a home for it.

Meanwhile, I want to teach a memoir writing class. On Monday, I presented the Scottsdale Public Library with a concept for a workshop I have developed. They like the idea. There are details and timeframes to figure out, but I hope to lead the first session with a small group of attendees this fall.

Yes, there is a lot under construction inside my brain and around me as snowbirds tiptoe to and from the parking lot past the various plots of uneven ground the plumbing crew left in their wake.

At least I’m choosing creative projects that are important to me … doing my best to entice more folks to read my books, while maximizing the slippery slope of my sixties.

It all feels exhilarating and overwhelming.

After and Before

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Remarkably, here in the Valley of the Sun, we have enjoyed a relatively comfortable early June. Seventies in the mornings. Low-to-mid nineties in the afternoons.

I’ve made the most of these breezy bonus days. Walking, hiking, swimming outside to rediscover my energy after a few weeks of long rehearsals and performances on stage indoors with my pals in the Phoenix Gay Men’s Chorus.

Of course, all of us Sonoran Desert rats know the mild temperatures won’t last.

We now brace ourselves, before triple-digit high temperatures arrive later this week and stay like unwelcome houseguests through most of September.

I’m not complaining. The summers here are quiet, beautiful, and hot–gorgeous sunsets, rugged buttes–away from the rush of the world and the traffic generated by snowbirds.

Our sizzling stillness is punctuated in July and August by monsoon storms that boil down from the mountains that surround us.

Now that Tom and I have lived here almost six years, our Midwestern years and associated memories have begun to fade like colorful t-shirts, hanging on a clothesline, bleached by constant exposure to the sun.

This day-in, day-out aging awareness, as we approach our shared 66th birthday in early July, makes me especially thankful that I wrote stories about my Illinois, Missouri, and North Carolina memories when they were fresh in my brain.

I guess you could say I’m between creative projects. I don’t know what I’ll decide to write next, beyond the weekly ramblings that appear here.

There is a fictionalized story I set aside late last year, when I devoted more time to writing dialogue for the chorus and completing my book of poetry.

In my mind, the main character of this yet-to-emerge family drama is living in the mountains near Flagstaff, Arizona–trying to come to terms with a significant loss he has experienced.

The good news is Tom and I have made plans to spend several days in the higher, cooler altitude of that area in late July to commemorate what would have been my mother’s 100th birthday.

Maybe this journey north, several thousand feet over the saguaros and into the ponderosa pines, is exactly what I need to rekindle my next story away from the scorching sunsets of our regular Sonoran life.

A Flair for Fiction?

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A good writer can summon the right mix of words and creativity to bring any story or situation to life.

I think I’ve always believed that statement. But, in the past, I’ve been more comfortable telling true stories, derived from the vault of my memories. Less comfortable creating a set of characters and possibilities from scratch.

Recently, a voice inside has been telling me to try my hand at fiction. I decided to humor that voice. I registered for an in-person, six-week creative writing course in Scottsdale. It began in mid-September.

Twelve of us writers from all walks of life sit around an oblong table every Wednesday afternoon. Our instructor shares her experience and tools. She’s a writer, screenwriter, and editor.

She guides us through various writing prompts in the moment. We take turns reading our work to each other. Then, we disburse to craft something original for the following Wednesday.

One of our assignments was to create a detailed character inventory. To essentially build a character from the ground up–complete with personal history, physical traits, likes, dislikes, baggage, strengths, and weaknesses. The whole enchilada.

The idea might sound intimidating. It certainly wasn’t easy, but it was a lot of fun. Now, I’m beginning to write a story that features this character. Remarkably, I can envision this person in the world, though they exist purely in my imagination.

I don’t know where this exercise will lead ultimately, but I’m open to the raw uncertainty. For the first time in about a year, I feel a surge in creative energy to explore and try new things.

Time, trial and error will tell me whether I truly have a flair for fiction. When I’m ready to disclose more, I’ll share it here.