The beginning of this post is rather … unusual, and to lessen my chances of it getting search hits of the wrong sort, I will use creative spelling.
Let’s just say a woman had a s.e.x dream and in this dream, though aware the act was taking place, she felt none of the usual physical sensations. Then, at the moment of what should have been an exhilarating s.e.x.u.a.l orgasm, she felt her soul being pulled out through her entire upper body instead.
As a writer, I might see this dream as an illustration why a scene I struggled through editing yesterday did not have the desired impact. Although the scene is written in deep third pov, I failed to convey the intensity of the character’s thoughts and feelings. Though I wanted the reader right there in the scene, I kept them far away from feeling the emotion of it. In effect, I ripped the soul out of what should have been a powerful scene.
It’s okay, we’re all adults. Let’s talk openly. Do you ever discover passages of frigid fiction in your writing?
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Last night I attended a meeting of my writers’ group at Kasie’s house, which ran late, and then I stood outside talking to one of the members for a while (hi, Tricia). Unfortunately, I pulled away from the house before she did, or I could have followed her back to the main road. Instead, I made a wrong turn and wandered the community for twelve minutes. In most houses, the lights had all ready gone out for the night, and more went dark as I tried to retrace my “steps” to start over, but I never found Kasie’s house again. I cycled through: annoyance, worry, anxiety, desperation, fear—and then finally, I saw another living soul, a man working late in his garage. I asked for his help, and he gave me clear directions to be on my way home.
This morning, I’ve been thinking how I felt when every street I turned down was the wrong one. I remember feeling at one point, that I didn’t care what main street I came out onto. If only I could find one familiar street, I could find my way home from there. And then, of course, I related that to my work-in-progress. That desperation to make a connection is exactly what my protagonist Jalal feels as my story opens.
We can all relate to that. Aren’t we all lost souls looking for the way home?