The story is over.
Not quite, I guess, however the evolution of the
story is over. There will be re-writes and polishes as the unbridled writing of
the first draft is reviewed and revamped so that when it comes time to publish,
the manuscript is at its best. In doing this, once again, I’ll be revisiting
the characters with which I’ve been living for months, but it won’t be same, as
what is over is that sense of discovery the characters provide me as we
collectively attempt to tell, hopefully, an engaging and entertaining tale.
Every creative individual approaches their craft,
whether it be writing, painting, filmmaking, music, whatever, in their own way.
Where the desire to create comes from, no one truly knows. Why it is one person
has that ability and another doesn’t? There are a lot of mysteries in life, and
while it is in our nature to try and uncover those mysteries, sometimes they’re
best left alone and unquestioned.
Over the years I discovered my approach to
creativity. It wasn’t self-evident at first, as whether or not I had the talent
wasn’t self-evident at first. I had the desire, and all great things stem from
that. My approach to writing involved a great deal of blind faith. I found I
had to start with an idea that inspired me and whether or not I knew how the
story would end, just sit down and write and see what journey the story and its
characters took me on. This is not always a desirable way to write, as at any
time during that journey, the characters might say, “Stop the car; I’m getting
out. I’ll walk from here,” and leave the writer with five or six chapters and
nowhere to go from there. I can only imagine the number of unfinished
manuscripts collecting dust in desk drawers around the world; at one time, I
was an owner of just such a collection of incomplete manuscripts.
Having written over twenty screenplays (possibly
closer to thirty), and having employed the method of ignorance is bliss, I’ve
become somewhat confident in my abilities to flesh out a story. I’ve come to
trust the story and the characters that inhabit it that, first of all, they
will not abandoned me, and secondly, they will eventually show me the way.
That’s not to say that within that confidence, every time I start a new novel
or screenplay, I’m not living in fear that this will be the time it will all
fall apart (some of us work better with a little fear fueling us).
The approach I employ has a way of making the
characters live with me on a daily basis. If I’m not specifically thinking
about my latest manuscript, below the surface the wheels are still turning. As
I was approaching the end of The Marquis Mark, my latest effort, I had no idea
how the two storylines I had explored were going to come together in a logical
way; I had no idea how the story was going to resolve itself, as logically it was
leading me in one direction – the direction of least resistance – and providing
me with an uninspired conclusion. You see, sometimes when the characters speak
to you and offer up a direction, you have to tell them to go back to the
drawing board and try again. I did that; and I lived in fear, but once again
they showed me the way. The story concluded and in a way I would have never
imagined when I first start telling the tale. You could say your characters are
not unlike kids, in that you create them, and you nurse them along, with your
own expectations of how they will behave and who they will become, but that is
just your personal hopes and dreams, because sometimes they surprise you by
doing something you didn’t expect. You were hoping for a Doctor in the family,
but instead got a Forrest Ranger.
My characters surprised me and I’m pleased with the
results, but while it is always satisfying to write “The End” at the end of a
manuscript and realize you’ve completed yet another tale, there is also sadness
about it. I know there will be other characters and other tales, but you come
to enjoy the one you’re telling, and having lived with these characters for so
long, you’ve gotten to know them and love and hate them as is required; they’re
a part of your daily existence, and it is hard to say good-bye.
And that’s where I am right now, as I write this.
I’m walking around out of sorts. While I am pleased to have finally finished
the manuscript and with how it played out (all fears aside, these characters
did me proud), I don’t know what to do with myself. I no longer have to
consider what they will do next. They no longer need to tell me anything, and
aren’t. Sure, I will be revisiting them, to polish their tale, but there is
still a sense of loss at their passing. Yes, I agree with you, this all might
just be the early signs of the insanity that is one day going to have me
committed, unless I can become a best-selling novelist, as then that insanity
will be merely termed eccentric and I’ll be trading a straight-jacket for a
tolerant family with thoughts of inheritance living in their minds.
I will move on, and all ready there are new ideas
forming in my imagination, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering that while I
mourn those past character’s loss, wherever they go in the deep recesses of my imagination,
do they ever miss me and the time we spent together?
I hope so.
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