Do you ever have moments in your writing where you think, “damn. Maybe I’ve actually got a smidgen of talent,” and the possibility of what you’re doing is made a little brighter on the horizon?
That’s why I keep this blog. It’s a snapshot of my writing. As I originally wrote in my About section I used to write silly little things in the margins of newspapers or in magazines and on random napkins and leave them wherever they were. After a while I ended up missing the chance at keeping those random writings and having them to look back on. The stories in my head were gone and I’d never read them again. So here I am now.
I was reading back through some of my past writings of the last couple of weeks. I came across a few that I remember enjoying when they were done and I gave them another scan. I smiled.
“These aren’t that bad,” I said to myself, “actually they’re pretty good.”
Then I kept reading. I read two or three more and then I got to one that I didn’t really remember what it was about and I opened it to read. It was short, not even a thousand words but the further I read into it the more excited I got.
It wasn’t a great story or amazing surprise but I felt like it was really good writing. The flow was good. The descriptions made me feel. I put myself back into the character, the narrator, and I could feel it.
Of course I’ve instantly gone into anti-ego mode and told myself that it was easy to get back into the character because the character is me. Someone else might not find it as easy, but I still liked the writing. I enjoyed the description. I felt something and that’s what I always try and do with what I write. I’m not a great plot organizer or twist ending writing type, but I think I have the ability to write things that can make the reader feel what the characters are feeling.
I hope that’s enough because it’s always enough for me.
Here is an excerpt from the piece I was reading that made me post this. It’s from a random part of a random story that doesn’t exist, titled Do you want to get some coffee?
“She raised her eyebrow at me and stared for a decade or two. Her lips were together and still. She had the biggest, rounded eyes I had ever seen. I believe people often described them as saucers, big and bright and a perfect circle. While I’m staring back into her stare all I can think of is the moon and if it had a twin that lived alongside it. Two giant celestial circles floating in the sky staring at me through a blanket of night black hair.”
It’s the stare that does it for me. It always has. It always will.