I’ve always been a little envious of my fiction-writing friends. They can twist and turn their stories in whatever direction their imaginations take them. If the plot seems boring, they can change it. If a character is annoying, they can kill him. Meanwhile, I am stuck in my factual, nonfiction box, only allowed to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Don’t get me wrong. I love real-life inspirational stories. But every now and then, I’ve wondered what it would be like to create my own cast of characters, throw them into a story and make them come to life.
Every month I gather together with a small group of writers. Many of them, fiction writers. I love hearing their creative ideas as they brainstorm their stories. They make me shake my head and respond with the following six words:
“I wish I could write fiction.”
Inevitably, their faces would light up. “You can!” They’d grin, obviously hoping I’d join them on the other side.
But I knew I couldn’t.
I had zero story ideas. And if, by chance, I ever did think of something book-worthy, I wouldn’t know how to begin … or end ... or what to say in the middle. So, I put my dream on the backburner.
Months passed and turned into years. Then one morning I woke up with a small spark of an idea. Interesting. I went about my day. Then came another idea. And another.
Don’t get me wrong. I love real-life inspirational stories. But every now and then, I’ve wondered what it would be like to create my own cast of characters, throw them into a story and make them come to life.
Every month I gather together with a small group of writers. Many of them, fiction writers. I love hearing their creative ideas as they brainstorm their stories. They make me shake my head and respond with the following six words:
“I wish I could write fiction.”
Inevitably, their faces would light up. “You can!” They’d grin, obviously hoping I’d join them on the other side.
But I knew I couldn’t.
I had zero story ideas. And if, by chance, I ever did think of something book-worthy, I wouldn’t know how to begin … or end ... or what to say in the middle. So, I put my dream on the backburner.
Months passed and turned into years. Then one morning I woke up with a small spark of an idea. Interesting. I went about my day. Then came another idea. And another.
I returned to my writers’ group. I took a deep breath and worked up the courage to share my ideas. Nobody laughed, so I kept talking. After I had monopolized most of our meeting time, they encouraged me to go for it. I returned home excited – and overwhelmed. I had a lot to learn about writing a novel.
Since then I ‘ve dug out all my CDs and MP3s from past writers’ conferences I’ve attended. This time, I’m listening to all the fiction-writing advice. I’ve checked out so many “How to Write a Novel-type” books at the library, the librarians are getting suspicious. I listen to writing podcasts while folding laundry. I daydream about dynamic characters while doing dishes. I have a steep learning curve ahead of me, but at least I’m starting the climb.
So, if I haven’t written a blog post in a while--or if you don’t see me on Facebook, don’t worry. I’m doing just fine. I’m probably hanging out with my imaginary friends and listening to the voices in my head.
Since then I ‘ve dug out all my CDs and MP3s from past writers’ conferences I’ve attended. This time, I’m listening to all the fiction-writing advice. I’ve checked out so many “How to Write a Novel-type” books at the library, the librarians are getting suspicious. I listen to writing podcasts while folding laundry. I daydream about dynamic characters while doing dishes. I have a steep learning curve ahead of me, but at least I’m starting the climb.
So, if I haven’t written a blog post in a while--or if you don’t see me on Facebook, don’t worry. I’m doing just fine. I’m probably hanging out with my imaginary friends and listening to the voices in my head.
