Been a little while since I really did anything with Fragments of Fiction so I figured that it is about time for a new installment. This particular bit is about a writer who is working on a new story.
I do most of my writing alone in the dark. I like it better then because it is quiet and the dark holds endless possibilities. Besides there are fewer interruptions. No telephones ringing, no doorbells dinging and no dogs barking. Ok, maybe a few, but at least at night their owners have the good sense to shut them up.
As it happened Alone in the Dark was the title of my first novel. It wasn’t the greatest title or the most original, but I didn’t care all that much. I was too excited about actually getting paid to write. Who knew that five years of blogging would lead to getting discovered.
Since then there had been a few other books about this and that. Some writers spent a lot of time doing research for their novels. They’d go and engulf themselves in study about a particular topic. That wasn’t for me. I wrote about what I knew.
My stories were almost always based upon my personal experiences, or a variation thereof. Perhaps it is sheer laziness, or maybe it is because the best and worst times of my life left such a deep imprint I had to share the story. Can’t say that I have spent too much time thinking about it. Maybe one day someone will do a story about my life and I’ll take the time to really consider it.
Anyway, I have been dealing with a little issue called “mama needs a new pair of shoes.” It is what I like to call a pseduo-euphemism. A goofy way of saying that the old cash flow was getting a bit thin. So I called my agent and let him know that I was working on something new. Problem was that my something new wasn’t really new.
If you want to know what my writing looked like twenty years ago read the lines below.
Twenty years ago I used to wonder about my life. Sometimes I’d stare at the reflection in the mirror and just think about all sorts of crazy stuff.
If the man I used to be were to meet the man I am today what would he say. And if the two of them were to travel together down a road and have the opportunity to meet the man that I will be, what would happen. Would they recognize each other. Would they like what they saw or would they feel contempt for what had been and what would be.
I know, it sounds ridiculous. It sounds like some idiotic, half baked science fiction story. Or maybe it sounds like reality. Maybe it sounds like the kind of story someone who has lost their way would write. At least that is sort of what I hope it sounds like.
If I could I would make it into some sort of movie, or maybe a music video. That might make it easier to understand. But it is not a music video or a movie. There is no Super 8 or video tape to use to record bad actors reciting bad lines from a poorly written screenplay.
Words are all I have to share. Words will have to do. And if it works the way that I want it to you’ll see in your mind’s eye the story I am telling.
It needs some polish, but I think that I can do something with it. Let me provide a short outline/summary of what I envision. Don’t get too involved with the lack of details, because after all this is a brief summary.
It is a love story. A man and a woman meet but they are not looking for love. Over time they develop a very deep and meaningful relationship and they fall head over heels for each other.
Circumstances prevent them from acting upon their feelings and they find themselves in a bit of a bind. She is very much in love with him, but thinks that they might have missed their window so she tries to pull back.
He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. They have agreed that they can’t imagine life without each other and that the other is the one that they need to be with, but life is never that simple. And so they find themselves in unfamiliar territory.
So they have a dilemma. If you find the great love of your life what are you willing to do to be with them. Is there really a point at which it is too late for love or can you find a way. Maybe love isn’t enough or maybe it is.
And there you have a relatively brief summary of the story I am going to write. Truth is that when I first thought about it I really was hesitant to get into it. The world has one billion love stories, do I really want to be the guy that writes another one.
But two things drove me. One was money. It is low hanging fruit. Most of us have been in love. Most of us have been in a relationship that we desperately wanted to work. This is the type of story that people will get behind.
They’ll love it or hate it, but regardless of how they feel, they’ll buy it.
That was the first reason that I decided to write it. But it was the second reason that really pushed me into it.
Her. She was responsible. The woman who had broken my heart into so many little fragments. The girl who made me realize that love could be so much more than I had thought. The girl who taught me that kissing wasn’t just a means to an end, but something far beyond that.
She was the reason I decided to write it. When she left it felt like someone had stolen the sun from the sky. And now the pathetic man who felt hollow inside was finally ready to confront his pain and make something of it.
But just what remained to be seen.