Yesterday, I decided to start my short story. The problem was, I didn’t know where to start. All I had were a bunch of notes scribbled on post-its and quotes I’d cut out thinking they somehow pertained to what I wanted to write about.
I got an idea about a structure I wanted to try after reading Charles Baxter’s “Poor Devils” in that Atlantic Monthly fiction issue I keep referring to. I admired this story so much and after thinking about it decided that he tells stories with small mysteries. I want to do something similar in the same way: reel it out, elegant and shimmering.
After I typed out all my “notes” I realized that none of them really helped me tell a story. Instead, they all seemed like slogans aimed at encouraging me to write. And yet, I couldn’t think of a way into the story. A couple of minutes passed. I wrote the first two lines. They were crap. Usually, I’ll just continue, keep my pen moving.
But this time I stopped and had a little dialogue with my inner critic, who rightly pointed out that even I was bored with those sentences. Sigh. Next idea: brainstorm 10 ideas for the “mystery” I was talking about in relation to Charles Baxter. Not “mystery” in the sense of who done it, but “mystery” meaning the reader wants to know who these characters are and what has brought them to the point of the story opening.
I came up with exactly zero ideas for this mystery. It occurred to me that I needed to start with a character. From my dialogue with the inner critic I knew I wanted to write about someone different from me, someone completely made up. Nobody was jumping out of my imagination and saying “Me! Me!” so I decided to brainstorm 10 possible characters. After the first couple of character ideas, the inner critic shut up.
I figured out pretty early into the writing session yesterday that my inner critic was acting up, being louder than normal, because I’m planning on sharing my writing process, and each draft of my story, with my Creative Types. Usually, the way I get this voice to shut up is to just say “nobody has to see this but me.” And I couldn’t say that this time. There’s something about knowing I’m going to share a piece of my work with, let’s face it, at this point, relative strangers. Who are, except for one person, much younger than I am. All of that made me momentarily vulnerable and the inner critic saw an opening and came right on in.
Next step: deciding which character to keep. Interestingly, the second chapter of Gotham Writers’ Workshop is all about characters. Finding them and filling them out. As I take my students through the chapter and the exercises, I’ll work along with them. Hey, I’m going to write some fiction this semester after all.