Let's Write This Thing! vol. 2

Serendipity (again)

How Do They Do That?

Curiosity

SERENDIPITY (again)

I was genuinely surprised by the response to Volume 1 of my newsletter. Clicking "PUBLISH" reminded me of my first day as a radio disc jockey (age 19). I opened the mic and had the eerie feeling I was speaking into a void. This time, though, hearing from you feels like the beginning of a conversation. So, thanks to everyone who took the time to leave a comment.

In that first issue, I mentioned that writing a sequel is hard. I've since learned that writing Volume 2 of a newsletter isn't much easier.

While I struggled with what the heck to write about, along came good ol’ Serendipity: a friend called. He said he was thinking about taking the plunge and wanted to know how I got started writing fiction. I gave the best answer I could. To paraphrase:

One of my favorite parts of reading fiction has always been the moment a phrase or sentence stops me. Not because I don’t understand it, but because somehow, with a few words, the author places a stunning picture, or a tender emotion, or a complex concept in my head.

How do they do that?

I would reread those carefully chosen words, hoping to grasp what made them click, imagining I might work that magic myself someday.

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HOW DO THEY DO THAT?

After the call, I realized I'd asked myself a similar question in a different context. It happened the first time I stood face to face with oil paintings by the Old Masters, trying to understand how individual brushstrokes somehow became a lace collar, or a nose, or reflections on water. Up close, they were abstract daubs of paint. From a few feet back, they came to life. It seemed impossible.

Then one day I wandered through an exhibit of watercolor paintings. Again I examined the surfaces, but this time I could see what the artist had done. Instead of magic, I saw technique, and I had a foothold that gave me the courage to try it myself.

Thinking this through today, I realize what’s driven much of my life. Whether it was acting, photography, woodworking, guitar, painting, or writing, I was always trying to peek behind the curtain—to understand how talented people do difficult things, then see if I could do them myself.

Those hobbies seemed unrelated until today, when I made the connection. All those interests boil down to one thing.

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CURIOSITY

It explains why I still take along my reading glasses when I visit a museum, and why I enjoy learning about the craft of writing almost as much as reading fiction.

And I think it explains why I keep working on my fiction.

Somewhere along my writing journey, I became less interested in simply telling a story. What fascinates me is the mystery of human behavior. Why does one person find the courage to change while another remains trapped? How much of who we become is choice, and how much is fate?

In my current novel, I’m wrestling with how two parents who love their child can arrive at completely different ideas of what's best for him.

Fiction doesn't answer those questions; it gives us a place to explore them.

Which brings me back to curiosity.

Lately, I’ve been pondering this: what makes one story stay with me for years while another fades before I've even closed the book?

Which novel stayed with you long after you finished it, and, more importantly, why do you think it never really left you?

I'd love to hear your thoughts on that, or anything else you’re curious about these days.

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Finally, thanks for supporting "Let's Write This Thing!"

Don