It’s going to reach 60 degrees here in Detroit today, so of course my mind is turning to gardens, if only the metaphorical kind.
Yesterday I finally started writing the section of my WIP that I have been anticipating for months. Wasn’t sure why it took so long to get onto the page. Chronologically, it needed to come much sooner than yesterday. Which is fine, I can insert it wherever. But I remembered being puzzled at the time. I knew what I wanted to write. I knew what needed to happen. Why wasn’t I just writing already?
Turns out the soil needed tilling for the flowers to grow.
Some of the things I did included going through three months worth of magazines, catalogs, and old circus photographs to find images of my characters and their spaces. After ripping out many pages over several days, I assembled them, with embellishments, into an easily accessed notebook. Choosing just the right images from the mountain, and then backing each with pretty paper, helped me really focus on the visuals of the story.
Into another notebook went some research from a book I’d read. On a trip last month to a site I’m using in the book, I took some notes. Those too were incorporated into the story yesterday.
I get a little cranky with myself when I can’t always come up with writing from nothing, when I have to do a lot of prep work to get the words to come out right. Then I remind myself that stories, like gardens, require patient attention to bloom.