This might be working. I was looking forward to writing most of the day, at least in this format. To be sure, imagining what I would say to my little audience had me thinking about what I could rant about, so I pulled out the most recent piece I’ve touched. It’s titled Venice because titles are hard and I have to call it something. 3,052 words (almost a full five pages) once I did some small edits and… it’s good. Really good. In my traditional way, I have no idea where it’s going but I’ve certainly given myself plenty to work with.

Unsurprisingly, it has an Italian flavor but it’s set in a fantasy world because research is hard. My characters have fun names: Pietro, Davide, Antonello, Viola. It starts with the discovery of a murder and high emotions after I’ve established some setting details. At the end of what I’ve written I mention the ‘northern continent’. There are merchant connections, a kingdom and the hint of succession (clear motive, good, okay, cool). I did a pretty good job with the descriptions, too (I have a character bringing up the importance of a blue door with no explanation), but I can see that I stopped where I did because I don’t have a plan, a plot. That’s okay. It feels good to be doing this much.

I love this:

I craned my neck to see again, knowing I would soon have a neck as long as Patrizia Caruso’s at this rate, but it looked as though the authorities were finishing up. They were coming up the slippery steps, holding the mossy wall for balance. They looked grim. Feud for sure. I gripped my cap more tightly and tried to make sure the look on my face was appropriately somber.

The guard tonight was Viola Romano and backing her was Antonello Giordano. I knew them both; had been in school with them both as small children. I had entertained a week-long crush on Viola until I realized that she could kill me as easily as a bug, and then I managed a healthy fear of her until we shared our first kiss in level six. The crush was a playful and lingering thing, the fear was not entirely dismissed, but mostly she was a close friend. Antonello was sturdy, a welcome acquaintance in hard times, but we did not share a close friendship. He was busy with three children and a sick mother at home and had no time for socializing.

I love, love writing scenes of high emotion. I brought up the irony to my counselor when I was sobbing and she asked me what I was feeling. I thought for a while and finally managed a hesitant, “Sad?” Yet in my stories it’s always clear to me what the people are and should be feeling. Confusion, rage, sadness, euphoria, it’s easy. Apparently, not so in real life.

I’m not sure what to do with this blog yet. Do I put up the 3,052 words that I’ve written to see what you think? Do I see if I can work of Pietro’s story some more and keep you updated on the progress? What are your thoughts?

January 19, 2021

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