A glass half-full...of poison.

This is a snippet of a quote from Woody Allen in his 2006 film "Scoop." I find this turn of phrase, a play on the adage that optimists see the glass half-full, as one of Allen's more humorous. As someone who routinely forgets quotes, this one sticks with me for some reason. Perhaps it resonates with my optimistic nature, a sort of naive optimism, which friends remind me is rather dangerous.

But today a different sort of meaning came to mind for this turn of phrase. In creative endeavors, 'filling up the well' is a process I've come to believe in and trust. Drawing from the creative well daily requires a replenishment of the aquifer supplying that well. As Stephen King (and most authors) advise young writers, read. Read a lot. This is a form of 'filling the well.' Visiting museums, catching a movie, playing a game...can all help fill the well.

Unfortunately, I've poisoned my well accidentally. And though I know it is temporary, it is poisoned nonetheless. This poison happens to be sweet, and addictive. It is the latest television show I'm obsessing over (five years late), namely, Battlestar Galactica.  Being able to watch episode after episode, season after season of this gritty, compelling Sci-fi show on Netflix Instant is proving detrimental to the young adult, playful writing mode I'm in now.  While writing Mary Margaret's next adventure, with its mixture of whimsy, seriousness, and escapism, I find myself second guessing those qualities...wanting to interject more grit, more nihilism, more corruption...in short, more reality.

That is the poison, and the challenge: Balancing realities with fantasy and escapism for a younger audience, while myself being exposed to (one might say inundated with) harsh realities.

 

The inevitable; The Unfolding.

The Unfolding. As I work through the second book, I find the experience more intense, more draining. When I walk home at night from my office, I frequently find myself overcome with emotion. I have to tell, no reassure, my characters that everything will be okay. I'm like the knife-wielding German in Saving Private Ryan who, having pinned an American soldier to the ground, slowly, ever so slowly, forces the knife down into the heart of his adversary. Everything will be okay...shshshsh...it's okay.  My characters, torn, weeping, beg for life, release from the torture I inflict on them. It is a cruel endeavor, an evil endeavor, if you feel, as I do, your characters to be real.

And so when the writing feels like it's lagging, when the characters are sort just walking around and I become stuck, I know what the problem is: I'm being too nice. Damn Midwestern niceness. These characters must suffer, and then when I think they've had enough, it must go even deeper.

I call it The Unfolding, a term I unceremoniously created for this blog, but a process that I've been conscious of for some time. It's a process driven by understanding protagonist and antagonist points of view and their individual wants and desires. I don't believe in plot as a preemptive construct, at least not beyond a loose outline of destinations. I likewise don't believe in writer's block. I think these two beliefs are connected. 

If I have a clear sense of character p.o.v., then protagonist and antagonist desires drive the narrative, and the plot develops organically. What passes as 'writer's block' for me is when characters plod along aimlessly. That is when I know I'm being too nice, that the antagonist has fallen asleep at the helm of his own desires. Once I realize this, The Unfolding continues.