Tonight, I felt the urge to buy a new domain and start a new blog. Creating new online spaces has become as much an obsession as the idea of losing weight or buying a new wardrobe. I experience euphoria when I visualize a fresh new project, or the perfect body, or a killer new outfit and everything else fades away.
Never mind the fact that I’m already too busy to manage my three current online properties; I feel thoroughly convinced that a new site will help me uncover a hidden well of creativity.
It will be new, and it will be perfect.
I’ve mentioned a few times this year that it’s my goal to write a novel.
Well, those embers are still glowing, and I’ve been reading a lot of books about writing as I prepare to start the project. One part of me likes to believe that these books are filling me with the knowledge and inspiration I need to get started, and the other part of me knows that it may just be a procrastination tactic.
Regardless, I read a book last night that really resonated with me. It’s called Write Your Novel From The Middle: A New Approach for Plotters, Pantsers and Everyone in Between, by James Scott Bell.
The book points out the importance of a novel’s midpoint, and what Bell calls the “mirror moment.” The mirror moment is the emotional core of the novel, and the instance where the protagonist takes a serious look at herself.
This really makes sense to me and for the first time, the idea of developing a working structure for my novel seems a little less daunting. I can focus on a midpoint—I can find the heart of the novel, I’m sure of it.
I knew I’d never get anywhere being a pantser (seat-of-your-pants writer) and just writing where the story takes me, however, I’m definitely not organized enough to plot down to the chapter right away, either. Below is a snippet of Bell’s take on the mirror moment.
When I started this blog and declared that things would be happening, I was so full of inspiration. I really thought that this would be the year that I finished my first novel, and like always, my job and family obligations have gotten in the way.
Do you remember the kid in school who made it his mission to entertain and amuse his classmates, sometimes at his own expense? I feel like the tag class clown lacks something here, but I’m sure know who I’m talking about.
I married that guy.
I don’t mean I married some general all-around funny guy, I mean, I literally married the guy from my own class who was always making me and everyone else laugh. He has a talent for physical comedy and an ability to suspend any feelings of self-consciousness when he’s on one of his schticks.
It’s past midnight and I’m avoiding bed.
I should be sleeping; I should be wrapped in warm blankets, gathering my strength and taking advantage of every single peaceful moment that a house with two young children can offer, because at this moment I can feel illness making its home in my body. Undoubtedly just a cold, just enough of a bother to slow me down the rest of the week.
Instead of doing the smart thing—allowing my body some rest before the storm—I’m writing, drinking too much Diet Coke and catching up on Downton Abbey. This is what private time looks like for me, and even though my nose is fast becoming a leaky faucet, the time is still nice.
It’s nice to feel the space of an empty room and to have a little scrap of quiet.
We’re looking at another snow-day tomorrow, and while I’m getting sick of hearing people bellyache about winter myself, I have to say that I’m exhausted.