Friday, February 08, 2008

this end up (or: writing makes a fragile state of mind)

Let us have the luxury of silence.—Jane Austen, Mansfield Park
If you prick us, do we not bleed?—William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

THE SCENE: a bedroom/study, at a large black (altogether lovely) desk, computer humming, cursor blinking. A page of text, also blinking, at—

THE CAST: the writer. Who is four hours into her work day. Her jaw aches because she has a habit of clenching it as she writes. This explains her headaches. As does the glaring screen.

The screen also arches an eyebrow (is this common among computers?), because the writer has begun to doodle on scraps of paper. Curlicues turn into storm clouds, into a mountain range, into a chateau, into an abstract drawing of a person scowling.

At which point, she tosses the paper and begins to snip off the ends of her hair.

THE PLOT: Her problem is, quite literally, staring her in the face. It’s on the screen: a fraction of a chapter, which—if everyone’s lucky—will become her Chapter Seven.

It’s not a very good scene, to be honest. She knows this, and the screen knows this. Hence, the clenched jaw, tossed paper, snipped hair. And the arched eyebrow of the screen.

THE PLOT THICKENS: She’d like to revise the scene—she’d really like to. But the opening line sets the stage by describing the weather (it’s an outdoor scene, after all), and she can’t decide—should it be a sunny day? or cloudy with a cold wind?

(Another inch of hair bites the dust.)

Yes, it really is this important. No, nothing else can be done until it is decided.

Snip.

PLOT DEVELOPMENT: With a flash of inspiration, the writer seizes the keyboard. (The screen raises its other eyebrow.) And she opens a new document. (The screen wilts.)

The left side of the writer’s brain has had it with all this moping around. It’s about to do what it knows best—a pros-and-cons list.

In favor of sun: more color in the scene, more warmth, contrast between the bright light and the dark shadows, which brings a nice juxtaposition: the scene ends with trouble, and trouble on a sunny day, always unexpected…

In favor of clouds: more moody atmosphere for a complex scene (suits the character, suits the drama, suits the scene’s end particularly well), and it does take place in winter after all, and then maybe we could—

THE VILLAIN: The phone rings.

The writer stares at the screen. The screen stares back, horrified. Don’t answer it, says the screen. You were on the brink of a breakthrough! The first line, revision, the rest of the novel, the rest of your life…

Riiiiiing.

The writer sighs. It could be important.

She lifts the receiver. “Hello?”

“HI,” replies a chipper, automated voice. “PLEASE STAY ON THE LINE, AS THIS MAY AFFECT YOUR CAR WARRANTY. DID YOU KNOW—”

When the writer throws the phone through her closed window, she notes with some pleasure that it didn’t bounce even once before hitting the back fence.

Her aim has improved.

Her headache, however, is much worse. What was I doing? she asks the screen helplessly.

The screen maintains a furiously self-righteous silence.

The writer reaches for her scissors.

Snip.

-jl

Posted by Jenn Langefeld on 02/08 at 06:56 PM
(0) Trackbacks • Permalink

<< Back to main