In solidarity with Jodi

Since Jodi expressed an interest in not being the only one hanging out there in the Early Writing Zone, I'm posting this. There doesn't appear to be a title, but there are chapters with titles. This is the oldest piece of writing still in my possession. I think I was ten or eleven when I wrote this--maybe as old as twelve. I seem to have written a lot of rock n' roll fantasies about that time. No slavish descriptions here! No adverb too clumsy for inclusion! (I do note I'm still overusing exclamation marks. And ellipses.) As I told Jodi, I look at these things with a combination of familiarity and bafflement. I'm not sure what this was about except that my heroes were the rock n' roll musicians.

( Chapter 1 - Caboom! )

Bear's theme

matociquala has stimulated many conversations with her post on what we're born with and what we learn.

As my post of my early writing shows, I always had a flair for dialogue. (That's a joke, in case you're wondering.)

What I did have early on was an appreciation for words and how to string them together. Reading and writing things down came easy to me. Movies in my head came easy, although it took some time to learn how to convey them to others. I'm still learning that one. I became aware at a certain point that building characters was a mysterious and natural process for me and I like to think I do a decent job with them. Eventually, I think I developed an okay feel for dialogue.

It was a long time before the plot monkey would ride on my shoulders without biting or doing something unspeakable down my back. Every once in a while he still does something unspeakable--but such is the nature of monkeys. The description thing is always going to give me fits--too much, too little, connecting all those bright shiny scenes with something that doesn't read either like pedestrian drivel or throbbing membranes. All that. Pace and rhythm and drama-without-melodrama. Work, work, work. And more work. And continue to work, world without end, amen. Learning to move beyond cliches and comfort zones--a continuing biggie. Learning to stick my neck out and say, "To hell with it, this is what I need to write." The biggest. Work and work and work.