![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Writing randomly.
Jul. 9th, 2007 10:23 pmI was in front of my computer, writing the next part of Out Of Bounds, when I hit a point where I had too many options. Tilt.
I tried going to Hugo House to be all "writerly" and think it through. But that writer's den was too den-like and there were too many people.
I went to the park, put on my "Icarus looks cool" shades and made a beeline for the children's wading pool, the skies blue, wind just cool enough as the sun warmed my arms. I basked by the side of the glittering pool that was shaped like a turtle, contemplating my many options and watching the young mothers with their kids.
Then a guy in a lawn chair tossed tennis balls into the pool.
One.
Two.
Three.
They floated in a random triangle in the center of the pool, almost equidistant from each other. And I thought, "Okay, that's my approach."
I took three possibilities and wrote them down on three sheets of paper and folded them. I walked over to one of the young mothers and explained, "I'm writing a story and I'm stuck on a scene. I've written three possibilities down on these slips of paper." I held them out to her daughter. "Pick one."
The little girl was shy, dipped her head and buried her face against her mom's knee. So I said to her mom, "I guess you'll have to do it."
She picked one, her smirk somewhere between amused and bemused. I grinned when I opened it. It was the one I'd wanted to do, and I thanked her.
I went back to my seat and began writing the scene. The guy who'd thrown the tennis balls walked by. It turned out he was an employee of Seattle City Parks there to test the PH of the water and add chlorine.
I explained what I'd done, thanking him. "It was the tennis balls that gave me the idea."
He was very amused and grinned through the rest of his task.
Now all I have to do is type the scene. I'm strangely reluctant, like committing it to paper will let out the magic of the afternoon like poking a hole in the bottom of a paper cup full of water.
I tried going to Hugo House to be all "writerly" and think it through. But that writer's den was too den-like and there were too many people.
I went to the park, put on my "Icarus looks cool" shades and made a beeline for the children's wading pool, the skies blue, wind just cool enough as the sun warmed my arms. I basked by the side of the glittering pool that was shaped like a turtle, contemplating my many options and watching the young mothers with their kids.
Then a guy in a lawn chair tossed tennis balls into the pool.
One.
Two.
Three.
They floated in a random triangle in the center of the pool, almost equidistant from each other. And I thought, "Okay, that's my approach."
I took three possibilities and wrote them down on three sheets of paper and folded them. I walked over to one of the young mothers and explained, "I'm writing a story and I'm stuck on a scene. I've written three possibilities down on these slips of paper." I held them out to her daughter. "Pick one."
The little girl was shy, dipped her head and buried her face against her mom's knee. So I said to her mom, "I guess you'll have to do it."
She picked one, her smirk somewhere between amused and bemused. I grinned when I opened it. It was the one I'd wanted to do, and I thanked her.
I went back to my seat and began writing the scene. The guy who'd thrown the tennis balls walked by. It turned out he was an employee of Seattle City Parks there to test the PH of the water and add chlorine.
I explained what I'd done, thanking him. "It was the tennis balls that gave me the idea."
He was very amused and grinned through the rest of his task.
Now all I have to do is type the scene. I'm strangely reluctant, like committing it to paper will let out the magic of the afternoon like poking a hole in the bottom of a paper cup full of water.
