For the first time in my life, I have a group of writer friends that gets together regularly, while also keeping it casual. Show up on Wednesday or Saturday mornings at the local coffee shop, or don’t. Whatever your schedule will allow.
You’re never certain how many people will be there, if any, and who. Even when no one is there, it’s a dedicated time to focus on writing, so I really like going.
There are no expectations.
Perfect!
You can pop in for a short time, knock out some words in an hour, or stay all morning. It’s all up to you and whatever you have time for.
It’s really great.
Some wacky personal stuff got in the way for several months, but I went back last week and had a really great impromptu brainstorming session with someone about my current WIP. (The one of five I’m farthest along on)
I’ve been stuck for a while and had talked out some plot possibilities the week before at lunch with some friends, but I was still unclear as to the direction I wanted to take it.
There was just one person that showed up to the group writing this Wednesday. I’ve talked to her a bit, but not in depth. Enough to know that she doesn’t write, really, but edits and proofreads.
We got to chatting and I mentioned how much I liked my characters and several scenes and was trying to figure out the climactic event even though I wasn’t even sure I liked where it was going. The dynamic, and how everything has played out until the point I got stuck I liked, but the plot felt forced and stale.
Probably because I “pantsed” 44,000 words and then set it aside because I was stuck, but picked it back up again a month ago to use as “plotter” practice.
In the process of trying to plot out the rest of the story, I got stuck again.
She didn’t offer possible storylines at first, but asked me “What are you—and ultimately your FMC—trying to accomplish?”
Not the question I was expecting. Most advice is “What is their fatal flaw?” or “What is the main theme?”
Honestly, I didn’t know how to answer any of those questions, but hers seemed deeper. More personal.
I was just trying to get images out of my brain in a cohesive story. My goal was mostly just to finish the book.
Not only was she asking what I want to accomplish in the book with my story, characters, and theme, but also me, personally. By writing this, what is my own motivation?
It’s a profound question that I felt like I should be able to answer right away, but now, days later, I’m still contemplating it.
I’d love to tell you my reflection has given me a deep, meaningful response, but I still have nothing.
Why am I writing? Why does anyone write?
I know it’s therapeutic, for sure.
It gives me “something to do” with my mind and time.
But beyond that, what is the point? I’m at a loss.
If I don’t finish writing this story would it even matter? No.
If I do finish writing this story would it even matter? No.
Will my story have an impact on anyone’s life? Probably not.
Will my story have an impact on my own life? I don’t think so.
It’s an interesting thought experiment. The arts are so unlike other professions and hobbies. In the grand scheme they don’t “appear” to matter, but on an emotional—and often, spiritual—level, they impact our lives greatly.
Could you imagine a world without music, art, dancing, poetry, theater?
So, my answer could possibly be abstract; more of a feeling?
I have no idea what I want to accomplish by writing, in my story, or in the life of my character.
But what I do know is that when I’m reading the works of other people, I’m taken to a different world for a little while, making my “real” life seem a little more manageable. And when I’m writing, I feel those same things and a sense of accomplishment.
Even when the story isn’t complete. Or fleshed out. Or cohesive. I’ve done something. I’ve given thought and life and energy to an empty page.
It’s truly an amazing form of magic.
So, maybe that’s my answer.
What do I want to accomplish? Magic.