On Writing & Storytelling: Today Was Not a Bad Day, Writing-Wise

“We are all storytellers. We all live in a network of stories. There isn’t a stronger connection between people than storytelling.” ― Jimmy Neil Smith

If yesterday’s writing session was frustrating and somewhat less than satisfactory (I only produced 441 words, and those came into being at a relatively late hour in my working schedule), today was the antithesis of that.

Yes, I got off to a late start today, but – ironically – because I was taking up the narrative thread where I left off yesterday, once I got started, I had a clear (or mostly clear) notion of what I wanted to accomplish in the third scene of the novel’s ninth chapter. The setting, after all, was already established. There were only two characters actually in the scene interacting with each other, and I already knew the inner motivation of the narrator/protagonist.

As I said earlier, compared to yesterday, today was a good day writing-wise. I completed a scene (I still have at least one more to finish Chapter Nine, I think.), produced 1,701 words, and ended my workday later than usual but feeling like I did well overall.

And, while I can’t claim that every one of those 1,701 words is good and will be found in the final version of The New Story, I know that this part did come out nicely:

Marty laughed, filling the chorus room with unrestrained mirth and happiness. Then, unfolding her sheet music, she bounded over to the piano like a gazelle. She pulled back the bench a bit, then sat down on its right side. With her left hand, she patted the empty half of the bench, as if to say, “Sit next to me!”

As if to emphasize the point, Marty began playing a stanza from “Red River Valley,” an old cowboy song that Mrs. Quincy had had us practice for a while for the previous year’s Spring Concert before replacing it with a medley from The Pajama Game.

As her fingers danced across the Kawai piano’s white and black keys, her voice rose up in song like a lark in the morning:

“Come and sit by my side if you love me

Do not hasten to bid me adieu

But remember the Red River Valley

And the girl who loved you so true.”

I bit my lip and looked away, trying not to react to the lyrics of the song, especially the first line of that stanza. I knew, of course, that Marty wasn’t suddenly making a declaration of her love for me; this was, as she had observed only minutes before, the first time we’d ever been alone together. I also knew that most girls had a love radar that could detect guys’ intentions toward them, and I had learned over time how to not be too obvious when I fancied a particular girl. The only person I’d ever talked about Marty with was Mark, and he wasn’t about to rat me out, either.

Well, it’s almost 10 PM here in Lithia, Florida, on this last day of May (and Spring 2023). I’m tired after a long day of grappling with the manuscript, and I should eat something before I settle down to watch something and go to bed. So, until next time, Dear Reader, stay safe, stay healthy, and I’ll see you on the sunny side of things.