Breathing Words

I worked on one of two of my short stories today for my upcoming class.

This was my not-so-interesting-but-I’ll-tell-you-about-it-anyway process:

I went to Corner Bakery by myself, ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup, and plopped myself down with Splendid Slippers by Beverley Jackson. I had a moment of clarity last week that my story would focus on a young girl and her experience with footbinding, but I didn’t really have an idea on plot or purpose.

A gentleman beside me asked me what I was studying, and I explained that I wasn’t studying, but was in fact researching for writing purposes. Well, we got to talking and turns out that he’s a writer too. A professional one! I won’t give his name here but his initials are MS. Much of MS’ work is focused in screenwriting, and I recognized all of his work. He told me about his current project where he’s trying to venture out of writing and into directing. I told him a bit about my story and about my novel. We even talked about our families a bit. His nephew also attended NYU. When I told him T was an animator (he asked first), he became super-excited and wanted to meet him right away and recruit him for his project… it was a very Hollywood, “Get Shorty” moment for me. So we exchanged contact information and he told us to keep in touch. It was really a strange and wonderful experience to talk with him.

Meeting other writers or artists doesn’t happen often for me. And actually, this was the first time really. MS said that it happens for him all the time, of course, since he’s been in the business for nearly 15 years. He was very encouraging and very friendly. His philosophy is to treat all novice writers/artists that he meets as if they have the chance to be the “next big thing” because you never know who’s going to be the next successful J.K. Rowling (his example, not mine) or whoever. I like that, and think it’s very nice that he doesn’t snub unpublished writers or artists that are just starting out. MS said he broke out on his own when he was young as well, and so understands how difficult it can be.

The chance meeting really inspired me to keep plugging away. And I hope that when (yes, I said “when” and not “if”) I’m a famous author someday, I’ll also have MS’ generous spirit and subtle influence towards the “kids,” as he called T and me.

Well, MS left first and then I decided that it was also time for me to head over to Borders where I could order a nice cup of coffee and try to write a little. Turned out that Borders had opted to renovate their cafe area so that there was no seating (and no coffee!) available anywhere else. I started to leave the store and head over to Barnes & Noble (even though they only serve Starbucks now and I don’t drink Starbucks anymore) and ran into MS again!

I don’t know… I don’t want to jinx anything, but maybe a professional relationship will build out of this. Whether it’s between me and MS, or T and MS, or all of us… Anything’s possible, right?

Anyway, I finally made my way to B&N and sat down with a Jones Lime and Tangerine juice (I couldn’t bring myself to order Starbucks coffee) and turned on my laptop.

I started by typing on my screen two words: POV first

I don’t like first person generally, but it seems a story that has something as painful as footbinding in it should be told from a first person view. There’s no other way to relay that kind of feeling.

From there, twenty minutes elapsed. I sipped at my juice, tapped at my laptop, and stared off into space, occasionally alarming a passing shopper that crossed my line of vision. I wonder just how many people walk by thinking, “What the hell is she staring at me for?”

But really, behind my blank look and unmoving figure, my mind was churning with questions that I was trying to answer. I knew that footbinding would be in the story but I didn’t know what to write or how to start. So I asked myself, how old is my character? What are her traits? Footbinding was common back then, so what makes her special? Does she want to be bound? Does her family want her to be bound? Should the story tell of one day or one month or one year? What’s the purpose of the story? What if I didn’t use first person? What if she’s not the main character? Is her family rich or poor? Is she a lone sibling or a big sister or a little sister? What’s her name?

Not all my questions were answered. But I suddenly knew where to go. My pulse quickened, my heart ached for my main character, and I found myself smiling as I wrote as frantically as I could before my laptop battery died. Soon my screen with two small words became two pages long of dialogue and plot notes. I even wrote my ending.

Tomorrow, I write the beginning.