Fixing Gwyn

I’m currently at the Georgia St. Roasters, a coffee shop in Amarillo. I’m still working on my rewrites, struggling to fix one of my characters. I haven’t been as diligent on my writing as I should have been, but I’m back on track, again, and I hope to keep up my momentum.

I just finished Chapter Three and oddly enough I’m about to tackle Chapter Four. I’ve lost a few scenes, ones that just didn’t fit with the story. While I liked what I had written, it served no other purpose than to add to my word count. With no function in furthering the story, I had to make the decision to cut it out. Deciding to do it was harder than actually cutting it out.

This whole process feels like a surgical procedure. Snipping away the excess while keeping the integrity of the whole intact. What makes it all the harder is that I don’t want the whole thing to unravel. I just need to stitch it back together seamlessly so that the reader won’t miss what I cut away. So far, so good.

But the trouble lies ahead with my character Gwyn. Who is she? What’s her motivation? Is she crazy? (Yes!) Does she suffer from Dissociative Personality Disorder? (I don’t think so.) So if not, what then? I know she suffers from social anxiety, but what else? I don’t know.

It’s this question that has me stalled. It’s driving me crazy, all the more because I have another story that’s brewing in my mind that I would love to turn my attention towards. I have to get this one done.

I don’t know when I’ll be able to finish this and walk away. Maybe it’s not worth trying to fix, but if I give up on every story that has problems I’ll never finish anything. This is my line in the sand! I will get this one finished or die trying!

For now I’m going to get off and let my brain rest. I have a meeting to attend at work, which should only last an hour. Then I’ll go home, get out my red pen and start editing the next chapter. It’s not an easy task, but anything worth doing is worth suffering for. At least that’s what I’ve been led to believe.

Short Story: The writing on the wall

I had fun tonight!

Dax jumped as the notification alerted him to the incoming message on his phone. He read it and smiled.

I had fun, too. We should do it again some time…?

Dax waited for a few minutes, but since she was obviously taking her time, he set the phone down and got back to his sketch, a highly stylized drawing of his date as she gazed at the art work featured at an area gallery, one he was hoping to have a show in soon. He took special care on her eyes, drawing and shading in every laugh line, every little imperfection bringing to life a woman of beauty and grace, but also a woman who lived and suffered. He obsessed over her with exquisite detail, wanting to show that she was one who had loved and had been broken, had lost a part of her but had not been defeated.

He marveled that she had even agreed to his invitation in the first place. He was not the type to attract older divorcees, most especially those of a certain status. He struggled just to put a roof over his head. His clothes, while not quite shabby, were definitely thread worn in places.  She, on the other hand, wore whatever happened to be fashionable. She appeared to be a woman with the world at her fingertips, yet her eyes betrayed her even from behind her electric smile.

Dax had seen her several times at the coffee he frequented in the early evenings, as he observed quietly from the corner, drawing whatever caught his fancy. She had become his subject a few times, drawn to her for some reason, her inner strength evident even from across a crowded room. She noticed him the first time she walked in, ignoring the odd man in the corner, but she too felt an attraction of a sort. Though she tried to ignore him, eventually she screwed up the courage to sit beside him and engage him. To her delight, she found him charming and intelligent.

They took to meeting once a week for coffee. Nothing romantic at first, just two lost souls in search of understanding. To their mutual amazement, they found an unlikely soulmate. In him, Sienna found a man willing to suffer hardships for the sake of being true to himself. She found a man free of petty jealousies that consumed so many of her relationships. With him, she found the freedom to be herself, as carefree and bawdy as she desired.

In her, Dax found a woman who need for nothing other than a friend for friendship’s sake. She was a woman who didn’t need a man to support her financially, but looked for companionship to support her emotionally. With her, he didn’t need to live up to some bullshit ideal of what a man was supposed to be. He could be Dax and Sienna could be Sienna.

Their arraignment worked until some unlooked-for moment, when while sipping the dregs from their cups, they looked up at the same time and looked into each other’s unguarded eyes. They pierced the enigmatic facade each presented to the world and discovered themselves in that moment as well. Dax hadn’t planned on doing it, he had no intention of ever dating again, but before he was aware, some unspoken need took control and he asked her for a date to the gallery.

“I would love to,” she replied, “as long as you allow me to take you to a favorite restaurant of mine.”

“I think I can live with that,” he laughed before becoming embarrassed. “I can’t believe I just asked you out, or that you agreed.”

“I can’t believe it either,” she smiled. “Let’s not put too much stock in it for now.”

He nodded but couldn’t help but feel as though some subtle change had occurred. They lingered for half an hour longer than usual, he engaged in a drawing, and she enjoying the magic in bringing a scene to life. Before they departed, their hands met, the first time they had touched in so intimate an expression. They withdrew reluctantly, but Dax knew he was a changed man.

The date night came, and they enjoyed paintings from local talent, some good and others not so much. They held hands as they walked to a pizza joint she had worked at when she was a college student. “I never eat the stuff anymore,” she confided. “Too fattening.”

“Then why eat it now?”

“Because,” she answered after taking a swig of her beer, “I’m tired of trying to maintain the figure of the girl I was twenty some-odd years ago. I’m over forty, and though I don’t want to get fat, I want to taste life again, even if it tastes like this gloriously shitty pizza!”

“It’s not that great,” he agreed.

“No, and I’m loving every single bite!”

The night drew to a close sooner than either had wanted. She drove him to his place, and it was on the tip of his tongue to invite her up. Instead she leaned in and gave him a kiss on his lips, the first kiss he had felt in years. “Don’t say a word,” she whispered as she drew him in and kissed him again. He melted in her arms, the taste of pizza and beer on her breath, but it didn’t matter. At that moment, nothing mattered, nor did he believe anything would matter again.

I’d love to do it again. How about a weekend in Vegas?

He stared at his phone, processing the invitation. Was it an invitation for him to make a move or was he reading too much into an innocent comment.

Whoa! Sounds risky…and a bit fun. When do we leave?

He waited only for a few seconds before she replied.

We can leave tonight. I’m already packed. I already have two tickets bought. I’m on my way.

Why the hurry?

I don’t know. I just want to be with you. Don’t you want me? At least a little?

Dax stared at his phone, lost for words. He had lived his life eschewing spontaneity. He gave up on love and women because they were a distraction. He lived a simple life, and though he enjoyed having her around, he wished for her to go away, for things to be they way they had always been. Sienna was a woman in search of adventure, and he wanted conformity and uniformity. He realized there was no place for her in his life.

He picked up his phone and started to write the dreaded reply.

I can’t wait. I’ll be ready in a few minutes. Just come on up. The door’s unlocked.

He freaked out when he saw what he had written. He threw the phone onto the bed and argued into the mirror. “I don’t want to go!”

His reflection smiled. “You wanted to grow as an artist, did you not?”

“I did, but not like this.”

“Too bad,” the reflection sneered. “You know the price. You have to live in order to make art, so live.”

“And is she necessary?”

“She is,” the reflection nodded. “I demand a sacrifice, and I choose her. Don’t disappoint me. You’ve kept me waiting long enough with your foolish chastity. No more. Give me her soul, and in return you’ll be spoken with the likes of Picasso, Monet, Cezanne!”

“Never!” Dax screeched, shattering the mirror with his fist.

***

When Sienna arrived, she found his body in front of the bathroom door. On the wall, in his blood, he had written.

“You won’t understand why, but I did this
because I fell in love with you. Remember me fondly.
I’m sorry.
Dax.”


Short Stories

Next story – Time
Previous story – Lonely Isle

Tangled mess

As I try to rewrite this tangled mess that I laughably call a book, I’ve come to realize that writers are a masochistic bunch. Luckily I am indeed a masochist, or at least that’s what I took away from the tangled mess of what once was my love life.

My first hurdle

Well, that didn’t take long! I hit a slight pothole while working on my book. Honestly, it feels more like I drove off the side of a cliff, tumbled down the embankment, and landed in turbulent seas. Though I have miraculously survived, the car is quickly filling with sea water, sinking, and I don’t know how to swim. This may be the end. If I don’t make…*glub glub*

I love a belabored metaphor. Sorry about that. Everything I’ve found so far have been relatively easy fixes. For example, one of my minor character’s story arc will be reduced, though not entirely eliminated. I want my main character to try to help her friend out with her problems while my M.C. is grappling with her own situation. What a friend! It’s all about putting everybody’s story arc in their proper perspective.

There are paragraphs, and a few scenes, that have been reduced or eliminated. Some didn’t fit, some took me as the reader out of the book, and some were just unnecessary. I’ve continued to refine my language, trying to say what needs to be said in as succinct a manner as possible. It’s hard work to write effortlessly.

The problem I found involves another of my characters. Something about them isn’t clicking. I like the character, and they have a part to play, but the issue is that their part grew the more I wrote and I’m having trouble unifying who I wanted them to be versus who they ultimately became. Their arc became more convoluted and the fix took me out to such an extreme that they became a cliché instead of a complicated character. Fixing it has plagued me for a long time.

I’m sure a lot of rewriting is in my future, and I’m okay with that. I’m confident that I have a strong story, minor problems notwithstanding. It’s just going to take more work than I originally planned on dedicating to this project. Also, and I can’t stress this enough, I’m going to have to figure out how the hell to fix it. I guess I could simply give up, but I feel giving up isn’t truly an option.

It’s not as bad as I thought

It bleeds! It hurts! It – it’s not that bad. Huh! I expected it to be harder to cut things out, but one I started, it was quite easy. I’ve just now started chapter three, and there’s one section that I want to move until later, but there’s a chance I’ll cut the scene completely. It’s seven pages showing the reason my protagonist left her ex many years before. I’m still not sure about that. I’ll see where the story leads me, and if it’s necessary, I’ll find the right place.

I’m glad I chose to print it out, for the umpteenth time. It’s so much easier when I have an actual document in my hands. It makes it real somehow, more real than the glow of a computer screen can manage. I get a thrill seeing my words on paper. It’s magical and euphoric. I can’t wait until it’s printed and bound in an actual book, ready to be read by the masses. I hope it finds an audience.

But I’ll try not to get ahead of myself, which I really have a bad habit of doing. I want to finish chapter three before bed. I want to do at least two chapters a day, more if time allows. A two-hour round trip to work sure makes life harder, but I’ll do what I have to in order to move on to the next phase. I wonder what the next phase will be.