Writing Fiction

A Favorite Book

Everything that is real was imagined first.

The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams

Rosamunde Pilcher, one of my favorite authors, captivates me with her meticulous attention to detail and compelling mature characters. Among her numerous works, “September” stands out as one of my favorites. I find myself returning to it for comfort and inspiration. I’ve read it several times, usually during this time of year when the crisp autumn air and fading light create an ideal backdrop for curling up with a good book. These days, I only keep books I plan to re-read, as I’ve learned that my library can become overwhelming when I add too many titles to the shelves.

This brings me to the topic of this post. Friends have occasionally asked me why I don’t write fiction. Over the years, I’ve started and stopped numerous attempts at a novel, fueled by fleeting bursts of inspiration that never quite materialized into complete narratives. I’ve even taken a few classes, hoping to discover the secret formula that will enable me to produce something worth reading. During this process, I’ve come across a few concerning issues. It’s often recommended to start with a detailed outline of the story idea, key points, chapters, and plot, allowing for a structured approach. However, I tend to prefer spontaneity over planning. I’ll know how the story unfolds as I write it, allowing the characters to surprise me and the plot to take unexpected turns. Before I begin, I have no idea what will happen in chapter six. I’ll let you know when I get there.

Another concerning issue is character development. I understand the significance of how a character evolves in a novel. It’s crucial for them to have depth, personality, and a backstory that gives them animation. However, they often take on a life of their own, which might seem like a positive development, but it’s not always the case. The path they’re headed down doesn’t always align with my vision for them. For instance, consider my lack of talent in flower arranging. I’ve mentioned before that I overwork the poor, beleaguered stems until they drop over, begging for mercy. The same can be said for my reworking of the characters I’ve created. Sometimes, I imagine them pleading to be set free while frantically searching for information on the nearest psychoanalyst. Clearly, this isn’t what they signed up for.

Until I control my need for spontaneity when I create a story and find a way to let my characters have more freedom, I am not sure what I write translates into something others would want to read. I might do better sticking to commentary on what’s happening in the real world.

Peace be with you.