Writing is an Obsession!
I was reminded recently that writing is an obsession.
The reminder came in the form of index cards I found at the bottom of a heavy box of old research papers. My obsessive behavior in the writing of The Leper Messiah was brought into full view.
In my move from the big city to the country, I misplaced the research papers and only a few days ago found the contents. The index cards were full of strange words that seemed to flow from some ancient well. It brought me back to the start of my journey of writing The Leper Messiah.
Instantly, in my mind’s eye, I saw index cards on my apartment wall. My large old apartment on Avenue Road in Toronto had big rooms and plenty of wall space. The index cards took up an entire wall of my living room. The cards were full of characters, dates, times, plot points, and motifs that would flow throughout the book.
Madly Relentless!
My apartment looked like the home of a mad scientist who had searched through the universe to find meaning and then, upon finding a single scrap of information, brought it into play up on the wall. The wall of cards was simply a physical representation of what was in my mind.
I found refuge in these cards. They reminded me of what was happening – the tremendous time and effort that went into producing a story world. Furthermore, it triggered in my memory, the process I relied on to write The Leper Messiah: I would take long walks and go over the plot points and how the characters would act in each chapter.
I was relentless!
The real issue was that most of it changed on a daily basis.
Nothing was good enough; the writing, the characters, the plot, and the drama seemed to fade into mediocrity. I had to re-arrange everything because if one thing did not fit, it brought down the whole house of cards.
My particular house of cards was built on a wall in my apartment and it went with me – everywhere.
Writing is an Obsession
If I met a friend on my long walks, we might exchange pleasantries even if I wasn’t even there… Looking back at those ten years of work, perhaps I didn’t live in the moment but was trapped by it. My house of cards was a jail and my jailers were every character in the book. They demanded my full attention and dominated my thoughts.
The house of cards began, brick by brick, to take shape. The characters started with the interior decorations of the story world, they renovated the main floors and added light to the story.
Often, I would have to stop the work and rebuild sections that were not to my taste.
I realized then, the characters were now alive and were living on their own.
I, however, could not let them run wild in MY WORLD!
After all, it was my obsession!
Robert
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