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Or a phone with a "note pad"
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I follow a blog called Inkwell Inspirations that mainly has the focus for Christian writers. It is a great blog to read in order to remember to combine my faith and my passion for writing. In a recent post they discuss the idea of being a "The Subconscious Writer." She explains this: "Because so much of my creative process takes place on a level even I do not understand. Ideas percolate under the surface, maybe for weeks, maybe for months, maybe for years. At some point they burst out like a geyser. Characters are talking to me, scenes unfolding in my head, worlds evolving, and I’m frantically trying to get them down on paper before I lose them. I’m sure if push came to shove, I could sit down and come up with an idea and craft a book like a normal person, but that’s not the way I typically do it, and it’s not the way I desire to do it."
I feel this is totally true of me. For example I was walking to my dentist I saw these houses and I thought they were beautiful and all the sudden a scene came to me... it is not a scene for the story I am currently working on... it just came out of no where. I took out my phone and pulled out my "notepad" on the phone and began to type. I love when scenes like this come to me it makes my walk abouts more interesting. She ends the post saying "In the end, being a “subconscious writer” isn’t the goal. It’s just the process. The ultimate goal, whether pantser or plotter, is to be led by the Holy Spirit and allow him to flow through every word we put on the page. This is how to write with a godly passion that will cause our readers to fall in love with our stories and transform them from the inside out."
I agree with this... I don't always want to be a subconscious writer one day I would love my faith to be more and more about of my writing but you got to start somewhere, right?
Here is the scene...
It was a great big Victorian home with intrinsic molding, a minimum of two bay windows, and high pointed roofs. Built in the last decade of the nineteenth century in the heyday of the golden age. While it was all posh and prestige on the outside, it was Ginny Camden grandma's house. The house was filled of memories of her playing dress up and Essie (as Ginny called her Grandma) reading to her the books of Little House on the Prairie and Anne of Green Gables late into the night. She had memories of her summers spent there, she got her first kiss there from Lawrence (who she had a crush on all summer mostly because she was going through a Little Women phase and he not only had the name but had a slight resemblance of a young Christian Bale). In later years Ginny felt Essie was the only one who understood her, in years as a teenager when her parents fought non stop Essie's home was a place comfort. Today was not a day of joy.
Ginny rested her heads against her knees that she had close to her chest. She could still smell the dye in her new black dress.
"There you are," her mom found her buried in Essie's closet. "I think you should come out and see some people, there are a lot of people who want to see you."
Ginny just shook her head.
"Some of your friends are here. And lots of food."
Food? How was that suppose to comfort her? No one cooked as well as Essie.
"Please Genevieve."
She didn't know how she was suppose to get up she could barely stand. Everything about this day felt wrong. This house would not feel the same without Essie sitting at the kitchen table that could look out to the street.
Ginny just shook her head.
"Alright Ginny, take your time."
"She's not up to coming out yet," she heard her mom say.
"God bless her soul," a woman's voice responded.
God? Where was God in this? Essie had always been a true believer attending church every Sunday morning and evening, and Bible study on Wednesday nights. If she hadn't gone out that Sunday night she would still be here. God could have protected her. Essie was always going on about how God was a great protector but He didn't protect her that night. God was obviously not there
Ginny closed her grasp around the cross necklace hanging around her neck, she wanted to yank it off, but no strength came. Essie had given her this cross on her last birthday with the inscription "
Always love" on the back.
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Okay I didn't write all that on my walk but it just started coming to me. I really want to see where this story goes.
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