Any story worth its weight carries emotion of some sort. I don’t care if it is about a Jack in the Box, there better be emotion buried inside. Readers dream of stories marinated in feeling. Season it with whatever theme/genre you want, action, romance, adventure, whathaveyou, but the true flavor, the lasting bone deep hit you over the head goodness resides in an emotion filled bite.
Great authors not only know how to do this, they give you the VIP all access backstage pass. The up close, skin on skin – in the story side seat – behind the eyes and in the brain, moment by story moment, living the buildup and the breakdown. I am turning pages almost faster than my own eyes can read because my heart is beating (possibly breaking) on that page and WTF I have to keep reading. Who cares that it is 3 am.
Isn’t that what we as writers want? A review that says I could not put this book down. I don’t know about you, but a review that said this book made me cry would be nice. One that said, this book changed my life, well, I would cry, print out those words and frame them. On a crappy day seeing that reader review might pull me through my gufunk.
That is what is so great as a reader. I want the glorious mess, the unbridled lust and murderous rage. To have all of life’s juices running down my chin as I ride that story train experiencing every detail. For it to feel so real it fires the numerous synaptic zip codes immersed in the play. I want the story to change, challenge, or move me in some way that I claim it, Precious. Those books, binding broken, pages worn, have sacred shelf space. When I see them I am again on the page, reliving someone else’s make-believe. Precious, indeed.
Writing is a tall order. At least for me. I want to be a great. For my books to illicit the words, my precious from your mouth as you stroke that broken spine lovingly. Now that is a writer! Such a notion makes me want to exit the fray now for how could I be that writer? I’ll be happy to finish a book and get it to market. Of course, the you are a bad writer, lower than pond scum, fear taskmaster says I should just take my unfinished book, go home and lock it in a drawer. Forget I ever had an idea.
Sure. That idea I want to share has only been bouncing around in my head for twenty years. Eventually it will go away. I’ll just pass the time picking ground coffee beans off the side of the highway. Sounds way easier, more profitable too than writing. A bit too much drama queen? Well, there is a reason they say to leave everything on the page.
So for your viewing pleasure, here is how current #WIP makes me feel. Now if only I can make someone else cry. I’ll at least know I’ve done my job.