Okay, now I would first like to mention right off the bat that I am an amateur writer. Meaning that while yes I have several completed works that vary from screenplay, to short story, to full blown novel, none of them have been published so far. It certainly is not from lack of trying. It’s very, very difficult working a part time job, going to school, and writing a big project on top of all that.
So my point in all of this? Well, that I’m still messing up. A lot. And I did mess up pretty big as far as one major issue is concerned. Not that I entirely blame myself. I am like I said before an amateur writer, and thus, I have read a plethora of non-fiction on the craft of writing. And absolutely none of them that I have browsed through so far, offer any advice on how to properly break a story up into paragraphs.
This actually surprised me that I didn’t catch this sooner. My guess is that the really good writers out there craft their work into such a way that we the reader don’t even stop to analyze exactly how they decided to break their words in a certain way. It’s like how you succumb to the flow of the book where you don’t even recognize that they are just words on a paper. That you transcend using your imagination to the world of the writer, and consider yourself lucky to be carried along into this new world.
And how difficult it is! How difficult it is trying to tear yourself away from feeling empathy, anger, sadness for a character into something so clinical as analyzing story development and structure. And if we retrain our minds to think like that, can we ever just dive into that story like we did before and enjoy it on that type of level again? I suppose I could use the Christmas analogy, where when we were younger and Santa Claus kept us up all night giddy with excitement at the presents he would bring for us. Then came that crushing moment when we realized we had been lied to. That it was all just a facade that we foolishly bought into. Yeah, sure, we can still enjoy the presents and yuletide feelings, but that initial innocence whisps away into the graveyard of youthful hope.
Okay, it looks like I’m going into rant mode, so I’ll stop. I’m still not sure how to properly break up my work so that flow is still there. But I’ll just trust my gut instinct on this one. Maybe I can grab that innocence once again though. Delve into my character and lose myself. Maybe by bringing back that love of reading and pushing aside the cold calculating literary professor is how discover how to rearrange my story into paragraphs that ebb and flow with a natural ease. I’ll let you dear reader, know if I lose myself once again.