The inner workings of a troubled mind.

Following my instincts.

I've been working on my novel these past couple of days. I realize now how much I have missed my little world. I thought it was a good idea to stop for a while and mull over a few things. I don't know if that was a good idea.
Getting back in my world is no problem at all. It was easy and smooth. I am wondering now where the story would have gone if I continued writing and what my characters would have ended up.

What ifs are stupid, my husband says. Maybe he's right. But in my writing world, what if is the main question I ask myself before I type anything. What if Leila falls for another guy and leaves Dekker? What if she gives up? What if she makes a different choice? I wish I had time to write about all the what ifs and compare them. Since that is not an option for me, I make a choice and go with it. See where it takes my characters and what happens to them in the process. If I don't like it, I'll save it and start anew. I might use the saved part later, or never look at it again. I hate erasing my thoughts. Besides, it might come in handy later. It could be a seed for a new story or a poem.

Yesterday, the weather was creepy. I wrote about the trees and the howling wind and how that made me feel. I wrote everything I could think of and saved it. I'm mulling it over now. My initial reaction was to write a poem, but now I'm thinking I should incorporate it into this short story I'm thinking about. What if I write both?
I could even create a scene and use it in all my stories. Like my signature or something. So many choices. How do I know which one is the right one?
Instinct. I learned early on in life to follow my instincts. Most of the time they are gut feelings and sometimes, more so lately, they come in my dreams. Once when I was a teen, still living at home, I had a dream that I was in a car wreck. I saw every detail, down to the song playing on the radio. Later on that evening, my mother sent me on an errand in her car. My instincts told me to decline, but as an anxious teenager, I wanted the car every chance I could.  The car accident happened and it was exactly as I saw it in my dream. The song on the radio was the same. I walked away unscathed, and the first thing that came to mind was that I should have trusted my instincts.

When I write, I go with my instincts a hundred percent. Even if the story doesn't turn out that good. The important parts are there and I can fix the rest. When I try to make the story go the way I want it to, it looks artificial. The best work I have done is when I follow my instincts. I can't try to hard, it shows and my work is sad and lame. When I stress out about what I write, it shows too.

With some major encouragement I have gone back to my passion, my novel. I love this story with every ounce of love I have. It's one of my children so to speak, and I try to give it as much attention and love as I can.
I feel guilty for neglecting it for so long, but I am glad to be back in my little world. My characters are happy to see me. My main character is pissed off but I know she still loves me. I am telling her story after all. We need each other.  I'll be posting more of my story soon. Grammar is my enemy and I have my own battles to deal with.
My muse is dancing today and I love watching her pirouette across my page.

What if let her dance all night?