I was struck by an idea of how to start my story. You know, for the 500th time. I am getting better about just allowing myself to have these ideas and to type up these ideas then I was in the past. before I would believe that each piece of inspiration was IT! The one! Now, I just see each writing inspiration as what it is: a scene. I am doing my best to just write them up as they come to me and we’ll see where they land later. This seems to go against the notion of writing the story straight through. I’m getting there. I have a synopsis and a better idea of how it is coming together. I discovered my ending yesterday. I think that is what inspired this new beginning. I am so glad to know how it will end! Goodness. I like it way better also. Here is my random piece of the scene that I wrote today.
Its just a first draft so the grammar and verb tense are all over the place. Que sera.
Setting: LIbby’s Bedroom. She’s looking a the stars on her ceiling.
Without my glasses on their five pointed stars became neon green blurs that shifted and vibrated like real stars. I let my eyes sink in to the blur and tried to forget the fact that hours before Daddy had been blaming me for my own bad eye sight, as if years of not eating carrots had finally taken its toll. No, it was more a sign of my lack of faith.
Geez Louise. I didn’t even swear in my thoughts. I am sure that if I did he’d know. He’d know, and he’d look at me like I was a stranger who’d replaced his perfect daughter years ago. That she’d died in the hospital after the crash and had been replaced with me.
I turned over and reached under my bed for the spiral notebook on which I kept my list of rules for living the best life. I turned to page 3, the first two pages filled with lines of things to do. Some were crossed out for their utter failure – I just couldn’t run two miles each morning, not even if dogs were chasing me. Others were highlighted as having been tested and worked-I discovered that swimming laps in the morning at the Y was what I needed to not die. I added to the list of rules “Pray every morning.” In parenthesis I added “Try again, don’t quit, go to sleep earlier.” I had been trying to make morning prayer a habit since grade nine. Now in grade twelve, it had to work. The alarm clock blinked 12:30 am. In five hours it would be going off and I would be on my knees, redoubling my efforts to prove to Daddy that I wasn’t a stranger or a heathen, just his daughter with bad eyes.
Image: ‘Sahara starry sky‘