Let’s say you’re working on an MG novel that takes place in a forest and you’ve been writing for three to four hours. When you get up from your desk and walk across the room, there should be leaves in your hair. Your slippers should be dirty from hiking the trails along with your main character. It’s time to get dirty, time to imagine your fictional world so vividly that the landscape gets into your pores. Or almost!!!
If
you’re working on a novel set on a farm, this should be a normal conversation
between you and your spouse.
“Honey,
why do you smell like a chicken coop?”
“I’ve
been working on my novel, dear.”
This
should alarm your spouse. He
should say to a co-worker, “I don’t get it. Every time my wife sits down to write she ends up smelling
like a chicken coop. We live in
downtown Hoboken. Hoboken isn’t
zoned for chickens. What is going
on here?”
You’re
getting dirty. That’s what’s going
on. You’re so deep inside your
novel you start breathing its oxygen, not ours. When it rains on your main character, you need an
umbrella. If you’re writing a book
that takes place on the beach there should be sand all over your desk. You should need to take a shower every
time you’ve finished writing. If
there’s a blizzard going where you live but your book is set in the desert then
you should be getting sunburned.
(Don’t forget to slather on the Coppertone before turning on your
computer.)
If
the sensual world of your novel is that alive to you, or let’s say it almost
is, can you imagine how moved the reader will be when they enter that realm?
Get
dirty. Get as dirty as a five year
old building a sandcastle. Get it
all over your face and hands. Get
dirty with the splendor of the world that you constructed, the forest you
created all by yourself, the beach you built one rainy afternoon, the city that
sprang from the depths of your soul.
Get dirty and have fun with it, just like a ten year old skipping
through the woods.
And
for those of you working on fantasy, the same applies to you. My book ‘You Can’t Have My Planet But
Take My Brother, Please’ is fantasy but the New York City in my story was so
vivid in my imagination I stank like a subway for a year and a half.
Get
dirty! Do it for yourself, do it
for your dream, do it for the sake of literature. Get dirty!
To dirty! I mean great post, I feel so inspired.
ReplyDeleteBut James, what about Henrietta the six-foot chicken from THE HOBOKEN CHICKEN EMERGENCY?????
ReplyDeleteOkay!
ReplyDeleteHa, ha!
ReplyDeleteMy husband will answer to the names of any of my male protagonists or romantic leads (from my YA novels).
He will not answer to the names of villains, though.
And here I thought you were suggesting we actually go out and play with the chickens and get dirty, which is something I do a fair amount. Instead you're telling me that whatever mess I make right here on my desk is a plus--LOVE!!!
ReplyDeleteNow I need a shower. Great post, James. Thanks for sharing and reminding us to dive in head first.
ReplyDeleteA great post. It's inspired me to go and write outside! :)
ReplyDelete