“It’s curtains for you, Dr. Horrible. Lacy, gently wafting curtains.”
If there is something I dread whenever I pick up the pen-monkey and shake its obnoxious simian face over the equally obnoxious blank page it’s when I reach the atrociously difficult, mind boggling middle part. If you’ve ever read/written a book, hell; even a pamphlet for dyslexics, I think you know what I mean. Perhaps. It’s the in-between part. The distance between A and B. The train derailment between stops. The anesthetic after the shaving of the under-regions and before the surgery (for those two extra inches SHUTUPIT’SACONDITION!).
I’m not proficient with metaphors.
The middle part. It’s the part in a scene or a chapter or a over-reaching story or that day old soup in the sink that (generally, of course there are exceptions) exist for the sole purpose of taking your characters towards the next conflict or crisis or cleaning closet. I suck at those, I’m putting that out there. If suck had a ten-to-one scale I would be legal in that regard.
Now, I’m not a good writer. Yet. I admit that. I have clunky prose, slow and not terribly imaginative plots and slightly bland main characters. Lots of “Then she then he then they then baby. The end.”
But I know how to write down important events in a story; say, a desperate fight at the ledge of a twenty story building (foreshadowing!) or a the mental breakdown of a character forced to commit an atrocity. But all those words between those two? Fuck those words. Those words are all boreholes.
So I have found that whenever I start writing I can keep going relentlessly for hours creating the scene for the aforementioned scenes but as soon as I have to, much like the stubborn donkey from Greece, jump the hurdle and start prodding down the road to the marketplace my co-driver (Hands McBrain) slams the brake and shakes his wrathful fist at me and my writing comes to a screeching halt while I bang my head on the steering wheel, or the pen-monkey.
This often leads me writing disjointed scenes that I consider important and just forget about the middle parts. I’ve had many stories go down the drain because of this.
How I will fix it? I’ve no idea. Maybe it’s not even a problem. Maybe it’s just something I need to grow out of. Maybe it’s just something I need to learn to live with and just beard the fuck on. Maybe it’s Maybelline.
And that was my Wednesday Waft.