I’m writing as much each day as I have at any point since Nano four years ago. When I get this deep into one of my stories, I start to practically live in that another world.
I’m approaching the end of my latest novel, a solar punk sci fi tale that blends gee-whiz tech, epic scenery, crazy twists and turns, and a pervasive sense of hope I feel like we sorely need right now.
I’m writing 1200-2000 words a day, and the story and its characters are on constant rotation in my head. All throughout the day I notice little details in our own world that I realize I need to account for in theirs.
Does this future version of our world still have religion?
What about their food – how is it different from ours? How is it the same?
What’s the driving ethos in their society?
How are their names chosen? Are they like ours, and if not, why not?
How are children raised?
Each day brings new ideas, new revelations, new pieces of the puzzle.
Some of them go right into the story. Some go into the editing notes for my second draft. And some go right into the hopper in my head to spin and spin and maybe bear fruit somewhere down the line.
Is that enough mixed metaphors and cliches for one sentence? LOL…
The characters, too, are on spin cycle in my head. When I first start a new story, I begin with a general idea of each one. But over time, as I write their stories and let them stew in my head, they become clearer and clearer. What they look like, how they act. How they react. The things that formed them and their world view.
At different times during the day, I close my eyes and imagine the world – I can see the city of Redemption in its lava tube on the moon, its light wells letting in sunlight, its wide boulevards lit by bioluminescent trees.
I can hear the wind roaring past the moon jumper, carrying my intrepid team of dropnauts, tumbling toward the Earth.
And I can see the mural Rosemary’s mother painted in the hall in the Preserve, in all its vibrant diversity and color.
Each time there are more details, a story told over and over that becomes richer with every telling.
Every day it becomes a little more real. And in the end, I hope my readers will feel it too.
For my writer friends, do fall into your worlds, immersing yourself in it like fruit into jello? Or do you keep yourself detatched, like a scientist studying an underwater world from the surface?