Now that I am on the mend, I thought it would be a good idea to begin writing again. For both of my readers, you know that I am pretending to be in the process of writing a novel. I have been in a holding pattern for over a year now, but I do return to it from time to time.
One scene that I am having trouble with is a flashback scene where my protagonist is on “lover’s lane” making out with his girlfriend. The setting for this scene is a real place that I have been to on more than one occasion in my history. My lover’s lane was a parking lot along the Charles River and I wanted this scene to take place there.
There is a lot I remember about my glory days along the river. One thing in particular that stands out is that for every one car that had a couple making out in it, there were at least 4 cars filled with creepy old men driving around looking for shadows and foggy windows. If they were lucky enough, they could pull up right next to the couple and linger for a few disturbing seconds until the couple looked up and frantically pulled away, usually with pants still wrapped around ankles.
One day last week, I wanted to commit myself to writing this scene as I have had many false starts and really wanted to get it right. I decided that I would visit lover’s lane late one night and write while parked along the river.
Armed with only a Circa notebook and a fountain pen, I drove to the river around 8PM, after the Baby Goats were asleep. The parking lot is rather large and I positioned myself far from the action, but close enough to find the inspiration I needed. There were only two or three cars parked and I honestly have no idea whether anything interesting was happening in them. Frankly, I did not care. I just wanted to find the inspiration to write….not peep. But then again, I have a feeling that all writers are by definition, a tad voyeuristic.
I began putting words on paper and found myself quickly lost in the world I was creating. In fact, I really felt like this was a good, if a tad awkward, decision to write “on location.” The creative juices were flowing as Coltrane blared in my ears.
I filled about four pages with a scene of a couple of teens awkwardly groping at each other. I found myself smiling, laughing and even becoming melancholic for those innocent days of yore…many yores ago.
I was so engrossed in my words, that I did not notice the state trooper pull up behind me. I was so frantically taking advantage of a moment of inspiration, that I did not notice the trooper getting out of his car and approach my window. I was so in love with what I was creating, that I nearly jumped out of my skin when the trooper tapped his flashlight against my windshield.
“Hey, there is no parking here after sunset.” He bellowed
Rolling down my window and beginning to speak before the window was really opened.
“I am sorry sir. I will move right now.”
“Not so easy.” Officer Friendly said. “What are you doing here?”
I had no idea what to say. “Uh….well, believe it or not, I am writing” I said stupidly.
He told me in no uncertain terms to get out of the car. I did so without hesitation as I really had nothing to worry about. I wasn’t drunk, naked and I TRULY was doing exactly what I told him I was doing.
He asked me a series of questions, clearly designed to check if I was intoxicated or fabricating the story. I explained to him exactly what I am telling you; I was trying to find some inspiration to finish writing a scene in my book.
Once he realized I was serious, he asked me if I would be comfortable showing him what I wrote. I said sure and I opened the notebook on the hood of my car as he shined his spotlight on it. He laughed that my writing was utterly illegible. He proceeded to ask me questions about the book and when I told him that it has to do with growing up in Newton, he began telling me that he grew up in the same neighborhood and he knew many of the people I grew up with. He even relayed a story about the local carnival that I may use in the book.
We must have chatted for over 45 minutes. He even went so far as to say that he always thought someone should write a book about the neighborhood and was surprised no one has done that yet.
I now have his email address and his permission to come back to the river as often as I wanted as long as he was on patrol. I told him thanks but no thanks.
Which brings me to the bigger point. On more than a few occasions while writing this novel, I have found myself needing to be physically located in the scene in order to write about it. I remember driving to four different cafes in the area, trying to find the one that felt like the image in my head. I have driven up and down the streets of my old neighborhood and pulled over at random spots and began writing trying to absorb and then write what I see. I went to South Station in Boston and sat on a bench and watched people come and go. Sometimes, I do not even bring a notebook. It is not that I need to be writing at that exact moment, but it is more that I NEED to use all my senses in order to begin writing. Writing is such a sensory experience for me, that if I just sat in a home office waiting for words to be thought of, I would never think them. But, by immersing myself in the experience, I find inspiration.
Question for BoMR (Both of My Readers): Does any of this make sense WITHOUT creeping you out?
funny, uncategorized, writing | 10 Comments »
