A Return to Storytelling
Wow, I can’t believe it’s been over a year since I sat down to write a blog. I will catch you up on what’s happened during that time at the end of the blog. First, I want to get back into sharing my writing journey. That is the reason why I started this blog so long ago.
As some of you might remember, I suffered a serious setback to my writing ability after open heart surgery. Eventually I started writing again but without the passion I felt when writing before. The harder I tried, the more stilted my stories became. I tried to make up for my lack of imagination by focusing on grammar. As a result, I ended up with two-dimensional stories that were well written.
I eventually finished writing the second book in my Queen of Darkness series and sent it to my critique group for review. They felt it was a good story and very well written. I haven’t touched it since. It just doesn’t reflect the voice of my storytelling. That has changed.
Without being totally aware of what I was doing, I would spend an hour agonizing over a single paragraph searching for the perfect wording and also be grammatically correct. In the past, I could write several pages in an hour, and with a little tweaking, be happy with the result.
While the other manuscript sat on a shelf, I decided to start the second volume in my Eyes of the Deluti series. I wrote and submitted chapter one to my critique group even though it still didn’t feel right. With only a few complaints, most thought it was fine. Why was I unhappy?
One of the senior members of our group, a retired editor, commented on how much better my writing was compared to years before. That hit home. The proverbial light bulb appeared over my head and I realized I’d lost my passion for telling a story. I’ve loved numerous stories that weren’t written perfectly but the story tugged at my imagination. That’s what’s been wrong. I’d forgotten how to be a storyteller.
I set that aside and rewrote the chapter. It may not be perfectly written, but it’s so much better with real emotions and a well developed setting. I now have a story I’m happy with. I submitted the new version to my group to see what they think.
I found my voice. I’m a storyteller again.
Just a quick recap of the last year if you’re interested. I began having real trouble breathing, but since I’d developed pneumonia, the doctors attributed my breathing difficulties to that. Once over the pneumonia, the problem persisted. My cardiologist assured me that my heart was fine and the problem was definitely in my lungs. A number of tests later, no issues were found in my lungs. My cardiologist told me I needed to lose weight and exercise more.
I know my body pretty well and knew something wasn’t right with my heart. Several minor heart attacks later and he still didn’t believe anything was wrong, but agreed to a stress test since I was adamant.
The stress test indicated that the entire left side of my heart was not functioning correctly. DUH! Into the hospital for an angiogram and they found that one of the bypasses put in several years ago had collapsed. Another surgery to repair the blocked artery and things are much better. Almost a year of reduced blood flow weakened my heart so I still experience difficulty breathing sometimes.
I now have a different cardiologist.
About the photo: Story maps should have a number of the things listed, and don’t need to be professional. You’re a writer, not a cartographer.
A short scene from my newest story. Thanks for reading.
Unable to withstand the intensity in Monica’s eyes, Regis looked away. He drew a shaky breath and continued just above a whisper.
“Monica, not one of the wounded survived. They were sacrificed to provide Odessa the power needed to save us. We returned to the capital with only the living and the dead, including your brother and every senior member of the court. She believes she killed her man, Jon, even though Aldan tried to tell her Jon died earlier while protecting him. The price of our victory was high, but the cost to Odessa’s soul is unimaginable.”
The sound of an anguished scream from above ripped through the quiet inn, knocking out half the candles. Monica was up, her chair clattering to the floor and halfway up the stairs before the scream abruptly ended.
