Whenever I hit a wall with my writing I feel a powerful urge to go out to the desert to do research.
“The Feathered Tale of Talula Jones” is set in the California desert, and the last time I spent a day among the sand and sage brush, I had a major story revelation. The narrative, which had been unfolding in incongruent parts and pieces, finally found a through line.
Last week I again got the feeling that my story was falling apart, that I was losing the thread of what it was really about. As a direct result, I avoided working on it. I started outlining a paid assignment, I sent out a short story to a few journals, I even cleaned my desk. Then I had the bright idea that maybe going out to the desert would again bring clarity to my process.
But it’s an all day endeavor to go out to the desert for inspiration. If I leave as soon as the nanny gets here I spend a couple hours driving, a few hours soaking up what ever it is that I’m trying to soak up, and a couple more hours getting back before the nanny leaves. So the question immediately arose: do I really need to go out to the desert? Or am I just procrastinating?
I think the answer to both questions was yes, and I was successful on both fronts. I managed to not write all day for a very good reason, and I found the inspiration I was hoping for. The trick was to acknowledge that there was a part of me that was avoiding the work and to do my best to stay focused. I left the music off as I headed up Interstate 15 and methodically auditioned solutions to the problem I was having with my story.
By the time I was headed back to Los Angeles, after sitting for two hours on the hood of my car and writing down everything that came to mind, I had solved my plot issues.
Whether this was the solution I was looking for remains to be seen, but at least for now it has me back on track and at the key board.