This dark, chilly Sunday afternoon finds me huddled beneath a blanket in my living room-- windows throw open to let in the crisp, fresh air--as I listen to the joyful chirp of a single enthusiastic bird...and bang away at my keyboard, determined to somehow connect with my characters once again. The breaking down of subtly erected barriers has proven more complicated than I thought. Somewhere along the line, by distancing myself from my own deeper emotions, I have stifled the emotional development of my characters as well. It is hard to miss the lack of dimension and depth...and even harder to identify with them as individuals who love and live, hurt and hearken, both need others and answer to the needs they sense in those around them.
I suppose it is easy to forget that in order to write, one must be willing to put not just words and phrases upon the page but a piece of the Self. And, even though I am still a staunch advocate of my one-thousand words per day, to that, I think I should add at least one honest observation--preferably one which has radiated from the inside out, revealing not just an opinion, but the thoughts, emotions, and sensations which led to it.
That's a tall order for a "dark, chilly Sunday afternoon!"
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