There is a story I have always wanted to write. Actually, truth be told, I don’t know what that story is, but I do know the ‘feel’ of it. I know the texture and the pace of it. I know how it might linger. The first day of January, every year, tends to bring about the general feel of this story. I’ve written it in several ways, though it’s never the same story. You see, I’m just exploring the ‘feel’ of it, not the story itself. Today, this first day of January, is no different.
It is beautiful when words come together. When I drive and I think of the story that has been playing itself through me for years (the story I don’t yet know, the characters I haven’t yet met), I don’t approach that story in the usual way. I don’t think of a character’s name or a scene or a possible ending or a beginning: I think of the ‘fabric’ of the piece. That ‘fabric’ is snow and ice. That’s the only way to describe it.
The snow and ice of this place, this space, this story that runs through me, is not the physical snow and ice of a scene (although there is likely to be snow and ice there eventually). The snow and ice is what runs through it all. If this is sounding too pretentious, I apologise! This is the way it needs to be described right now.
So, as it’s January 1st, and as it’s that time when this story finds me, every year, I write: I wrote The Ice House because it’s part of a greater whole. As with my other current writing, if it sinks into something to be loved, in the shortness of time, it will be included in the next collection. I have high hopes for it because it’s part of the ‘feel’ of something bigger, something that’s been here a long time. If it slips away, not included (which I suspect it won’t), it will embed itself in the continuing magnum that forms the greater whole that is ‘New Year’s Day writing’.
If you’re writing, do you have similar bodies of work developing? The way that others write is a story in itself.