I've always wanted to paint. I've wanted to use watercolors to reflect the soft strength of flowers like Georgia O'Keefe does - sorry, did. I've wanted to use oils to contain the energy of a raging sea. The clear colors in Acrylics would be a good choice to highlight the energy of city scenes. Many times I've bought paint sets or borrowed my sister's art supplies and with all the good intentions in the world, tried to paint the picture that was pulsing in my mind. There were times when I really believed that by sheer will and the simple desire to paint, I'd be able to put brush to canvas and what I was seeing and feeling would be transferred from brain to fingers. Alas, I have no sense of painting perspective. My watercolor flowers looked like a kool-aid stain on a boy's Sunday white shirt - just a ragged, runny, blob of color. My raging sea reminded me of my grandmother's hair when she took all the bobby pins out of the pincurls tucked all over her head - just random swirls of grey laying flat on the canvas.
I used to wonder why I could never translate what I was seeing into beautiful pictures. Was I not holding my head the right way? Did I need to squint my eyes just a little more to narrow my focus?
I believe I have found my answer. I have become aware, at some really odd moments here lately, that this month of writing has shifted my way of looking at things. For instance, I went to the movies last night with a woman's social group fully expecting to be transported to fantasyland for 110 minutes of blissful entertainment. Wrongo bongo...as each scene unfolded, I found myself analyzing it: how the writer(s?) had so skillfully and uniquely introduced each of the different characters, the flawless scene shifts, the peaks and valleys in the action, how the sub-plots were intermingled to support the main theme. When the lights came back up, I realized just how oblivious I had been to all those little things that make a successful story.
This awareness, this shift in perspective, will serve me well. On the drive home last night, I ran the different chapters of School of Hard Rocks through my head and realized I have a few good scenes that will carry my book through, that give it a sense of cohesiveness. On the flip side of patting myself on the back, I also am now hyper-aware of the areas in which I really need to concentrate my efforts in December, after NaNoWriMo, when I revisit my completed first draft to revise, edit, clean-up or perhaps even totally re-write it.
Now that I've been exposed to this different perspective, everything I do will be viewed through new eyes. I used to wish I could paint so I could capture the nuances of summer's scarlet sunsets. Now, I realize that I've been painting for years - I've been using a pen as my brush and paper as my canvas.
Now I realize, it's all in the perspective.
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Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass. ~Anton Chekhov
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Day Nine, Clementine! Don't be afraid to do what you need to do. We will always be here for you.
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Wow! There's so much I could say about this. But the main thing is that what's changed about your perspective is a new awareness of technique. I think I may have learned more about writing from watching movies than from all my years of reading fiction. And that's finally bearing fruit during NaNo. We seem to be going down some of the same paths.
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