This act of turning formless fear into places and characters [is] what a good writer does. – Rebecca Moon Ruark
When I have written, and my task is to revise, revise, revise—that’s my sweet spot. This can only happen after I’ve actually done the grunt work of pulling a story from who-knows-where, that mystical place I don’t understand. Revision is not inspiration. Yes, it’s creation to a degree, but it’s not something-from-nothing. It’s not In the beginning was the Word…
Anne Lamott calls it her broccoli. As in, listen to your broccoli; it will tell you how to eat it. Stephen King compares inspiration to an archaeologist unearthing an enormous fossil, using the little brush forEVER, pushing aside innumerable grains of sand until a fully-formed something appears. So if we take King’s analogy further, I’m fine working on the dig hour after hour in solitary silence, not knowing what’s under there. The part I don’t like is slogging around the desert searching for skeletons. As in, where do I pitch my tent in this galactic wasteland?
A blank page is my Sahara. I hate it. I dread it. Fear is what I feel when I have a story to write and nothing’s there yet.
Since I already feel fear at the sight of a blank page, I often tap into it for my stories. Friends tease me about the dark nature of my work, and my husband tells me he’s unnerved by the edgy stuff that springs from my imagination. But the truth is, I’m just a scared rabbit facing a blank page, turning formless fear into scenes. Here’s how that happened recently.
My husband had just begun a new hobby: road cycling. One night he was out at dusk (the most dangerous time for cyclists—I researched it), and he was late returning. I got worried. I imagined him…well, you’ll read it below.
“John?” she called, begging against what her eyes told her. She spun in a circle, scanning the road ahead and behind and the forest that lined the parkway. Again and again she called his name. Then she spotted him. “Oh, John…” Her hands flew to her mouth and she stomped her feet in a toddler fit. She forged to where her husband lay, clumsily picking her way through the woods…[and] dropped to her knees in front of what was left of her husband. She put her fingers through his blood-soaked hair, traced the boundary where his flesh and hair met. The side of John’s face was skinless and fraught with teeth and bone. The impact shorn him of clothes and most of his skin. They lay at the base of a tree trunk nearby.
And there you have it. Kelly’s fear turned into character and scene. Some writers like to base characters on their enemies and then kill them in gruesome ways. These authors rub their palms together over the keyboard and say mwah ha ha…take that. I’m the opposite. If I kill you in a book, I probably love you.
KL Griffiths 
Your post hit a sweet spot with me this morning as I am battling some fears of my own. It’s a perfect example of how God recycles the negative into something positive, something good! Thanks!
I hope you pray and push right through, my friend.
Oh, I love that–and you for always giving me something to inspire hope when staring at an empty page–and for quoting me. Surely, no one has ever done that before! I fear that blank page, but I have also used fear as a motivator to create. I can’t do it all the time–use fear as a writing prompt–because then my stories would just be littered with sick or dead children, and I’d go nuts. I’m trying to learn how to write toward joy–while get at conflict and tension that is necessary for good fiction. A work in progress!
Oh yes…I remember when my kiddos were young. Nothing scarier than something bad happening to them. I couldn’t even watch The Candyman. You make a good point that I should make joy my goal in writing…right after something terrible befalls them! haha
“If I kill you in a book, I probably love you.” Ha! What a relatable post.
Glad to hear I’m not the only one. 😉
That would probably not be true for me…if I kill you in a novel, I probably don’t. No fiction writers in my book as you may not have noticed. 🙂
Good to know!
ABC’s of cycling- Always on, Bio-motion, Contrast.
Intensely bright, sporadically flashing lights FRONT and rear should be used 100% of the time. Lower brightness when cycling in a group.
Bio motion concerns very eye catching attire at feet and knees- motorists notice the parts that bob up and down. Bright shoes. Bright above the ankle socks.Knees and lower legs in cooler weather.
Contrast. Black? NEVER! (Okay, shorts.) Colors should look like a clown. Better people should see us and die laughing than not.
Aha…so my black shirt, black sneakers, and neon yoga pants don’t pass muster. And I thought the pants were perfect.
Thumbs up on the pants!
Big NAY on the top and sneaks.
If I kill you in a book, I probably love you – Love this! I can never turn my fear into a plot though. I can’t even create a character when I’m afraid. Which is why, I end up writing out my thoughts and ideas in stream of consciousness and lacing them with gruesome imagery. What you’ve done in that excerpt is brilliant. The beginning of a novel perhaps?
Thank you! It is part of my novel. I’m querying agents…eeeck.
A very interesting way to use fear. Everything can be used as a benefit, it seems. Very much like yin and yang. Good luck with finding an agent!