I read "The Elements to Style" again, yesterday, because I AM that big of a nerd. When I closed the back flap I felt inspired and got my old spiral notebook with the hope that words would spew onto the page. No such luck. I have a story to write; I know I do. Usually, my stories need plenty of time to germinate, hatching only when the conditions are perfect like some finicky flower. I have a seed that has been twitching around in my brain since senior year of high school. I think it's ready to blossom but my attempts to nurture it have been unsuccessful thus far.
The story is about a teacher. If you know me, you know which one. Whether he's the story's antagonist or protagonist, I don't know. My problem is that over the years, he has become a characterization, not a real character. He is an amalgamation of all the teachers I've ever hated instead of the peculiar mix of opposing traits he was. He's flat and one-dimensional and even the inexperienced writer I am knows that makes for one boring narrative. I feel terribly inadequate and pompous to say "I'd like to explore the grotesque Gothic literary tradition of the Deep South in regards to my burgeoning novella..." But, that, in so many words, is where I think I'm headed. I just have to be assiduously patient about getting there.
I wrote this particular Response in the five minutes between plopping down at my desk in a panic and, "Will you pass your Responses forward, please?" I shallowly observed that my day had been unusually pleasant and I inferred the small changes to my daily routine, like sleeping through my alarm and forgetting my lunch, had somehow altered the greater course of my day. This was his response:
"Maybe, Courtney. I do not think necessarily that ever small event in one's life is destiny or happens for a reason. However, I am not sure that I know what events do happen for a reason. I have not yet made up my mind about this yet. It is changing all the time."
Cool. Thanks.
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