In the two novels I’ve drafted over the past three years, one protagonist is in a place where he doesn’t belong, and the other lives where he very much belongs, but the neighborhood is crumbling around him and he’s powerless to stop it, and neither setting is one I’ve experienced directly.
Both stories take place during summer months, but where am I writing? Seated beside a space heater in a book-cluttered office, looking out at the wind-whipped snow. On the January morning I’m drafting this piece, local schools have posted a two-hour delay (a typical response to snow in Richmond, VA; I suppose the thinking is that commuter cars will thaw the ice before children venture out), but in the fictional worlds of my two drafts, my characters are dashing through July thunderstorms.
Does this disconnect keep me from writing? No. But it slows me down. I have to make myself get up and walk/jog/move around my office in ways my characters might move. I close my eyes and pretend I’m in a tee shirt, and when I run fingertips up my arm, instead of flannel PJs, I feel sweat and smell B.O., and my chlorine-drenched hair stiffens into green-tinged straw as it dries. I try my best to remember all the sensory details that make summer summer, like the fragrance of crepe myrtle in full bloom.
The goal, of course, is to write so well that readers, regardless of the season in which they pick up my novel, experience the setting vicariously. To do it right, first I have to experience the place vicariously myself. I’m not actually there any more than my readers are. Ahhh, the challenge of winter-writing summer scenes!
Smell the butter on that ear of corn? Well, no, but now… wait… the butter is dripping from my chin. It’s going down my thumb onto my wrist and I could reach for a napkin, but what’s the point? It’s going to drip again. Let me take another bite—where are the toothpicks? Get me some floss. Wish I’d put on more salt, but if I picked up the shaker now, I’d get it all buttery and I don’t want to do that, and…
All the best with your writing. Happy New Year 2018!
And thank you to Shannon Ranch for this wonderful photo of a girl eating corn on the cob!
I totally get this! My timing could be better too. I started my current WIP over the summer in Portugal, but the first six chapters take place in the middle of winter and early spring in a place with cold and harsh winters. Now that we’re having a cold and harsh winter, my story is nearing the end, it’s summer there (and the characters have road-tripped further south), and they’re experiencing a heat wave and a drought much like the one I experienced when I was in Portugal in June. Maybe the distance is making me write these scenes.
And maybe, Lyn, this coming summer when we reread our summer scenes, we’ll identify lines we have to revise. It’s all good, all part of the process!
I’m also working on a summer story, here in the middle of winter. Oh well. At least I feel a little warmer.
Hahaha. Yes, imagining summer helps us all get through the winter. Stay warm!
Hey, a wonderful blog as usual. Yes, I can relate. The mind has to be flexible to more into another world, season, building, street and so forth. You did a good job making me wish I could eat corn on the cob right NOW. Yes, what a picture of the girl eating corn on the cob and having fun.
Cheers and Happy New Year!
Lenore
Flexibility of mind–that’s the perfect way to put it. And although I won’t be sinking my teeth into corn on the cob tonight, I will have butter and my salt shaker at the ready. Happy New Year indeed.