Sunday, September 10, 2017

...act of faith.

Like scraps of landscape glimpsed from atop a distant mountain, bits of towns, farms, forest, twisting threads of roads, emerging from clouds and lost again in them. 

That is how a novel comes. A scene here, a conversation there, a face, the feel of weather and a place. It doesn't come all at once or even in order. 

But you have to be there, paying attention, to write down all the bits as they show themselves. Eventually, you can discern a pattern, and out of the pattern, assemble your story. 

I'm usually at least half-way through a book before I get any clear notion of where it is going or what it is about. Writing fiction begins, as do all holy undertakings, with an unreasonable act of blind uncalculated faith.

No comments:

Post a Comment