Self imposed deadlines

Yeah, I set a deadline for myself.

I've had my butt in the chair and fingers on the keyboard for most of this week. The new version of the book is coming alone very nicely. Of course, it's still in shitty first draft stage, but it's one that has energy. Yay!

I have spent several emails with a writer friend explaining why this is not a different story. She writes mysteries and thrillers. Because the events changed, she said it's a new story, new characters with the same names.

I said, no, it's the same story, same characters and same names.

She said, no. The story has changed. The emotions have changed, the values have changed. The only thing that's the same are the names.

I thought about those comments for several minutes. Then I wrote back, no, she wasn't getting it and this is why.

I started the story differently than I had in the past. Since the catalyst was the same, the story is the same. The journey is the same. She still has the same emotions, the same values, the same everything. She is exactly the same. What's different is how she's presented with the "life changing" information.

Hang in there for a minute or two. Do you remember how sticky and fluffy and heavenly cotton candy was when you were a kid? It melted in your mouth. Clouds of sugar. Wonderful creations.

Okay, fast forward two or so decades. In your mind, you remember cotton candy one way. It has all the flavor of the carnival. You walk into a store. They have the prepackaged version of cotton candy. You can't resist. You buy a package, because you want to capture everything that cotton candy represents to you.

You wait until you get to your car before breaking open the package. The anticipation is high. Almost like Christmas mornings used to be. You stick your hand into the package. Good Lord, did it used to be that sticky? Already you're a little bit disappointed. But you tear off a piece and plop it in your mouth. Then you gag. Christ, why didn't I just buy a five pound bag of sugar and pour that down my throat? Did I really used to eat this shit? And enjoy it?

Your adult experience with cotton candy is your proof that your parents must have drugged you. How else can you explain why you used to crave it yearly?

What does this have to do with the book? Everything. Our memories are funny things. We remember what we want to remember. If we haven't eaten cotton candy in years, we remember it as something that was very delicious.

In the earlier versions of the book, the protag wasn't allowed to confront the man who ran out on her. All she had to go on were were distorted memories. At best, our memories are cloudy. The truth is, one of the reasons political spin works so well is we like having our version of issues reinforced. So, if we willingly embrace one political parties spin on an issue and discard the other sides spin, it's because we want to believe the one side. And let's face it, we do the same thing with our memories. We tend to bury the memories that we don't like. The ones that don't hold up to our image of ourselves.

Characters in stories aren't any different. I think that's one thing nonwriters don't understand.

While Sadie didn't see Jack, she was able to shove away things she didn't want to think about. So, while I wrote the version that kept him off stage, she was truly as happy as a clam at high tide. She got to remain the victim. And most of us are more comfortable being a victim than having to actually admit guilt in relationships that turn sour.

All it took was for her to get a good look at him though and her cloudy cotton candy memory melted. When he says something, it triggers a memory. With him being present in the story, it's so much harder for her to revert to the gooey cotton candy version of reality.

I'm not sure if this makes sense to nonwriters or writers. But it's how I can have the same characters, same story, same everything, but completely different events. She's reacting to something specific now. Not to an idea. So, yes, it probably does feel like a different story to others, but to me, it's the real story.

I think I finally explained it to my mystery writer friend to where she understands it.