What do you do when you feel as though words are coming out of you sounding flat? As though they have no air. No color. No vibrancy which attracts the reader to the page. I have finished with a chapter for my book and I dare say that I’m glad with it, however the ending has stupefied me. I look over and ask, how should this be ended? I can see my character climbing into her car and saying farewell. But the words don’t surface in the correct order. They are all jumbled messes spilling from me in ink blots.
When I’m usually stuck in a rut like this, I open a good book and start reading. If a book is thrilling and the writing terrific, my power of words returns to me sharply. I feel inspired and a fresh flame of passion. I can write again, aha! Is what I say. My problem happens to be I’m extremely picky. It’s difficult for me to choose or even to find a good book. Sometimes, I scour the web for something smashing and mostly come up empty. Last night, I started reading a few stories on the New Yorker but eventually fell asleep half way through them.
I feel there are few good writers today. All of their writing has gone flat. Why is that? Sure, there are quite a few compelling stories that have and are being told, yet many of them have seem to forgotten the art of writing. The art of putting words together just so. I believe the poets have a better concept of it than us writers.
One great, amazing piece I have recently discovered and read is Nirvana by Adam Johnson. The story quite literary knocked my socks off. It was that brilliant. The artistry which Adam uses to convey his thoughts. The emotional context of the story. The beauty of the sentences so cleverly put together. And, the descriptions that leave me speech less. My favorite description Adam uses is when he describes the skin of a character as the color of refrigerator light. It’s a unique way of saying pale and weak. In my writing, I’ve tried find unique ways to describe things too. Sometimes I’ve succeeded and other times…
My point is, writing seems to have become flat. And I wish for somebody to prove me wrong. To show me all of the miraculous stories which have been written but never entered my radar. I believe finding a brilliantly written story will guide me out of my own quandary.