I spent about an hour in the car yesterday (and believe me, no complaints here, it’s in my shiny new Mercedes-Benz C230…okay stop me or I’ll start going on and on about her) with my laptop, trying to crank through one of the more emotional scenes in A God Grown Old. without giving anything away, it’s the darkness before the dawn scene; the two closest characters are realizing they may not live to see the next day and trying to grapple with that. despite not being in a particularly emotional mood, I broke down crying as I was speaking the dialogue aloud to myself. I was empathizing a little too much, I s’pose.
very rarely do I write things that make me cry. even more rarely do I write things that make me cry when I read them later. I haven’t tried going back to this scene yet. I’m kind of afraid to, because I’m at work right now, and I don’t need to be all teary, not when I’ve been in such a good mood all day. but I wonder: will others cry at it? am I just so connected to the characters because I know what’s going on in their heads, all that stuff that doesn’t make it to the page? it’s one of the most intriguing parts of being a writer for me – making my reader emotional. my poetry has reportedly squeezed out some tears in the past, but I don’t know about my prose. I know I’ve written many emotional sex scenes that have made me cry, but it’s usually because they’re personal and related to loss or goodbyes.
anyway. as to the title of this post – I am almost there. mere chapters away. three, I think, and then the epilogue. but these are the scenes that I’ve been working towards, and I’ve stuttered to a halt because, well, I’m afraid I won’t do them justice.
a silly fear? yes and no. yes because if I don’t write them at all, I’ve done them even less justice than if I put something on the page. no because I never will. ask any writer, even ones who write magnificently epic scenes over and over again. it never comes out quite right.
curse of the writer, I guess!
