I had the funniest (funny, ha ha) thought this morning. I’ve been working on a short story that just won’t come together as smoothly as I would like. I tuck it away in a draft file, think about it from time to time, and then feeling confident I know how to continue, I drag that baby out for another look-see.
That’s when it suddenly hit me. Sometimes, writing a story is like being pregnant —I had never thought of it that way until I thought the word “baby”. A lot of thought, planning and work goes into both, like getting the nursery ready. It has to be finished in time for the birth of the baby.
I’ve usually had the idea for a short story in my head for a while. It takes a lot of time, thought, and planning for all the different parts to be decided on and working together before I can actually start writing it.
With each day that passes, excitement builds because the story is taking shape. All the individual elements are finally coming together. There’s a bond growing and it only grows deeper as I write. The characters even become real to me.
Patience becomes an issue, too. Anything that is born of us takes patience, until it’s finished. It’s worth waiting for and looked forward to with love, and we want it NOW.
Then it’s time ...
With the very last contraction —with the very last line, you know, “This Is It”. This is what I’ve waited so long for … and one gets a name, and the other, a title.