I think in words. Not images, not sounds. Words. It makes visualizing nearly impossible, unless I focus on actual words. When I read a story, I feel it, I internalize it, but I never picture it.

When I write, I don’t picture the story. I picture the words. Sometimes I hear the story.  Apparently this is unusual. Makes writing clinical at times.  Funsies.

Today I wrote for thirty minutes only, writing a monologue. The first few minutes, to paraphrase George Costanza, “didn’t take.”

I stayed with it. I stopped “writing” and started trying to do brushstrokes with words. A phrase or a fragment the character would say, interspersed with a note to myself about where I wanted to take that thought.  I then went into “performance” mode. If I were performing this monologue today, now, what would I say? It was a fun exercise in improv, as well. I’m better at it (in this capacity) than I remember.  

I’m revisiting that piece. It’s raw and unready but it’s got potential.  I hope to share it here within the next week.

I also notice how many of my posts here are more about the process than about sharing what I’ve written. I’ve noted that before.  Is that my reflecting on the actual process or my avoiding putting (more) dreck out in the internet?  

That remains to be seen.
Until tomorrow.