But wait, isn't this post called 2 chapters in? Is this late or something?
Not exactly.
See, I finished 2 chapters of a book that wasn't too terribly deep. Oh, it had meaning and symbolism and all that jazz, but honestly, I didn't even care about my characters.
I had let my mom read what I had so far, and the next morning at breakfast, I tentatively asked her about it. It went a little something like this:
Me: *munching on waffles* So, uh, did you finish reading it last night?
Mom: I did.
Me: Oh. Did you...like it?
Mom:Yes. But I didn't care about her brother being kidnapped. And her reaction was stilted.
Me: *melts into a puddle of tears and waffles*
Okay, maybe not exactly like that. But the point still stands; I didn't care about my characters, not really, and apparently, neither did my reader.
(Gee, how'd ya figure that one out, genius?)
So, 2 chapters in, what have I learned?
I need to care.
I need to have meaning.
And most of all, I need to write from my heart rather than my mind.
If Writing Doesn't Hurt You, You're Doing It Wrong.
I'd heard a lot of quotes along those lines, and I'd sit back and think, Oh, it hurt outlining. It hurts my brain to write. It hurts my hands to type that much, etc, etc. Hahaha. No.
Writing is something incredible--there are people who, one day, have an idea and instead of forgetting about it or saying, Oh, that's neat, they sit down, and plot and develop and write and intake an unhealthy amount of caffeine, and they create something beautiful. Out of their own minds, out of their hearts. It's a tiny part of their soul that they're pushing out tentatively into the world to be devoured by critics and fans alike.
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And somehow, even though I knew this, I still thought I could scrape by with only being partially-invested in said beautiful thing. It's a wonder I've gotten as far in writing and, I dunno, being a person as I have, if I've been thinking those things.
In my story, my main character's (Emmaus) younger brother is taken by Dark Servants as a hostage-type situation. Think blackmail.
And yet, there were no scenes with Charley (the younger brother) before he was kidnapped, really, not even a mention of him. Somehow, I expected that the fact that 'Omg he's my little brother I luv him soooo much' would be enough to create emotion in the reader when he was taken.
Again, how have I gotten this far?
So I copied and pasted the entire of my chapter 2 and what I had written on chapter 3 into a blank document (labeled as "Chapters 2 and 3 (discarded-ish)"), and revamped my first 3 chapters.
It frustrated me. I had worked so hard, I had spent so long typing away and putting those words down, and now they were gone. It wasn't that I was angry at my mom for pointing out that my story was flawed. No, it was the fact that I knew what she was talking about, and I had known for quite a while, and now, I had to deal with it.
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It's not been fun, I can tell you that. It's hard. Most days, when I start writing, I delete roughly the last 100 words of what I had written yesterday, and rewrite it. But I know my story will be so much better for it, so it's okay. I'll fight through it.
Later,
Emma.
