Perfectly Innocent

The meaning of my name, Rachel, is “lamb of God” or “innocent like the lamb.”  I’ve always thought this was hilarious.  I have nothing more to say about it, just that I find it funny and so do most people who know me.  It has nothing to do with anything.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been busy.  I admit, writing wasn’t much a part of this, but there’s good reason.  While I normally beat myself up about such things, this time I feel fairly justified.

First, I drove two days to get to a reunion in Philadelphia.  I did, in fact, utilize the drive to form stronger characterizations and to fill in some plot lines that either needed help or about which I knew nothing until they popped out at me from the rolling tarmac.

There’s something about being my own captive audience alone in a car for 10 hours a day that gets the creative juices flowing.  I’d like to tell you I dutifully captured all this information on the digital recorder I had right next to me on the seat, but I did not.  I just kept driving and talking to myself like a crazy woman.  I argued with characters.  I externally verbalized entire scenes and conversations between characters.  I’m fairly certain it’s still easily accessible.  We’ll see tonight.

I’d also like to tell you that I had the foresight to touch my ear from time to time so other drivers would believe I had a bluetooth in my ear.  Alas, my hair was up, my lips were flapping, and anyone looking could easily see I was talking to myself.  I was not, in fact, picking my nose or texting.  Being thought gross or illegal is one thing.  I have no problem letting people think I’m crazy.

Yes, the trip was mostly lovely, thank you for asking.  The east coast is an interesting place.  People speak and act in ways I’ve never understood.  It’s a harsher place.   I only lived in that area for about three years, and that was, well, a long time ago.  I love my friends, but the tension level in most everyone is too amped up for me.  The important thing as a writer, however, is to be exposed to different kinds of people.  I paid attention.  Making a character say something I would never say myself is difficult to do unless I can imagine someone else, someone from a different culture, region, mindset, or upbringing, actually saying it.  And so, I took mental notes.

I hope I can convey the dismay and astonishment I felt at times over that weekend by pushing my characters into saying similar things.  Then again, my characters tend to say whatever they want without regard to my intentions.

Upon my return from Philly, I brought back with me a lovely case of food poisoning which I am only now getting over.  The last week, which should have been for writing, was mostly used triangulating the distance to the bathroom and calculating the caloric values in a bottle of Ensure.  I had zero focus to use on anything so formal as working on a novel.

But it is now Wednesday, and we know what that means.  I’m leaving the house for something other than a visit to the doctor’s office or a Gatorade run.  Tonight I will be in my little coffee house, looking pretentious, sipping coffee (maybe tea, might not be ready for that yet), and returning to the world I’ve been building.

So, back to the grind.  Which really isn’t a grind.  I love this.