Here by the creek, we do mornings by rote. I head to the
kitchen to brew up a strong cup in our French press and prepare the perfect
bowl of oatmeal with fresh fruit, while Michael, the darling, feeds the animals
and makes the bed. (It must be his Navy training that allows him to create such
perfect corners.) We take breakfast seriously, waking slowly as we sip and eat and discover
the world’s news—or, in my case, what Facebook and various blogs have to offer.
Words seem too loosely used these days, anger too
acceptable. Maybe it’s just man behaving badly to man as he has through the
centuries, but I feel as if social media exposes me—us—to accusations tossed
like darts at a corkboard in the hope of hitting something, anything. A certain
edginess seems to be sneaking up on any unguarded flank.
I’ve met a few folk who claim to have turned off and tuned
inward, but does that really work? We can’t live in the world—even if we choose not to be of it—without the mess affecting something—or someone—near or dear
to us.
Maybe political writers are doing a happy dance at the angst
that provides fodder for their words. But what about the rest of us? I don’t
know about you, but I’d like to get on with the story. To explore and create
and write.
And yet. And yet.
Story comes from deep within us, sometimes from a well of
peace and occasionally from a cauldron bubbling with anger. Whatever’s brewing inside
will show up on the page because story does not evolve in a void. Our
worldview always creeps in, but what about that next level, the stuff that pushes us
to react one way or another as we tiptoe around in a world that feels very much
on edge—and I don’t mean on the edge of anything good.
We face a contentious election and prophecies of doom,
gloom, and judgment. We look at wars and rumors of wars, at violence escalating
around us. In the US, a country supposedly at peace, many are frightened—or at least
worried—that they’ll be a terrorist’s next target.
While we’re living this life, responding—or not—to the
stimuli slamming us from all sides, we’re writers and so we have stories to
tell. What’s in us will emerge. What’s filling our heart and our mind will show
up somewhere.
Writers of suspense and intrigue, murder and mayhem have a
natural outlet for angst, but what about the rest of us? Does the anger flowing
in so many directions, swirling through the atmosphere in real time or online,
affect your world and your writing? Do you fear for the future for yourself,
for others, for this world? Or does faith guide and flow through you? How do
you make that work?
Has anything changed for you? What sort of questions are you asking? (Or aren’t you asking any?)
I find myself questioning my purpose more than ever and wanting
my words to count. I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what, if anything, I
might do differently to keep my focus on the true and the important. We who
believe know the end of the story and Who wins. And while that comforts me, it
doesn’t change the fact that I’m not sure how much time I have for business as
usual.
TWEETABLE:
Writing in a Time of Discontent @NovelRocket
TWEETABLE:
Writing in a Time of Discontent @NovelRocket
Normandie studied sculpture in Italy before receiving a BA,
summa cum laude with special honors in English. Her women’s fiction has
garnered numerous awards across the country, including a recent final in the Maggie (Heavy Weather): Becalmed (2013), Sailing out
of Darkness (2013), and Heavy Weather
(2015). Her first romantic suspense, Two
from Isaac’s House, released in November 2015 and was a Romantic Times Top Pick. From Fire into Fire is her fifth book. A
lifelong sailor, she and her husband spent a number of years on board their
50-foot ketch, Sea Venture, in the Sea of Cortez, Mexico.
@WritingOnBoard
