If Found, Please Read

The first chapter of Claire's journey. You'll find out why she has made her decision to run away and meet the first person she becomes.

It all started one day, when I was sitting in class. I was half listening to my professor’s dull voice explain the importance of microbiology. Although I agree, I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about much anymore. It’s a strange feeling really. The irony is that I want to care, I want to listen to my professor instead of tuning out. Looking back, I tried to piece together the events that lead to everything turning out so wrong. This isn’t how my life was supposed to be. Unfortunately, here I am. Nothing to do but wallow in my misery and allow it to happen. Trust me, I’ve tried numerous times to break out of this funk. Nothing seems to work, no matter how hard I try. 

That’s when I made my decision. I was going to run away that day. Not literally, I’m an adult and I can’t actually run away from home. But I’m running away from life and all the responsibilities that comes with it. I’m running away from the dullness and the pain. Morbid and dramatic, I know. The cliché doesn’t make it any less true though. Maybe all these cliché are right. Maybe that’s why they are clichés. Here’s another cliché, I want to feel alive again. Lately I feel like robot or on autopilot. I’m removed from my life and viewing it as a third person. That’s how I realized, what the f**k is the point? There is no reason not to leave. I have no ties to my current life. It would be so easy to pack up and leave and never say goodbye. 

I hardly talk to my family anymore. Really, I’m the black sheep. After my mom remarried, she had two perfect kids with the perfect (not really) husband. Immediately I was set on the back burner. Soon it didn’t matter what I did. My mom was wrapped up with a baby girl and boy and suddenly I didn’t matter anymore. I was so happy to get admitted to a school out of state. Free as a bird, and no constant reminder of how horrible my life became at home. I guess it was always horrible with an inconsistent mother. But I would rather have inconsistency than nothing at all. I blame my step father really. His manipulative ways facilitated my moms recent behavior towards me. I knew things would never really change. They probably wouldn’t even miss me when I’m gone for good. Or notice. 

I have friends (I guess). It’s terribly hard to actually consider them friends. More like a very good acquaintanceship. Most of these ‘friends’ are forced. Forced from working together in labs. Forced through group projects and working in class together. That’s okay though. I guess some human interaction is better than none. But this surface level s**t isn’t what I need. I need real friends and family. Ones who will notice when I’m gone. None of these people will. That’s why it’s so easy to pack up and leave. Theres no reason not to. 

After class got out I walked to my dorm to pack up my stuff. It was a rainy and gloomy day, just like my mood. I felt like a zombie, on autopilot walking to my dorm. Although, something felt different this time. I’ve walked to and from my dorm too many times to count. But this time felt different. Maybe because I knew it would be the last time. It felt like a small knot was forming in my stomach. I haven’t decided if it was nerves or excitement. I was so ready to feel something, anything, again that I didn’t care that I was having this small, uncomfortable difference today. 

I arrived at my dorm to find my roommate, Karen, inside. She was listening to her headphones obnoxiously loud and I could hear every beat of her music. She was working on homework at one of the desks in the room, drumming along to her music. When she noticed me, she pulled off her headphones and immediately greeted me. I wish she would have just left me alone. Of course, I smiled and politely had a short conversation with her. This was something over the years I’ve learned to master. It’s easy to fake it when you’re around strangers. They rarely know that inside you’re losing it. 

“How were classes today, Claire?”

“They were fine. What about yours?”

“Ugh mine were rough, I have two exams coming up and I am so stressed about them. One is chemistry and the other is calculus! Can you believe that? Two tests in one week! I don’t think I’m going to pass. I’m trying to study but I can’t seem to focus. Do you ever feel that way? Of course, I’m sure you do sometimes, everyone does really,” Karen ranted on. 

It was about then when I started to tune her out too. She can go on forever. As long as I smile and nod at the times that seem appropriate, she never notices that I’m not actually listening to her. No wonder she can’t focus on her homework. While she continued to rant on, I started nonchalantly packing up my stuff to run away. I pulled out a large duffle bag from under my bed and started neatly, and slowly, folding my clothes and putting them into the bag. It wasn’t until my closet was near empty that Karen stopped her rant. 

“Wow! You’re packing everything! Where are you going?” She inquired.

“Oh, I’m going home to my parents for the weekend.” A lie. I know, but I obviously couldn’t tell her the truth.

“You’re travelling 500 miles to see your parents during finals week?” Karen had a look of pure shock and terror on her face. Normally, I would have a similar reaction if someone told me that they were leaving in the middle of finals. But I had no intention of actually taking any finals, so it didn’t matter anyways. I gave her a brief excuse, saying that I could easily study at my parents and that I would be back in time to take my finals. She still looked at me questioningly. I felt my nerves creep up on me and started feeling nervous for some reason. It isn’t like she can do anything about my decision. She’s just my roommate. However, this whole plan has been a secret and I intend to keep it that way. 

After I got all my clothes and everything I needed from my bedroom, mainly electronics. I decided to bring my phone (even though I had no intention of using it due to GPS tracking), a phone charger and my laptop. I plan to mainly use my phone for music. The great thing about Spotify premium is that your phone doesn’t have to use data to still listen to music. I moved to the bathroom and grabbed necessary toiletries. Then to the kitchen where I grabbed all nonperishables foods. Which means granola bars, Poptarts, and chips. Although it wasn’t a ton of food it would get me by for the first little bit of my trip. I also grabbed a couple blankets and a pillow since I’ll be sleeping in my car. 

The rain started coming down even harder, it was almost pouring. I stared at the window and started second guessing myself. Maybe this was a bad plan. But staying here was worse. At least that is what I had convinced myself of. Fighting of that shred of doubt, I took a deep breath, grabbed my bag and blankets and headed out the door. I shouted a quick goodbye to Karen. As I did this, I realized she was the only one I said goodbye to. 

My car was about a half mile away from my dorm and I got drenched running to it. My clothes were sticking to my skin and I wanted to change my clothes in the car but figured I should wait until I have a little more privacy. I threw my bag and blankets in the backseat, hopped in the front and turned my car on. I sat there for a few minutes, still contemplating my decision. For me, this was the point of no return. Even though I can turn back at any point I want. If I leave now, I’ll never come back. Taking another deep breath I started the car, threw it in reverse and headed toward the highway. 

You may be wondering what could be so bad that I would just want to pack up and leave that easily? I have one simple answer. Depression. My depression has become an undying and relentless darkness that is slowly consuming me. I need to get away from it. I’m not sure if running away will actually help me run away from it but I am hoping it will. Regardless, I don’t expect this trip to be very long. The reason is because I plan to die. Yes. Death. My trip is ending in my death. I have decided I am going to kill myself. I’m not sure how or where yet. Regardless I want it to be somewhere beautiful and peaceful. I’m writing this as a form of a suicide note. People will want to know where I went and why I left. So, I titled this document on my computer If found, Please Read. I plan to mail my laptop to my family right before I die to make sure they get it. 

So, this is more or less my suicide note. 

⁕⁕⁕

I was attending the University of Maine. So, the only direction I could go is west. I made it to New Hampshire before I decided I needed to sleep. It was nearing 1AM and I was exhausted and my car was out of gas. I pulled into a rest stop, filled my car up, changed my clothes, and bundled up in my blankets in the backseat. Most people think sleeping a car is the worst, but I actually don’t mind it. Although, I get concerned about people sneaking up on me to rob me. Luckily, with it being this late and being in the middle of nowhere there was less of a threat. I fell asleep fast, but didn’t sleep long enough. I woke up around 6AM. Another con about depression. Insomnia. 

I hopped out of the car, smoked a cigarette, stretched my legs, and went into the gas station to buy an energy drink. I decided to hang out in New Hampshire for a while and went window shopping. I found a store called Pretty in Pink and wanted to check it out. Not that I’m much of a fan of girly things, but maybe there’s some hidden treasures. Walking inside, I was hit with pink walls, pink counters, pink tables, pink clothes, pink everything. It looked like a Pepto Bismal commercial gone wrong. I immediately wanted to turn around when I heard someone call out to me.

“Hey girl! How are you doing? Is there anything I can help you find?” asked the store clerk. Who was also dressed in all pink. Strangely enough her pink didn’t match the rest of the store, creating an odd pink contrast. 

“Ugh, no, ugh, actually I was just leaving.” I wanted to get out there as quick as possible and avoid any unnecessary human contact as possible. 

I could tell she wasn’t buying it when she said “you can’t leave yet! You just got here! Come on, I know the perfect thing for you. What’s your name?” 

“It’s Claire” I said, slowly becoming less awkward. 

“Well Claire, I’m Becky and it’s great to meet you!”

The next thing I knew I was being dragged into a changing room with a hideously pink sundress. Surprise, the changing rooms were all pink as well. How can you even tell if something pink looks good on you when you’re surrounded by pink? The store owner should really reconsider their interior design. I slipped into the dress and awkwardly looked in the mirror. I saw my average, curvy, short reflection looking back at me. My eyes looked sunken in from the giant bags underneath them. My face was breaking out with acne, my lips starting to chapped. Oddly enough, in this pink room and pink dress, I actually looked… well… pretty. At least I thought so. 

“Let me see!” exclaimed Becky.  

“Ugh, okay.” I replied even more awkwardly back. This whole situation has been incredibly awkward. Reluctantly I opened the door to let Becky see me in the dress. 

“Oh my god!” she squealed with excitement. “You have to get this! It looks amazing on you!” I looked back at my reflection and seriously contemplated getting the dress for 0.2 seconds. Of course I couldn’t get the dress. I needed to save my money for the trip and plus when would I ever get a chance to wear it? 

“Oh no… I don’t think so.” I shied away from her. I could feel my cheeks flush and didn’t want her to see how vulnerable I felt in this moment. Looking at my reflection, I saw someone different. Maybe someone I wanted to be. “I can’t really afford a new dress anyways.”

“Look, we had a giant shipment of theses dresses come in. I’ll give you 50% off if you promise to wear that dress out of here.” Becky was a good negotiator. I weighed the options in my head. The dress was sixty dollars, so I would end up only spending thirty dollars. Thirty dollars to become someone new. 

Needless to say, I walked out wearing the dress. Stepping outside the store in a brand new dress really did make me feel like I was someone different. I walked down the street to my care, feeling pretty pleased with myself. I was on fire and decided I wanted to stop for a bite to eat and a drink. I found this little café on the corner of the shopping mall and was able to get seated outside. I loved sitting outside, it was the best place to people watch. As I waited for my coffee and crepe, I watched all the people passing by. Everyone was with someone. I realized I’m the only one completely alone here. 

I’m used to being alone. Ever since my mother remarried I started isolating. I really didn’t like my step-father. Since he came in the picture it’s like my mother no longer had time for me anymore. If she did, he was involved. It’s not like when I was younger and we would do everything together, just me and her. I get that things change but they seemed to have changed for the worst. At least for me. Ever since then, isolating became second nature. It became something I transferred into school and any social settings. Which is why when being confronted by anyone, like my roommate or Becky, I avoid it or become incredibly awkward. 

But sitting here and watching all these happy people with their happy families, kids, significant others, I realized how alone I really am. It’s not because I took off. It’s because these last few years my life has been centered around being alone. Ever since I was fourteen and my mother started dating again, I was alone. That was unintentional. Now being alone is something I strive for. It’s safer that way. You don’t have to worry about people hurting you. You maintain a safe mental and emotional distance from everyone else. 

That being said, I’ve never had a boyfriend. Just boys that I would string along until they wanted to get closer than I could allow them to. Boys always seemed like a waste of time to me. It would never work out and if it did it would more than likely result in the same s****y situation my mother is in right now. A s****y marriage with a s****y husband who treats her like s**t. I refuse to let that ever happen to me. Rationally I know that not every boy is the same and there’s always ‘Mr. Right’ but I think that’s just a giant lie. For whatever reason, people want you to think that love and romance is possible. Well I am a firm believer that it’s not. Love is full of heartache so why bother? 

My coffee and crepe arrive just in time and I quickly inhaled it to get far away from this shopping mall as possible. I all but ran to my car, started it, and drove off. I had no idea where I was going. All of a sudden, I felt stupid in my pink dress. Why did I even decide to go to the shopping mall? I started realizing what a horrible decision that was. 

I decided to scope out some bars and clubs to find something to do tonight. Giving

human interaction another chance.  Plus I loved drinking and it made talking to people much easier. Granted I was a little nervous to actually go to a bar or club alone. But if it was busy enough I doubt anyone would even notice. 

I found a club just south of the shopping mall. It was called Club X. I decided a club is a better option because there’s more people and it’s harder to tell who is alone and who isn’t. Plus I wanted to let loose and dance a little. I kept my pink sundress on because it was one of the best outfits I had. As I approached the club I could already hear and feel the thumping of the music. There was a line of people out the door but it was moving fast. I got inside within five minutes. I quickly found the bar and ordered an AFM, which stands for adios mother f****r. My favorite drink. It had a very high alcohol content which is something I really needed right now. I paid for my drink, chugged it, and made my way to the dance floor. I didn’t particularly care for the music the DJ was playing but it had a good enough beat that I was able to dance to it. 

In that moment nothing mattered. I felt the alcohol starting to work its magic and the beat of the music put me in a trance. I was feeling it all completely stimulated with everything that was going on in the moment. I felt a hand grab my hip and pull me closer to the attached body behind me. Soon we were dancing together, completely in sync. I didn’t even know who it was, but I didn’t care either. It felt good, this moment felt good, I felt good. After the song ended I turned around to see who my dance partner was. He was a charming boy. Probably about 24, bright white teeth that shined in all the lights circling the club, he had strawberry blond wavy hair that fell just above his ears, bright blue captivating eyes. 

“Let me buy you a drink” he shouted in my ear. I just nodded and we made our way over the bar. I ordered another AMF and he ordered a whiskey and coke. He ushered me outside onto the smoking patio where it was quieter. Quiet enough to hear each other talk. 

“What’s your name?” he asked. In that moment I froze. I wanted to be someone different and today at Pretty in Pink and the café proved it.  I needed to be someone different. I shouldn’t be giving strangers my real name anyways. So, I decided.

“Jade.” Just like that it was done. I was a different person. At least for tonight and with this boy. He smiled slightly and took a sip of his drink before looking back up at me. 

“Well Jade, my name is Clay. Nice to meet you.” Clay. Clay is such a great name. It was so fitting for him as well. He just looked like a Clay. He looked mildly preppy and I could see everything in more detail now, his teeth and eyes popped even more now. I could make out more of the strawberry in his strawberry blonde hair. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and he looked hot. “Where are you from?”

“Chicago. You?” I lied of course. Claire was from Montana, but Jade was someone different. She had a different life and a different story that I had to make up on the spot. It was thrilling to become someone new so quickly. Clay wouldn’t know any different. He doesn’t know who I actually am and he will probably never find out. Which was fine by me. 

“New York. What brings you out here?” He smiled subtly as he asked this, staring into his drink before taking another sip. 

“A new life” I replied. That wasn’t completely untrue. Although my overall goal was to die after this, I still wanted a new life. I wanted to go back and make everything different even though that wasn’t possible. 

We talked and drank for a couple more hours until last call. The club was closing and they were going to stop serving drinks. Suddenly the air between me and Clay became very tense. It felt like nervous tension. Probably because neither of us wanted to say goodbye but we also didn’t know the next step. I couldn’t exactly ask him to come have drinks in my car.

“Well…” he said drawing out the word making the tension even worse. “Would you like to come over to my place?” He looked down shyly but there was a slight air of confidence about him as he asked me this. It was like he knew I would say yes. 

Of course I did say yes. I was 3 AMFs and 2 vodka shots in. All paid for by Clay. Normally I would never actually let a guy buy me drinks. Actually I would never be found in a club. Something about becoming someone you weren’t changes your comfort zone. Soon it begins to morph into what this other persona would do. Plus as I’ve found out drinking and clubs and guys are fun. The alcohol had made everything fuzzy and fun. The club made a great ambience with music and lights to make the night come alive. Then there was Clay. If it weren’t for him I would have left the club ages ago. But he kept buying me drinks and could talk for hours. I admired this about him. He made it so easy to be Jade. He helped me figure out who she was. 

But right now the room was spinning and my face felt flushed. I needed to sit down. There was no where to sit so I decided the ground was good enough. Clay laughed and sat right next to me in the middle of the parking lot. I was too drunk to even care how I looked and what Clay might be thinking of me. Sitting made everything stop spinning and that was all that mattered in that moment. 

“Come on, I’ll help you to my car” he said as he wrapped my arm around his neck and helped me off the ground. Normally I would never get into a car with a guy I’ve never met before. That was date rape 101. But here I was drunk and a perfect victim, yet I didn’t care. Part of me even wanted to have sex with him. So, I let him half drag half carry me to his car where he helped me get into the passenger seat.

The drive to his apartment was a blur of lights and buildings. I couldn’t make out anything in particular but the city looked beautiful. I could be drunk forever. The world looked brand new and nothing mattered. There was no pain and it was okay not to care for once. It was a different kind of not caring. Because I didn’t care that I didn’t care. Clay had put on music similar to what was playing in the club and I let the bass take over. We didn’t talk the whole ride home. Which was okay. We talked a lot at the club and I felt like I might be sick. I just wanted to admire the world around me. 

When we arrived I felt better and didn’t need (as much) help getting out of the car and into the apartment. Once we were there he led me into a small kitchen where he poured more drinks. This time it was straight whiskey. He sipped on his drink while I downed my like a shot. His apartment was small. The living room barely held his couch and TV. The kitchen overflowing with kitchen ware and food. When he led me to the bedroom his bed practically took up the whole room. There was a little path between the bed and the closet that allowed you to hop onto it. I climbed into the bed and immediately sunk in. It was so comfortable and so much better than sleeping in my car. I was so grateful to be able to lay here even if it was just for a little while.

Which was initially my plan.

***

I woke up to the sun hitting my face and a headache from hell. I looked over and saw Clay asleep next to me. He looked so beautiful and peaceful with the sun hitting him just right. It was a shame that I would have to leave and he would remain a stranger to me. I crawled out of the bed as slowly and undisruptive as possible. Checking every few seconds to see if he had woken up. I frantically started looking for my clothes when I realized I was hardly wearing any. I found them all thrown across the room as memories of last night came in little flashes. I couldn’t completely remember what happened but I remember being drunk, having fun, and letting go of all my inhibitions. 

Normally I wouldn’t hook up with someone I just met. In fact I’ve only ever slept with two guys. One in high school and the other after I graduated and started into college. My high school crush didn’t last long but the guy I began dating after did. We dated for a year and a half and I was devastated when we broke up. After that I decided I’ve had enough hurt and have seen my mom go through enough with men that I decided to string them along until I got bored or until they got too close. But I never slept with them. Needless to say, I didn’t just open my legs for anyone. But last night I wasn’t me. I was Jade. Whoever Jade was. 

I didn’t regret the events of last night but I didn’t feel very proud of them either. I felt sticky and desperately wanted to shower but I couldn’t here. I got dressed as quickly as possible and was out the door without a word. Looking at the time I saw that it was already noon, so I needed to get going fast. I highly doubted that Clay would even care when he finally woke up that I was gone. But part of me wondered if he would care. Making my way out of his apartment complex I found myself in a strange side of town that I wasn’t familiar with. Actually, I wasn’t familiar with anything but at least before I knew where my car was. Last night I was far too drunk to remember how we got here and which turns to take. So, I began walking. 

I started walking north until I saw a cab and flagged them down. I hoped that they would know where that shopping mall was. They did and they were able to deliver me right next to that stupid pink store. My memory was starting to come back and I remembered where the club was. Sure enough once I made it there I found my car. Unfortunately as I walked up I saw a parking ticket. I guess overnight parking wasn’t allowed at the club, surprise. 

I drove around town until I found a recreation center. At least there I could finally shower. I paid for a day pass and found the swimming pool. Initially swimming wasn’t my plan, but seeing the water I couldn’t help myself. Submerging myself in the cool water helped cure my hangover. I ended up swimming lap after lap until I physically couldn’t swim anymore. It felt refreshing and I was glad for the workout. I jumped into one of the shower stalls and finally took a much needed shower. This got rid of my hangover for good and any shame from last night. After I was done at the rec center it was already 2:30 in the afternoon. I wasted so much time. 

The drive to Vermont was almost three hours which was manageable. I would be there in time to maybe hit up another club. I ate a poptart before I hit the road and had filled up my water bottle at the rec center so I was ready to go onto the next adventure. Onto the next person I would become. 

Author's Note

Let me know what you think! Debating on continuing this piece so reviews are extremely helpful!

Reviews

[JayG]

You’ve worked hard on this, and put a lot of yourself into it. And that shows. But…it’s written as a chronicle of events, of the form: “Here’s where I was…this was going on…here’s why it matters to me…here’s some backstory on me…then, I went…”

Your approach is to focus on the progression of events, along with editorial intrusions to explain their meaning. The trivial and the profound are presented in equal detail. Is that a story that will entertain, or a report?

In the first 650 words (five paragraphs), what has happened? The protagonist tells us that she’s bored, despondent, and has decided to abandon her present college life. That’s not an unreasonable opening, but were this a standard manuscript submission, the reader would be on the fourth page. So while lots of detail has been presented, how much has happened in that classroom and on the way to the dorm during the opening scene? Not much. But it took three pages to do that. Suppose the opening said:
- - - - - - -
As I sat in microbiology class, bored, and despondent, I looked back on my life, seeking some reason to go on. I found only sadness. And the future promised nothing better. So as the professor droned on I tuned him out and thought about my options.

Say goodbye to the world? Hell no. I was despondent, not stupid.

Suck it up and play the hand I was dealt, as my b*****d stepfather was so apt to say? But that meant spending two more years, becoming someone I don’t want to be. And it meant ending up married to a ticky-tacky man, living in a ticky-tacky house on a ticky-tacky street, just like those who sat around me sucking up the professor’s meaningless crap.

So what did that leave? The only thing that made sense was to leave my piece of crap life, find out who I want to be, and get to work building a life worth living.
- - - - - - -
(apologies to Pete Seger, and his song, “Little Boxes,” but I couldn’t resist using ticky-tacky here.
Your character? No. Nor is it your story. I meant it as a parallel to show another approach, this one centered on her moment of now, rather than on detail that’s irrelevant to her—and the reader—in that moment.

Look at the difference in approach. The reader is placed in the protagonist’s moment of now, and learns everything from the context she provides as she works through her problem. We learn her gender, her year in the university, that she dislikes her stepfather and the degree she’s working toward. We learn how SHE feels about it, and what SHE hopes to accomplish. Do we learn about her family? No, but we can learn that when it matters enough to her to influence some decision. For example, in an argument with her parents, later. Then, it matters to both her and the reader.

But notice that at no time does someone who is not on the scene in the moment of the story’s “now” appear on stage.

First person isn’t having the protagonist tell the story, it’s simply a given author uses personal pronouns. Point of view and viewpoint are very different things. But viewpoint is what makes every character unique. So to have her be a real person to the reader we don’t need to know about her, we need to know what matters to her as she lives the story.

Yes, the narrator is the protagonist at a later time, but they live at different times, and so cannot appear on stage together. And where would you rather be: with the storyteller or the one living the story?

Remember, with this section, you’re opening the story, and trying to convince the reader that THIS story is more worthy of their attention than the hundreds of others, all shouting “Read me!” The very last thing you want to do is provide a history lesson that must be plowed through as a reading assignment before the actual story begins.

So…do we care how many siblings she has? Not at this point, in that classroom. Does it matter to her in that moment that her mother remarried? Again, not at that moment. Does the reader want a philosophy lesson on cliché’s and why her life may be one? Do we need specific detail on WHY she decided to change her life? The answer is that since her decision is based in the end result of her life till that time, it’s what matters to her. And since she’s our avatar, what matters to her matters to us, who hope to live her life, not learn the historical details of it. History has no uncertainty, which is why it’s not entertaining to most people. But her decision to run away has the inherent question: what happens as a result of that decision? And it’s the curiosity that such things bring that makes the reader turn the pages. Never forget that your goal is to entertain your reader, not inform them. And if you don’t give the reader a reason to care—to WANT to turn to page two, they won’t.

It’s not that you’re doing something wrong, or a matter of talent. It’s that at the moment, like most hopeful writers, you’re doing exactly what you’ve been taught, and using the report writing skills we’re all given in our school days to explain the situation to the reader.

But facts aren’t all that entertaining. So author-centric and fact-based writing doesn’t hook the reader the way playing with their emotions do.

More than that, a reader has limited time. And every unnecessary detail you include slows the pace of the story.

The solution? Simple. If we want our readers to see our writing as being just as entertaining as that of the pros we need to know what the pro knows. So some time spent picking up a few tricks of the trade would be a HUGE help, and make the act of writing the story more fun for you.

That idea is simple, rught? Implementing it isn’t, though, for several reasons. The first being that after all the work of writing the story, who wants to do it all again? I sure didn’t when I learned that I had not a clue of how to write fiction, and was recording myself telling the story aloud. But you can’t use the tool you’re not aware exists, so…

The second problem is that all your present writing reflexes, honed over your years of schooling, feel intuitive. So any attempt to change them will “feel wrong,” till those methods, too, become habit. And doing that is one of the harder things I’ve attempted. But still, if you are meant to be a writer the learning will be like going backstage at the theater, and fun. Again and again you’ll find yourself saying, “Why didn’t I think of that?” And I think you’ll really like the result of changing your approach.

For a kind of overview of the issues involved, you might dig around in the articles in my blog. As for the next step, that depends on you.

An easy introduction to the nuts and bolts issues of fiction is Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict. You can download it from any online bookseller, or order a hardcopy form Deb’s website.

Better, is an older book, one that talks about your typewriter rather than your keyboard. And the author, like many of his time, thought of serious authors as male. Added to that, Dwight Swain was a professor, so the book is university level, and does into great detail, which can make it a bit of a dry read at times. But that said, it is the best book on writing technique I’ve found to date. He includes none of the usual “Here, read a chapter from my book and then I’ll tell you why it’s so great.” Nor does he talk about issues of style. Instead, he breaks down what readers react to, why, and how to make that work for you.

The book is titled, Techniques of the Selling Writer.

A third book, Jack Bickham’s, Scene and Structure closely parallels it (he worked with Swain) and may be found in your local library system because it’s a newer book.

But if you choose one of those, read it slowly, with lots of time to think about, and practice each point as it’s introduced, so it’s not noted and then forgotten a few days later.

And then, after about six months of using what you’ve learned, go back and read it again. Then, having a better idea of where the author is going, you’ll pick up as many new ideas as you did the first time.

But whatever you do, hang in there and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

[creepersjeepers]

Thank you so much for such a helpful review! I will definitely try to apply some of these into my writing and reading one of those books while I'm doing it!