The Origin Story of My Story
I've always loved a good DIY. My friend Meg likes to rib me for how often I say things like “tutorial” and “I saw this on Pinterest!”
I have a clear memory from when I was probably nine-ish. I came up with the idea that I should make myself a pair of shoes out of old scraps of wood and carpet left over from when my parents re-modeled our attic into a TV room, play area, and a studio for my mom. I traced my foot on the back of the carpet scraps in sharpie. I spent hours sanding down short lengths of leftover 2 by 4, trying to make them into the shape of a foot. I never finished the shoes.
In the late fall of 2012, I decided I wanted to watch less television, so I was looking for a new hobby that would be both entertaining and give me a creative outlet. I can’t remember how I first heard about National Novel Writing Month, but it fit the bill. During the thirty days of November, participants are charged with writing 50,000 words - an entire (short) novel. It was like a DIY book! I was all in.
So on November 1st, I settled into a chair in the bedroom of my New York apartment, computer open on my lap, steam radiator clanking in my ear, and a blank Word document staring me in the face, ready to be creative.
The problem was that I had no idea for a story.
One of our cats was lounging on the bed. I thought about how it would be nice to take a nap. She looked so cozy, all curled up with her paw over her nose. I thought about how cute she was. That led me into wondering what she would be like if she was a person, and that led me into wondering - what if there was a world where some of the humans kind of looked like animals?
And that became the very weak premise for my novel.
By the end of the month I had managed to squeak out the 50,000 words, though just barely. And the resulting document was an absolute mess. I don’t even think it really could have been called a story. The characters were flat, there was no plot, and there was no ending. But I was proud to have met the 50,000 word goal. And I thought that maybe underneath that flaming pile of trash there might be a kernel of an idea that, over time, I could nurture into a story that was actually kind of good.
I fully intended to go back and rewrite it. But my day job required a lot of my time and mental energy, and then it was Christmas, and then I got pregnant. And pregnancy made me fall asleep everywhere, all the time. And then parenthood hit us like a ton of bricks, so it wasn’t until three years later that I remembered my story and resolved to get back to work on it. But when I sat down and read those 50,000 words, I was so overwhelmed by the awfulness that I abandoned the project again.
Fast forward another two years, a second baby, and two interstate moves. I had started reading the Ralph S. Mouse series by Beverly Cleary to my now nearly-four-year-old daughter. We had finished the first book the night before, and she was desperate to start the second installment. A quick online search of the library catalog told me it was on the shelf at branch across town, so we hustled over there the next morning to pick it up. While checking out, the librarian informed us that a kids’ story time was about to start, so we decided to stick around.
At the start of the story time, one of the librarians mentioned an express service offered by the library meant for parents who, in their rush to get home, don’t take the time to find books for themselves (me! me!). If you answered a few questions about preferences and whatnot, they would curate a stack of three books for you during story time, check them out, and hand you a bag on your way out the door. I signed right up.It had been a long time since I read that much, and I loved it. Reading made me think about that story I had started all those years ago. Suddenly I knew what was wrong with it.
In and effort to explain how these people had come to look like animals, the story had taken a completely unintentional and half-baked Sci-Fi turn, backing me into several corners with no way out. But this story was never meant to be science fiction; it was meant to be a fantasy.
I was really jazzed by the realization. Creating a fantasy world opened up so many new doors! So many possibilities! It would also involve a lot more work. I remembered that NaNoWriMo was coming up in November, so I decided I would spend the month of October using the kids’ nap times for world-building and planning out the new outline of the story, then write it all out in November.
And I did. It turned out okay. It was still a mess and I would call the manuscript that came out of it a “zero draft” because it still wasn’t coherent enough to be called a first draft. But it had a definite direction. And most importantly, I really enjoyed myself. And this time I actually went back to it and began the editing process.
I have a tendency to confidently jump into DIY projects with both feet, convinced that I can totally do this. And for a long time I had a closet full of half knitted sweaters, unfinished home décor projects, and partially-constructed luggage (what?!), all abandoned when I ran into problems that were bigger than I was willing to tackle.
But this time with was different. My first read through of the messy zero draft of my story resulted in copious amount of notes on plot holes, issues in character development, and plenty else, and yet I didn’t feel like abandoning the project. I felt excited to lean in and discover the story that this new world had to tell.
So, I emptied that closet of random sweater parts and broken sewing machine needles that couldn’t handle the strain of heavyweight thread and vegan leather. I freed myself from the weight of all the unfinished projects of the past, and I decided to focus on my energy on creating something that holds onto my excitement. For once, I think I’ll actually see this thing through to the end.