This sort of goes hand-in-hand with the Dali story. It is actual memoir about when I write.
“When writing, I get lost in the world of my characters” My Grandfather told me.
“That happens to me when I’m reading a good book.” Exclaimed my mother. “If I’m really wrapped up in the plot I sometimes ‘become’ one of the characters. It’s like I actually am them.”
Wow! I thought. I wonder if that’s ever happened to me when I was writing or reading... I don’t remember…I don’t think so.
I discovered that when I write I, too, can get lost in the story. I wrote a research paper/story for English in tenth Grade. The paper was about Salvador Dali.
“Dali” actually came to me in the shower. As I bathed I kept repeating the plot given to me by all nine of the Muses, so as not to forget it. It was amazing. I thought, “The muses must have worked together on this one”. It was perfect, and sang continuously through my mind and seemed to shine like the stars outside.
The broken record of Emilia de Haven’s adventure inside Dali’s world continued until I typed it into Word and saved it onto my wonderful little floppy disk.
I typed fast. I had to get it down before it was taken. I’d had written stuff like this, in my head, but hadn’t written it because an invisible villain had convinced me that It wasn’t good enough; that it was a bad idea to write whatever it was, the way I had written it. When I tried to ignore it, and tried to write whatever it was down I found that the villain had taken it already. This villain took more than my dreams. IT followed me around and told me good ideas were bad and stole them too. I couldn’t let it take this miracle
As I typed the words seemed to pour like water, into my mind, from some unseen and unending spigot, held somewhere unknown. My mind was sketching out the perfect scenarios for my story.
After I finished the paper, I went back and read it. As I read, the words swirled into the wonderful world of Dali I had created. I became the main character. I became Emilia de Haven and took her place. I stepped into the portrait of Dali, not Emilia de Haven. I walked through his paintings with him, and dodged characters in his movie, not the written me; not Emilia de Haven, but me, and IT couldn’t stop me. The woman, in the story, looking at the painting that Emilia was supposed to be in, saw me instead. I said goodbye to Dali and watched him parse and his shards be taken by the wind. I was awoken by the gabby and annoying Sarah, outside the painting, after saying “Farewell” to Salvador Dali. I discovered, in my back pocket, the items that Dali had given me while in the painting. IT hadn’t taken my story from me.
This had not happened while I was writing it, even with it being written in the first person! It was something about the finished product that sucked me in and made me Emilia de Haven
Now, when my Grandfather says he got lost in whatever book he’s writing, I can silently remember when Dali and I walked inside his art.
A very energetic, entertaining, beautifully worded write, Emily. Your passion for your craft shines through with every word.
Welcome to Authors Den!
Your friend in NY,
Jean
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