College Years

By the end of high school, I'd developed a plan:

1. Go to college.
2. Major in something innocuous but interesting.
3. While in college write a novel, publish the novel, and watch that novel become an overnight bestseller.
4. Rake in the dough.

I managed steps 1 and 2 ok, but by the time I graduated I only had 30 pages worth of best-selling novel to speak of. They were roughly hand-written on a yellow legal pad because I thought at the time that writing by hand on a yellow legal pad would somehow make the words come out better. That theory is still up for debate.

There is one remarkable thing about the writing of the novel during my time in college (remarkable in that it's worth remarking upon), and that has to do with one of the early scenes. The scene is early both by virtue the fact that it comes near the beginning of the story and also because it was one of the first scenes I wrote, and it has remained in all subsequent drafts thus far. A quick precis would go something like this:

Our beloved hero is in attendance at the outdoor gala reception of his brother's wedding. The day begins sunny and hot, but thunderheads soon roll in, and before the cake has even been so much as nicked, a storm breaks out overhead. And though most of the wedding guests display varying degrees of disappointment, chagrin, and rage at this turn of events, our beloved hero delights in it because, a.) he's the kind of guy who finds the good in every situation, and b.) he gets swept off his feet by a hottie who takes him out for a waltz in the rain.

I plan to re-write that scene into the current draft within the next few days. It's a good scene, a scene I'm proud of, and one of those scenes that I hope sees the light of day sometime down the line. But the reason I bring it up here is because I so distinctly remember the genesis of that scene, and it happened one fine day in college.

I was walking back to my room from dinner, headed downhill from the uphill dining hall, when it started to rain. It was just a light sprinkling, nothing to write home about, and as far as I could see, everyone around me took it in stride. But it was one of those moments that spurred me to thought. It wasn't a mindbending thought, just something along the lines of: why are people so often upset and frightened by the rain? But that thought led to another thought, which led to another and another, and before I knew it, I'd sketched out most of the scene in my head, from the first crack of thunder to the end of the dance under a billowing tree. Also, I'd stopped walking so I could think better, and I'd become soggy. But I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's moments like that one, when the force of creation inhabits me momentarily and brings a new world into being, that lift the experience of writing to the peak of its wonderful beauty. That's why I write, more than anything else: because of all of the small and magnificent moments of creation. That's what keeps me coming back.

I've written too much again. Next time we find out what happens when people stop being polite...and start getting real.