Tools of the Trade

This is so different, and yet just the same, Wilson mused. He sat staring at the blank white representation of a paper page on his computer screen. It's still white, it's still blank, and I still need to get started.

Wilson loved this new computer. His youngest son Andy, otherwise known as “the geek,” designed and assembled the machine. Andy loved computer games and enticed Wilson to try many of them. They could play together, even when physically remote. Consequently, the computer had a large, high-res monitor with a rapid refresh rate, and several components Wilson neither knew nor understood designed with the gamer in mind. RGB fans whirling inside the clear-sided computer case drew his attention. And colorful red highlights on the graphics card and motherboard.

Stop dawdling and get back to it, he urged himself, turning back to stare at the white rectangle. Why couldn't he just start writing again? It seemed like only yesterday when he wrote his best-selling thriller. He looked away from the monitor to the bookcase on his left. There it sat, a thick, hardbound copy of “The Copycat Slayer.” Wilson delved into the psychotic mind of a rogue detective who tracked down serial killers and administered vigilante justice. “The Copycat Slayer” came out in print, e-book and audio-book formats. All released in late summer, 2012, just in time for Halloween.

Was it 2012? Wilson stood and walked over to the bookcase. He took down his copy of the “The Copycat Slayer”, and turned to the front matter. 2010. Wow! Where has the time gone?

It didn't take too much to realize the answer to his question. As his wife Marla liked to say, “Life Happens.” Four children, three moves, two career changes, and healthy (should that be unhealthy?) doses of self-doubt and procrastination.

Andy went off to school at the University of Washington. Clarissa, their next youngest, enrolled at the University of Oregon, and Kyle, one of her older brothers, graduated from Oregon State. What a battle that had been, trying to be a Ducks and Beavers fan at the same time. There certainly had been some animated family dinners after each Civil War weekend between those two schools.

Robert, the oldest, left his law firm to write, and learned all about computers and online dating apps, to lend credence to his series of crime novels. Janey, Robert's daughter, got selected for varsity football at her high school, right after Danny told the family he had found the love of his life – his good friend Jerry.

That was a little tough, Wilson remembered the mixed reactions when Danny told the family he was gay. Wilson even flinched inside a little when he found out. Then he realized it was more important to love than to conform. Luke Bryant's song “Most people are good” helped a lot, especially the lines “I believe you love who you love, ain't nothing you should ever be ashamed of.” It turned out Danny and Jerry were better for each other and happier than most of the couples Wilson and Marla knew. And those memories brought him back to his keyboard. Maybe he could write about how most people are good; get Luke's permission to throw in the lyrics and cite the song.

He stared at the screen some more. Should I draft an outline, or at least a plot? Or should I let the characters take me where they will? Robert liked to put together a complete outline and follow it to the 'T' when he wrote. Wilson's first book, “Twisted,” followed the outline he started with, until the final act. His twisted protagonist wasn't predictable and led Wilson to a conclusion he couldn't have imagined when he began. Maybe that's why Twisted earned accolades; readers love to see characters develop and grow, to identify with them, and yet to be surprised. At least his readers, and Robert's, liked those things.

Wilson began typing. And just like that, he was back in the game. Words flowed, almost too fast to be captured. Even though word processing felt much faster than using a typewriter. He still needed to type the words, so that limited his speed to an extent. But he could rush through ideas, not worry about errors, go back to correct them later. Much easier than retyping an entire paper page because of one typo, or a small change in a story arc.

Wilson reached the bottom of the first page and reflexively reached for the carriage return. No such lever here; technology certainly had its benefits. As he placed his fingers back in the home position, Wilson's muse whispered in his ear. At least he liked to think of that internal voice as his muse. He felt less like he was losing his mind that way.

Anyway, Tamara, his muse, offered him a different idea for the story's beginning. Click at the beginning, shift-click at the end, and hit Delete. All gone. God, how I love technology. Wilson struggled a little more with this new approach sometimes, but less than a quarter of an hour later he was starting page two with his new beginning; and no carriage return. Then the power flickered, lights went out, the screen went dark and the computer shut down.

In just a few seconds the lights came back on, and Wilson powered up his machine. The document was still there. Thank God for auto-save. Wilson opened the document to continue, only to find the original idea had auto-saved, not the new approach. Dammit, how I hate technology.

Marla opened the door to the study on the heels of that thought. And an amazingly strong temptation to toss the computer out the window. He probably would have done so, except it was a gift from Andy, the geek. And the window was less than a year old.

“Is this a good time to interrupt?” Marla asked, in a sweet voice.

You've already interrupted me; why ask such a stupid question? Wilson kept those thoughts to himself, and asked, with a smile “What do you want, darling?”

“I thought you might want to have lunch with me.” Marla offered him a smile of her own.

Over lunch, Wilson explained what had happened. Except for the parts about the muse, her interruption, and the temptation to toss the computer through the window. She was his First Reader, after all. And a fine writer herself. So he did go into detail about both story beginnings.

“Technology is a tool,” she reminded him. “Good artists don't blame their tools. I'm sure you'll get it right when you think about it. The next start might be better than your second.” She paused long enough for that to sink in, just a little, then encouraged him even more. “The important thing is, you're writing again. It's not how many times you start your story, but how often you finish it.”