How building a bistro set is like writing.

Every Tuesday I post a "Slice of Life". Sometimes it is fiction, and sometimes real life. Visit Two Writing Teachers for more fabulous writing!




Okay, I know that many of you were hoping that I’d have another piece of my story done.  Honestly, so was I! While I have had a few plotting breakthrough moments (apparently my brain is wired to do my best thinking in the shower), they aren’t fleshed out enough to share. Instead, I give you the crazy way my brain works in the summer.

Behold:

“How building a bistro set is like writing.”

Having the “right tools” is helpful, but not necessary. The scrap of metal they provide is like having post it notes and a stubby pencil shoved at the bottom of your purse. It does the job – helps you complete the task – but your fingers are sore by the end.

Starting with a “big picture” guides the process. Let’s be honest here, not everyone follows the directions provided (I’m looking at you, honey). Some of us, though, require well laid out plans and diagrams. That is me; which is why you are being treated to this silly post instead of the next part of my story.

 

There’s always a part that doesn’t quite fit. Yes, that one part of the chair that you have to grunt and strain to get “close enough” so that the screws will hold it together. Then you take it apart a bit, jigger it all around, and it is sturdier after all your extra hard work. Still not perfect, mind you. But sturdier.

There are always extra pieces. Seriously, they are extra. This isn’t like when your ten year old takes apart a major appliance, puts it back together, and declares a few pieces “extra”. I even went through and checked the part list one more time. You know all the backstory you’ve written down, just to make sure you understand your characters? Yeah, it may not belong in the piece. Put it aside, stick it in a drawer, and see if it is really needed.

Pardon the weeds, that
wasn't part of the plan. 

Pride of completion. So my bistro set came “ready to assemble”, that’s not really the point. I’m fully aware that it’s not a masterpiece. Heck, it’s not even really a work of art. Yet I still gaze out my kitchen window and smile because I DID THAT. Later today, I’ll work on my actual story while sitting at that little table. I’ll feel a little zip of pride; just like I do when I ‘m writing.