Here
is an example of two different approaches to writing the same scene. The first is called “downloading,” which is a
simple, flow-of-consciousness kind of writing, the kind I do when I’m just
getting the memory down. The second is
more crafted--more action, more showing, less telling--but not finely edited. The final version, if it survives editing, will pare down unnecessary portions.
Let me know how you experience each and which you prefer and why. (Names have been changed to protect….)
Mid-life Crisis
As I pulled the autumn-colored
quilt over our king-sized bed, I looked up at the shredding curtains behind it,
sighed, wondering when Ken might be willing to budget a face-lift for the
room. The necessities headed his To Do
list of bill paying, but clothes, home furnishings, personal items did not have
his interest; my efforts to discuss them met with a grim expression. I was grateful he provided the necessary things, but didn’t feel
I could ask for what he saw as extras being a stay-at-home mom with only
a part-time job when I could get it
Still, the shabbiness of the bedroom deepened my the low grade depression. Our kids, Sherrie and Tom, were in
elementary school all day decreasing their need for me, and I’d just completed
my term as President of Women's Aglow Fellowship. I missed leading this vital,
faith-filled, supportive group of women like a newly blind man misses colors.
* * * * * *
Our friends’ used, velvety sage
green carpet, now ours, cushioned my steps as I entered the bedroom and walked
over to our California
king. I reached down and lifted the edge
of the quilt striped in an autumn rainbow of gold, green and orange. No apologies.
It was the 70’s. I pulled the
quilt into place and plumped the pillows.
Would Ken ever give up his lumpy one?
And what about these drapes? I
reached behind the silky tangerine curtains, now shredded where the sun shone
in each morning, and pulled the cords that drew them open. Somehow new ones never got added to the
budget over which he ruled. I made a
mental note to learn how to be more assertive.
Dust shedding from the disturbed curtains tickled my nose. Sneezing, I grabbed a Kleenex from the night stand and
blew.
If only I had a good job, my own money, I
could get those drapes. On the other hand,
a job would work against my hours spent volunteering at the church and at
Rebound, the ex-prisoners’ rehab center.
There was always the on-this-hand-but-then-on-the-other-hand thinking
with me. I could argue both sides on
every issue and get stuck in the middle. No action taken. Lots of practice caring for others; little caring for myself. No wonder I experienced this low grade
depression.
Reaching
down to pick up Ken’s dirty underwear, I felt the angst of being a stay-at-home
mom when the kids no longer needed a lot of attention. From the day they started school, friends had
replaced the fascination they found in my company, and if they weren’t playing
with their buddies, they were watching TV.
I didn’t miss diapers and bottles, but I did miss the snuggling and
play times together.
My volunteer work as President of
Women's Aglow was over. God I missed
those women on my board, the close friendships, the prayer for each other as we
shared our personal stories, the excitement of putting on a monthly meeting for
the public with good food and an inspirational speaker, other women opening
their hearts to the love of Christ. I
loved leading the praise and worship portion, banging my tambourine against my
leg as the audience clapped and sang “I’ve got a river of life flowing out of
me….” It had been an exhilarating ride,
but now someone else was president, and I needed to take a back seat. I tossed his skivvies into the hamper.
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