I never know what I’m going to write when I get a topic. Though I often try to puzzle it out before I start. Once fingertips are on keys it just comes (or doesn’t). But I often have the “jump to the end” mentality that tries to anticipate where my writing will go. It’s as if I’m a kid again opting to switch to the last chapter to find out what happens.
Yet, I never can. Very often in the middle of my final journey to the end of a story I realize that I knew nothing. My characters know everything. I’m, once again, a doofus.
So when handed a writing assignment in class I endeavor not to skip to the end. Yet, I couldn’t help myself. In the lull of conversations over dinner I find myself wondering. “What do I do with a drunken sailor?”
Only a writer, I imagine, has these thoughts. I know from experience most of the folks in my immediate life can’t put themselves in the eyes of a best friend, let alone a character in another historical time period, gender and culture.
But here I sit, fingers posed over keys trying to get into the mind of the imaginary Sanchez, the lazy and drunken ship’s cook for Cortez’ trip to Eastern Mexico. I’m trying to decide on voice and style and my own distance from the character. I’m trying to decide what a drunken ship’s cook in 1519 would say about Cortez deciding to scuttle the ships and burn them. Trying to decide what a drunken person would do in such a situation at all is a bit of a stretch.
What does one do with a drunken sailor? I’m not sure, but I can’t wait to find out.
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