Reinventing My Life Through Photography and Music

I am writing my tenth “work in progress.” In it, my main character is realizing why he exists. Hmm. I guess I am in the same boat as him.

After a fulfilling life with my wife Judy for 36 years, she passed away in 2019. I was faced with the choice to move ahead with my life. Writing has been, and still is, a major reason I have been capable of doing that. Now, I have rekindled an old interest of mine. Actually, it involves two things I have been interested in and had left behind.

Being a caregiver for a spouse with a long-term illness puts everything else on hold. But these two interests were put on hold shortly after we met. The first one was that I had enjoyed seeing local bands around town. Originally, we did things like that, you know, in the guise of “dating” even though we were already living together. She liked the music, but not the crowds.

The other thing was a hobby I had since high school: photography. It quickly became more about snapping photos to document our time together. I have thousands of pictures of her and us together. I am thankful for that.

So, how did I combine an old interest with an even older hobby?

I go to local venues where bands play and take photos and videos (now possible on every smartphone). What do I do with them? I share them on a Facebook group that promotes local music.

It is another way to create. I find myself increasingly aware of seeking the best camera angles. I also watch the band’s leader to see who will be taking a solo. This helps me focus my videos. Additionally, I watch for their cue that the song is about to end.

It is the most fun I have had, other than writing, in well, since Judy’s death.

Writing is solitary. It feels amazing. The work I have been doing for six months to a year is finally coming together. Soon, I will start another novel.

Sharing music videos and photos of bands is extremely social. Sure, it requires you to be out and about among the crowds, which my wife wasn’t comfortable with. But those crowds are now what I enjoy most about the experience.

Because I share something they enjoy on social media, they can see my videos there. People in the audience recognize me from posts about gigs they attended or played at. They come up to me. They thank me for what I am doing. They ask if they can join me at my table. Some of them have become good friends.

I believe Judy, wherever she is now, would be proud of me and of how I have reinvented my life.

My Journey: Writing My Tenth Novel and Beyond

So, the current Work in Progress will be my tenth novel.

It has occurred to me that it could be the last in a series connected by recurring characters. Maybe that is one reason I am writing it so slowly. I remember how I felt when I finished my first one.

A few of my characters had introduced the potential for more work for themselves and for me. The first one became two. With the third, I thought that series was finished. If I was emotional after the first, you can imagine how it felt when I finished the trilogy. By the end, my main female character, Emily, had lost her husband. I felt bad about that.

Starting the fourth, I intended to make it completely different, with all-new characters and a different setting. At the halfway point, I realized my main male character, Matt, had strayed from the script. He was about to do something I knew was out of character for him. It was also out of character for me. So I did something I hadn’t before then. I deleted several chapters. I rewrote them. I knew my Matt had to meet someone to set himself back on track.

I knew exactly who he should meet. Emily had lost her husband at the end of my trilogy. I wanted her to have a happier ending. I also knew she should be part of my fourth work and any future Works in Progress I create.

Writing is an adventure I never considered I could do, or that I would have so much fun doing.

Exploring Discovery Writing: The Journey of Storytelling

Part of Discovery Writing is a lot of fun. I get to be the first one who knows where my story is going. But that is also the hardest part, especially at the beginning of a new piece. I thought I had an idea for an overall direction for this new one before I started. It has already veered off of that, and I am only 8,000 words into it.

8

Jake

I wish I could fall asleep as easily as Susie had.

She had been so cute, playing her game with me earlier. Then it was as if someone threw a switch, and she was out in mid-sentence before she could tell me—

Tell me what? That is the problem. Did she really know anything about my father and me? Something I have forgotten? I mean, sure, my father wasn’t what we would call “present” in my childhood, by today’s standards. Had she simply intuited something about me from my expression, or was it more than that? I mean, since she could suddenly see things that most other people couldn’t, my mom and Thomas, for example—Thomas, whom she had never met. Because he had died before Rose and I decided to start a family.

What time is it—

“Daddy, you are overthinking this—time as you are thinking about it, isn’t really a thing. You should know this already if you remember what my Gramma Emi talked about.”

Susie? Where is she?

Susie’s Unexpected Question and the Evolution of Character Development

The evolution of Chapter 7 of my tenth Work in Progress continues.

Here is how it started.

7
Jake and Susie

I pushed the slightly ajar door to Susie’s bedroom open, just in time to see her hurriedly lay her head on the pillow; her eyes clamped tightly in pretend sleep, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. I knew this game.

“Oh no,” I whispered loudly enough that she would hear me, trying to play along with her. “I missed my Susie’s goodnight kiss.”

She giggled in delight, opening her eyes. “No, you didn’t, Daddy. I fooled you.”

The next day, I added this—

“You sure did, Sweety.” I bent to sweep Susie’s hair away from her face, kissing her forehead. When I stood again, Susie’s eyes opened wide in wonder as I reached my full height.

“Daddy, when you were small like me, did your Daddy kiss you goodnight, too?”

Did he? Ever? My mom had, but I couldn’t remember my father ever doing it.

“Daddy? Your eyes look sad. I’m sorry. But I’m also happy that you are my Daddy.”

Susie Pretends to Be Asleep: A Charming Bedtime Game

Sometimes I have trouble writing, particularly if the scene involves something I haven’t experienced in real life. In this scene, my character Jake says goodnight to his young daughter, Susie. Even though it’s short, it took me a solid two hours of work. It isn’t easy to write what you know if it is something you haven’t experienced.

I may be starting to get the hang of this.

7
Jake and Susie

I pushed the slightly ajar door to Susie’s bedroom open, just in time to see her hurriedly lay her head on the pillow; her eyes clamped tightly in pretend sleep, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. I knew this game.

“Oh no,” I whispered loudly enough that she would hear me, trying to play along with her. “I missed my Susie’s goodnight kiss.”

She giggled in delight, opening her eyes. “No, you didn’t, Daddy. I fooled you.”

Mastering Conciseness: Tips for Better Writing

Sometimes you have to “unwrite” to improve a sentence.

I read an interview of a famous writer whose name escapes me. It was long ago. He was asked how he knew the correct words to include in a piece of writing. He responded that it was more important to know the correct words to remove.

This is the final sentence to an important chapter of my current Work in Progress. I started with the version below.

“I looked away from Izak, raising my hand to my face, my thumb and forefinger pressed to my eyes, in an attempt to quell that all too familiar sting in my eyes.”

That wasn’t bad, but I knew I could improve it.

The final version is below.

“I looked away from Izak and pressed my thumb and forefinger to my eyes, trying to quell the familiar sting.”

Through the “Version History” provided by MS Word, the edits are shown below:

I looked away from Izak and pressed , raising my hand to my face, my thumb and forefinger pressed to my eyes, tryingin an attempt to quell thethat all too familiar sting. in my eyes.

A Haunting Reunion: Emily’s Return

An excerpt of my new Work in Progress, untitled as of now.

My phone alerts me that someone is at the door. I don’t remember setting that up on my phone, although I know Emily’s house has a Ring system.
I click on the notification.
This can’t be.
It looks like Emily, and she’s coming toward the front door.
I stop what I am doing—what was I doing? All that matters is Emily. She is here.
I rush to the door to let her in, but she is already inside.
“How can you be here? You weren’t breathing. I was there. I called 911. Everyone told me you died.” She took a step toward me, and I pulled away.
“Izak, don’t be this way. I am still me.”
I looked at her, my heart racing, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Izak, you don’t have to be afraid of me. At least, hug me.”
I wanted to believe her. Come on, Izak. It’s only a dream about Emily. Relax. Hug her.
“That’s better, Izak. I’ve missed you.”
Her hug felt solid, but there was no feeling of warmth in my hands. I stared at her doubtfully. She was familiar, but more like a projection of the woman I loved. “I don’t understand,” I whispered. “You’re right here, but you don’t feel like you.” My head is swimming. Things look all wrong. I—I can’t.
“Izak, I understand your confusion. It will be easier on you if you look only at me.”
I can’t. I try, but I glance involuntarily around the house. “Emily? What’s happening to our home?” I ask, my voice strained and faltering. I look past her to her favorite overstuffed couch and gasp as it shimmers and disappears. I squeeze my eyes shut, a desperate attempt to erase the impossible image of that couch disappearing from our home.
I open my eyes, and the view of the Bay Area we loved flickers like a mirage, then vanishes. My gaze darts around the room in growing panic, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides.
The last thing I see is Emily’s piano. I think of the time she told me about her family pictures, which she displayed on top of it. She had described them as “her life on a piano.” Now even that was gone. Everything was gone.
She grabbed my shoulders. “Izak, I know this is a lot for you to take in.” She pauses, her grip on my shoulders tightening. “I have to tell you something.”
I can only nod; my throat feels like it is closing.
“Izak, I am okay!” she insists, her voice tight with a strained reassurance. I nod again, tears welling in my eyes. I still can’t speak, but I understand the lie. I remember; I was at her memorial.
“Izak, I need to do something for you,” she said softly.
A choked “Okay” was all I could muster.
“Izak, this will help you understand. Hold me close,” Emily said, her voice dropping to an insistent whisper. “This is for both of us. Are you ready for what we need to do?”
 

Editing Insights: Keeping Readers Guessing

I am editing “The Scene,” my ninth Work In Progress. It didn’t come out quite the way I envisioned. Still, that is what makes Discovery Writing such a challenge —and so much fun.

This part is also fun. I make sure I didn’t reveal too much. This way, no reader should be able to guess the ending before I want them to know it. Or ensuring that if they have a guess, it isn’t correct.

If I don’t know the end until I write it, why should anyone else?

A reader of an earlier novel said, “I couldn’t figure out why Emily’s husband was so mean to her while she was searching for her past. Did you know why when you were writing?”

No. I had no clue until he told me. I only knew he usually had his way in that relationship. I remember, though, that when I got to that chapter and realized the reason, it made perfect sense to me.

Even now, as I reread and edit “The Scene,” I know that the end I have now is rather abrupt. It could change. I wonder if I will still feel that way when I get there.

Unraveling Secrets: Mia’s Emotional Journey

From last time- “The Scene update”

Had her father been the real killer? Could she have heard the real murderer arguing with her mom? Can anything she is thinking about the real killer’s identity be true?

She doesn’t know at this time. It can still change. That is how discovery writing can go.

And what about that last plot twist I have planned for a final reveal? Will Mia discover a family secret having to do with why her mom died that morning that only I know at this point?

I’m very close to the end. But it won’t write itself.  

I am on what should be the ending chapter or two. It deals with the final “reveal” for my main character, Mia. This is a plot twist I have known about since I started writing this one. I am almost at the end of my writing. I have never been so close to finishing and felt unsure of how to end it.

So, I push on. Today I forced myself to write. At the end of a shortened writing session, I had a short paragraph to show for it. As I approached the end, my characters spoke so quickly. I could barely type fast enough to keep up. This isn’t one of those times.

“A Journey Through Grief and Discovery”

WordPress’s AI suggested the title of my last post based on the content of that post. I now have that as a subtitle. It fits, and it helped keep me focused on my plot. I may remove it before I consider “The Scene” completed. I’ve never had a subtitle in any of my earlier works in progress.

I am fine with AI suggesting a title for my earlier post here. I can use that suggestion as a subtitle for the WIP. Recently, AI came into play for me. I Googled a phrase I had written. It described how Mia reacted to a major reveal. She saw her uncle and mom together the same night her mom died.

I used the phrase, “her head hung in wracking sobbing.

” Google’s AI said, “The phrase ‘her head hung in wracking sobbing’ is a vivid description of someone experiencing intense sadness or emotional distress. It combines two powerful images:

Together, the phrase paints a picture of someone deeply distressed and possibly ashamed or overwhelmed, with their body reflecting the intensity of their emotional pain through forceful sobbing and a lowered head. This combination of physical posture and intense crying creates a powerful image of emotional agony.”

Emotional agony is exactly what I was going for. Mia’s recent memory that pushed her into emotional agony is where I am at this point. The next reveal could push her over the edge. I have to decide how far to move her to that edge.

The Scene: A Journey Through Grief and Discovery

I am nearing completion of my ninth Work in Progress. I call it “The Scene.” I used my late wife Judy’s college creative writing paper, also titled “The Scene,” as a prompt. Her Scene is here.

In my story, my character, Emily, takes Judy’s place as the writer of that Scene. The Scene, as a prompt, starts with a life memory. It is based on a young girl listening to her parents arguing in the next room. The story describes how that little girl is scared. She fears that one day she will wake up and find that her mom has been murdered by her father.

My story begins with Mia’s life, a new character, in which she lived Emily’s fictional story. Mia had listened to her parents argue many times. This time, she woke up the next morning to discover her mom had been murdered.

When I began writing this, I intended to exclude Emily from it. She had appeared in each of my earlier stories as either a primary or supporting character. In the end, I couldn’t let Emily go. That may be because, in my second novel, she took on many of Judy’s characteristics in my mind.

Bringing Emily into this one gave me the idea to have Mia and Emily meet. This meeting comprises a significant part of the plot. It necessitated the creation of several new characters. In Mia’s life, her father was accused of murdering her mother. He was convicted when Mia was only ten years old.

Emily’s growth as a character gives her a unique understanding of how her life and Mia’s are connected. This link, in part, allows Mia to explore her memories of that morning. Then, a memory surfaces. It changes everything Mia believes to be true in her life. It all starts on the day her mom was murdered.

Had her father been the real killer? Could she have heard the real murderer arguing with her mom? Can anything she is thinking about the real killer’s identity be true?

She doesn’t know at this time. It can still change. That is how discovery writing can go.

And what about that last plot twist I have planned for a final reveal? Will Mia discover a family secret related to why her mom died that morning? This is a secret only I know at this point.

I’m very close to the end. But it won’t write itself.