So there I was, sitting in class. We’d just finished watching the BYU basketball game (the game went to DOUBLE OVERTIME, and 1/3 of the class had laptops. And with the wireless internet, we were all watching it anyways, so really it was only smart for the teacher to just let us watch it on the projector. We bribed him with great teacher reviews.) and had moved onto Othello. My professor is huge into the movie versions, so we just happened to be watching the opera version.
And it just hit me. Insert your own useless cliche here — but yes, this idea pretty much smacked me in the face.
And Lo and Behold, I HAVE A BEGINNING TO MY NOVEL! Not my current WIP, but the uraban fantasy I shelved for a bit.
That guy is singing at the top of his lungs in Italian or something, but really, I’m ignoring him. I’m sitting too far in the back to read the subtitles anyways.
And so I start typing. All thoughts of basketball and Shakespeare are far from my mind. My fingers fly across the keys as the words come.
Moral of the story:
Writing is a process, and is done in degrees. I feel myself growing as a writer the more I stretch myself. This previous weekend, I had my WIP The Elect workshopped by a critique group, and the results will my help my novel as a whole. The critique was brutal, but I felt myself growing as a writer.