Walking on Water (One Wrong Word and I Could Drown).

What if someone gave you a word… just one word, and then you were instructed to create a paragraph, at least five sentences, reflective of that one word? Would that scare you? What would that paragraph look like? I’m going to try it right now and then I’ll explain what I’m getting at.

The word is… dank.

The cabin wasn’t exactly new. Upon entry, it reeked of mold, and the wet, cold you felt could best be described as dank. Even if you plugged your nose as you ventured further inside, the mustiness crept into ones throat, making breathing impossible. The mildew was visible on everything from the walls to the ceiling; heck, it even grew on your toes as you took more steps. I swear.. the place was so utterly dank that no creaking could be heard on the old wooden flooring, reminding me how much moisture was embedded in every fiber of the god forsaken joint.

That flowed pretty freely, I have to admit. I sat thinking for a few moments only before the final sentence. I did myself proud. Hooray.

The point of this exercise (amidst a blog, no less) was to practice stretching. Words or stories, not me physically.

I’ve recently started writing a novel. But it isn’t like I’m just free wheelin’ it here, penning whatever comes to mind. I’m writing a novel  (hopefully near the 200 page mark or longer) that is based on a 25 page blog series. So, greater than your typical outline, a have a story that’s already been written but it’s 8 to 10 times shorter than what I ultimately need it to be, you following?

I considered the flipside, meaning would it be any easier to take a 200 page novel and condense the richest parts or peppered with a few new ideas and made into 25 pages? That’s definitely less creative and ultimately more trying, in my books, pun intended.

I need to remember the fun of creation. To not look at expanding 25 pages to 200 as a job but as a free and beautiful experience. To look at it as a blank canvas, ready to be colored passionately in. Well okay, not completely blank. I have the skeleton.. now I need to veins, muscle, bone and flesh. I need to breathe air into the carcass, though it’s one fine, sexy carcass, but nonetheless just a road map for where this tale will go.

I don’t need help in being a child. My wife and kids could tell you that I’m the biggest one they know. But channeling that personal into the playground setting that I am among, should be the perfect fit.

Though thereuputic this blog was, I hope you the reader also gained from this expression of a defining moment in my books young life. Never work, just pure creation.


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