Other Worlds: How Writing and Reading Transport Us

This week has felt like a weather watch. You know, when the weatherman says there will be a tornado, and you feel the tilt of the sky and the movement of the clouds… but the sun’s still shining.

You begin to hear reports on all your media outlets: radio, TV, phone… Everyone starts to chatter about the pending tornado. The one that is still a watch but beckons more attention than it did.

That’s how writing has felt this week.

It’s been swirling, but the words just aren’t here yet.

The writing is still in the “watch” category.

Unless you are a writer yourself, you may not realize that so much of writing is paying attention before you sit down at the computer. It’s something I am learning as I participate in writer’s circles, read what other writers are doing, and “watch” my own life.

Even my kids are teaching me.

Both of them, ages 9 and nearly 13, are writers. I can say that confidently not because I’m an editor and a writer. They both love stories; they’re readers and lovers of being captivated by the unfolding plot elements, whether they be in a movie, a novel, or a short story — even a memory.

One of our kids continually asks for stories to be told at the dinner table. At least once or twice a week, we sit around after dinner and retell the same stories from when my husband and I were kids. (His are funnier; mine are more adventurous, which basically speaks to our personalities. I crave newness and lack routine. He loves sameness and is easily amused at what I might label “small” things.)

So we rehash the same events, trying to remember as many details as possible. The kids are enthralled. Every. Single. Time.

This is why building a world is so important in the crafting of a good story. We can tell the same story a million different ways, but if we don’t give details that draw our readers in, we won’t. Draw them in, I mean.

Last night I read a book for an author interview I’m doing soon. It’s called Alpaca My Bags: A Wish Novel by Jenny Goebel. From about the second page, I knew more about the main character — and could almost feel the character’s anxiety and accommodating hope — than I would if I’d known her in real life for a year.

Why is that?

She built me into her world almost from the first sentence. Her main character, Amelia, gets to travel through adventures with her family, but she also struggles with fear and anxiety — and a desire to please her adventure-craving family. I didn’t discover this about her because it was explained to me in the book. Instead:

“Mom’s voice sounded deliberately steady as it bounced off the canyon walls. I carefully tipped forward and peered down at the base of the cliff, where she and my two older brothers were waiting for me to descend.

“Big mistake.

“The height, the nothingness surrounding me—my head started spinning…”

I don’t even need to finish quoting that last sentence. You know how Amelia feels and you know what the stakes are; her family is counting on her to relax and have fun. As the story progresses, you can empathize with her. Maybe you’ve never rappelled down the side of a cliff, but you have felt feelings of anxiety over a job interview or have experienced new-kid syndrome after a big move.

As I read and as I watch my kids and as I walk the dog, I pay attention to their worlds. In between cleaning her room and practicing for her online violin lesson, one of my kids read me part of a story she is writing. It’s about a guinea pig who gets “stuffed” into a tough situation. She has the making of a really smart plot, she is building suspense, and she has already injected humor into it. She is 9.

I marvel at how quickly kids get to the adventure. Even when our children ask for a re-telling of familiar stories, they start with the exciting part. “Tell me about the time you found toys in the trash!”

“We want to hear the one about riding in a limo by yourself!”

They start with exploit.

When I was walking our Wheaton terrier this morning, I noticed a tree with two static rocks. I’m not a rock collector, and I can’t identify these rocks. But my imagination immediately went to: What if these two rocks, placed just where they are, become a portal to another world every time I walk my Wheaton terrier?

Now, that’s a detail worth exploring!

Paying attention to my world beckons me to see the worlds I’m writing with specificity. Is it a cup that the character finds, or is it a red Solo cup?

See the difference?

As readers, we are transported into other worlds because the writer thought about details we could grab onto, relate to, and process quickly.

That is the kind of storm that is brewing in this part of my writing life. When I walk around, go on errands, listen to my kids and learn from other novels, I want to see what I might otherwise dismiss.

And it’s this same veracity with which I want to be “in” my life. I want to pay attention to the minute observations that a fast-paced life might discard. This means slowing down, taking my career at a pace I can handle, and being with the people I love, really being there.

I wish you a week of “being there” and paying attention to the world you’re building too. Even if — especially if — it’s the world you’re in right now.