You’re not forgetting something. I genuinely didn’t post a part one or two.
But I have started writing one story a week. Because I’m a bit of a hack, I’ve had my friends give me some ideas for stories. I’ve asked them each for a character, genre, and an event. While there’s been some confusion over what a genre is, overall this little experiment has been a success. Within two weeks, I had two solid stories under my belt.
Which brings us to week three.
Oh, week three.
Maybe it’s my fault for trying to do all of my friends’ ideas in order. Week 3’s suggestion was a romance during the Fourth of July, and I am happy to say the beginning was easy enough to write. In fact, I have paragraphs and paragraphs of introduction. The problem is I can’t seem to get to the middle of the story. Maybe the story’s getting away from me. Maybe it wants to be a novel. I’m not sure.
Maybe the problem is just that I’ve never written a love story before, and I’m not sure how, given my own lack of real-world experience. I may have to get on to #Romance twitter and ask some other writers for help.
Anyway, that’s why this post is so late. I’ve been busy writing all week. That and partaking in America’s cringiest holiday, Thanksgiving?
Why all the cringe? It has to do with America’s problematic history with racism, slavery, and general hatred of anything not fitting the WASP mold. On the one hand, you have people saying not to worry, that all that horrible stuff is in the past and we should just focus on friends and family and all that we’re thankful for. In other words, that we should ignore history altogether. On the other hand, you have self-righteous folks gleefully reminding us of all the horrors perpetrated against the original inhabitants of the Americas, without actually offering any advice or doing anything practical to help.
It’s not like we’re giving the land back anytime soon. Or just funding reservations in general.
My knowledge of Indian Affairs is fairly limited and probably mistaken, but I do know that America has a spotty history in general when it comes to any sort of minority.
What does this have to do with writing romance? Well, as with most things in history, nothing and everything. In the end, I’m in a romance with America. She has her flaws, her bad habits, her addictions, and I love her anyway.
That’s what the Right’s never quite understood about the Left. The Left doesn’t truly hate America. They just want her to be better. The Right thinks she’s positively perfect and should never, ever change. The Right worships America, the Left treats her like a human being, acknowledges her flaws, and works together to address them. The Left could learn a thing or two about celebrating her achievements, but that’s a post for another day.
Wow, this post got political fast. Can’t help it. It’s election season, after all.
Anyway, I’m off to try and make this story better. With a little help, I may even reach the middle.