Turn the key, press the starter and the engine rumbles to
life; on a cold morning, like today, I might need to use the choke. The engine
idles for a minute, beating away till it warms up. My left hand squeezes the
clutch. My left foot taps the gear lever down, snapping it into first. I slowly
release the clutch with my left hand while revving up the throttle with my
right. I pick up my right foot as the wheels start to turn, resting it on the
foot peg. I rev it some more and accelerate into the road, settling into
equilibrium on two wheels. A few feet down the road I relax the throttle,
squeeze the clutch, and pop the gear lever up into second. More throttle and
the engine rumbles effortlessly up to speed, a little more than I should
through our quiet neighborhood sometimes, but I can’t help it.
The wind in my face, the smell of cut grass or hay, the engine
roaring, the warmth of the sun catching up at a stop, the awesome power for the
most part untapped held in reserve, accelerating up, hanging on, leaning into
the curves, combined with the flawless execution of the controls required to
make all this happen is a liberating experience. When it all comes together,
senses alive and alert, everything is in balance.
But each spring, when I ride again for the first time after
a long winter break, it’s easy to recognize when something’s not in balance.
Maybe I pop the clutch too fast and the engine kills. Maybe I sit crooked in
the seat, making the handle bars feel twisted to one side. Maybe I stop too
quickly, or place my feet in the wrong position and the bike leans too far to
the side almost toppling over. Or maybe I forget to turn off the turn signal.
No matter what, if something’s out of balance it just doesn’t feel right.
Getting everything right to operate a motorcycle may sound
intimidating to some. But with some practice it can easily be mastered by
anyone willing to put in a little effort. I think writing is similar. There are
many rules, and even more guidelines that make everything about writing seem
intimidating. But with practice and effort I’ve heard it can be mastered. Balance
in writing is difficult to describe, but easily felt when it’s not there.
My quest for balance in writing continues this week at the LDStorymakers
Writers Conference. I’ve been frantically working on my fifteen pages for Boot
Camp, a hands-on critique workshop. I’m stressing over what to say in my ten
minute pitch session to an actual literary agent. And I’m looking forward to two
days chock-full of classes and workshops covering craft basics, advanced craft,
genre, and marketing/career development taught by world class authors. In
addition I hope to meet new writer friends as well.
Even though I use these kinds of milestones to work towards
I realize this is a journey not a destination. I never seem to be able to spend
enough time to make things as good as I expect them to be, but at least I’m
making progress. And if I don’t go into Storymakers feeling rock solid prepared,
I plan to go with confidence. Not because of what I’ve done so far, but because
of what I hope to become—better tomorrow than I was today.
I’m constantly reading helpful blogs that hit me when I need
them the most. Here are a couple I read this week: Race
in YA Lit: Wake Up & Smell the Coffee-Colored Skin, White Authors! and
the very appropriate How to talk to strangers
at professional events.
One more thing worth mentioning I just finished reading Scene and Structure by Jack Bickham. I
learned a lot from this book. And I’m currently reading Story Engineering: Mastering the 6 Core Competencies of Successful
Writing by Larry Brooks.
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