“Vision is the art of seeing
what is invisible to others.”
There are winter moments when I look beyond the window and see only grey sky or tall timber. Other times my attention is caught by something closer… perhaps a bird scrounging seeds, a desiccated hydrangea blossom in the garden, or the unexpected pattern of bare branches.
Earlier this week I discovered the first pink buds of our Lenten Rose peeking out from among last year’s floppy leaves. I don’t know how long they’ve been visible, but I didn’t notice them on my last garden walk. Looking is not seeing. I have to really pay attention before I truly see.
That may be why I’ve begun setting down the words of my new project but not actually writing the story. These words feel too ordinary… like I’m missing what it is I’m supposed to experience. A first draft is meant to be ragged, but it needs to be purposeful, and the words that are seeping out don’t yet feel that way. In time the right ones will come, after I’ve searched beyond the obvious and discovered the significant. When I’ve stopped looking and truly see. Then I’ll be off, racing through a scramble of sentences to record the story that is, for now, only visible to me.
My apologies for subjecting you to that last paragraph. It’s from my journal and doesn’t convey anything meaningful except to share where my ‘mulling’ process has been taking me. How do you approach the pre-writing of a new project? Is it all done in your head, or do you dare to put some of it on paper?