Writing on the weekends poses an aural problem for me. Normally when writing, I turn on a radio talk show and proceed to tune it out. I just need some type of background noise, because silence is too distracting.
On weekends I pull up Spotify. I've created several playlists for the purpose of listening, not, alas, for writing. Writing requires something deadly dull; classical music, perhaps. I have no playlists like that. I do have an instrumental playlist, but it tends toward "poppier" tracks, like Herb Alpert or some one-hit instrumental groups from the sixties. These do not provide distraction. Yesterday I made the mistake of clicking on my "Sixties Hits" playlist, and I found myself more engrossed in sentimentality than in writing. I began scanning the list and picking out the more memorable tracks from my pre-teen years and amping up the volume. Actual writing turned into an annoyance.
That probably explains my poor (as in "bad") output. Ironically, I had an important transitional scene in mind, but my focus was lacking. So, what did I do? Why, resort to a lot of dialogue, as usual. Far too much dialogue. I suppose I work things out that way. A character says something and then another character reacts, and one revelation leads to another. I've never figured out how to be revealing through description. How does that work, exactly? The main character is walking through the woods and the bend of a tree branch sparks an underlying truth? What? Description, I know, lends depth to a narrative, but there's only so much describing one can do. He set the table for dinner, pulling his grandmother's scalloped plates, the ones encircled by delicate irises out of the cupboard. Who cares? Hey, are you gonna wax nostalgic about plates or listen to my problems? I'm sitting right here!
As is, my main character has inexplicably found herself back in Chance. She blew off her next gig after losing both her band and her desire. She had intended to do an acoustic set at the next town, but instead she breezed past the exit and kept driving. After her credit card was canceled, all she had left was the gas in her tank, but she fell into some kind of haze and continued down the road mindlessly. By the time she realized she was in Wyoming she only had enough gas to make it to...well, you know where.
Of course, it's not quite as simple as being "hypnotized" by the road. Subconsciously she knew what her final destination was. What will happen there remains a mystery to me. I managed to commit to a stupid plot device in which a letter is waiting for her at the Luck Hotel (inside the mail cubby for her previous room). Now I have to play that out, and it was a needless detail. I don't know how I get myself into these situations.
But she is welcomed back by her old friend, the hotel manager, and they do a lot of talking. Plus she does a lot of lying about her circumstances. Then I realized that she hadn't spoken (by phone) to her mother in days, so sure enough, Mom calls, worried sick about her. (I do like to clear up any improbable lapses.) My main character again tells a few lies. Her situation is much more precarious than she wants anyone to know. Now penniless, she offers to work in exchange for a hotel room, but the manager naturally won't hear of it.
I left off with the two of them having dinner (sans the china plates) and her old friend asking her what Nashville (i.e., the music business) is really like. She decides to be frank and offers a scathing critique, but my session was coming to a close and I didn't write her response particularly well. That'll need fixing.
I haven't decided how long she'll stay in Chance; not long, I'm thinking, but long enough to confront some past mistakes. And I haven't decided how she'll be lured back to Nashville, or even if she will. She's kind of sunk herself with her recent actions.
The day ended on "Treat Her Right" by Roy Head. Song-wise, a good day. Writing-wise, not so much.
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