Writing From "TV," Part I. (And, No, It's Not What You Think.)

Over the past few years, I've had a couple of what can only be called major transformations.

In my life, certainly.

But also, in my writing.

And in the process, I'm "refinding" and nurturing  roots I'd forgotten I had. 

Romance, for one. Specifically, happy, heartwarming romance. The kind of life I never lived in my family of origin (!), but the kind I lived in my adult years, once the mad percussionist and I came through the fire and emerged, out the other side, stronger, sweeter, deeper, and...ironically...on the way to becoming more and more who we were when we first fell in love.

Which is the cruel part about his untimely death happening when it did: that particular sun was just beginning to peep back over the horizon, only to set...too soon.

But, for reasons known only to the Almighty--and only happening by His power, I believe--even after Patrick's death, I've continued down the "revert" path...

...to the point where, literally, I've become once more the writer I was when I first fell in love. With writing, that is.

And that's where the title of this post comes in.

Yes, there IS "writing from TV" that, in fact, refers to "writing from (or for) television."

But that is not the writing I'm talking about now.

In this case, "TV" doesn't stand for "television," but for something way scarier.

Total Vulnerability.

What does that "TV" look like?

Short and sweet, it's summed up in the old wisecrack, "Writing is easy. Just sit down at your desk and open a vein."

It's writing that peels away layers.

Exposes your heart.

And isn't safe.

Don't misunderstand me, though.

I'm not talking about writing about so-called "unsafe" topics.

Or taking "risks" that are nothing more than painting depravity on a page.

Or illuminating "issues," righting wrongs, or making your reader uncomfortable by probing at her hypocrisies and forcing her to face them...

...all thinly disguised as fiction.

If you've read the CWC at all, you know how much I despise that.

I'm talking about writing that's honest. And terrifying at times. 

Writing that reaches into your guts. (Not that tries to challenge a reader's.)

Writing that goes over the top. 

The kind of writing we all do when we're about sixteen.

Melodramatic.

Intense.

Exposed.

Not "mature."

Not "sophisticated."

Not "subtle" or "eloquent" or "deft."

For a time, there, I tried to be subtle, and eloquent, and deft...and I ended up with people asking me ,"Where's the feeling in this?"

I thought it was there.

And maybe it was.

But it was being camouflaged under layers of what I thought "mature" writing was supposed to look like. Cool. Distant. Challenging.

I wanted to write cerebral, sophisticated stories. 

Whodunnits that would literally leave a reader gasping in surprise, then chuckling in admiration.

Romances that would leave a reader smiling knowingly, and even a little envious of the really, really cool people I'd set out there for them to emulate.

Nick and Nora Charles, if you would.

(Look it up.)

Only problem?

I'm not that person. 

And I'm not that writer.

The writer I've become now, however? Her, I like. A lot.

And the plus of this "reversion" is...now, I'm writing like (almost) never before.

What does this writing look like? And how is it turning out?

We'll talk about that in Part II!

To Be Continued...

Janny