In the past several months, Bob and I have been having frequent conversations about my various writing projects. I rattle off the scenario rolling around in my head. He asks me to clarify which story we’re talking about because he can’t keep them all straight. Then he asks “why?” a lot about whatever it is I’m talking about. Most of the time I can’t answer. And then he probes further, picking my brain for answers about why I wrote things a given way in the first place and more often than not I walk away with a lot more clarity where things were once extremely muddled.
It’s incredibly therapeutic and somewhat cathartic.
I’ve been going through a lot of files and projects lately, sifting through character lists. I’ve discovered that I apparently use the name Andy (or Andrew or Drew) almost as much as I use the name Matt. (Might explain a few things that have cropped up in recent months.) In twenty-plus years of writing…that’s a lot of Andys and Matts. There are also a lot of Justins and Bens…among others, but those are probably the most popular by far.
Ruts.
We’ve been over this.
It’s often glaringly obvious where my head is at any given time simply based on the the scenes I’m focusing on writing. I’ve always been prone to putting a lot of thinly veiled reality in my writing. Pieces of me and my world find their way into my stories, but it’s not always immediately apparent what those pieces are. Sometimes I don’t even notice it myself until somewhere farther down the line.
In a recent conversation with Bob, he made an observation about my writing that I hadn’t noticed until he pointed it out.
I seem to have a penchant for writing stories about troubled men in a rough spot and the women who come along and rescue them.
Hmmm…
Apparently I do.
There are two stories in particular that this really fits, as well as pieces of a few others, and in a handful of ideas that get poked at when nothing else is working.
Kate helps Michael find life and love after a nasty divorce. Jordan picks up the pieces of Andrew to heal extensive damage from years trapped in a hellish existence. Hannah shows Justin not all women are fucking insane, just the one who broke his heart…and his nose. Ben and Marina seem to trade off—one always taking care of the other—whether Marina likes to admit it or not.
There are countless examples of this cropping up throughout.
I suppose it shouldn’t be that surprising, considering how much I repeat myself. And I’m sure there’s some underlying psychological connection to my own screwed up head. But it seems to be what’s working for me right now so…who am I to argue?
It also might explain why certain movie characters appeal to me more than others…
Oh the things I learn when left inside my own head.
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Love Love Love (Let You Go) Andy Grammer |