When I’m walking with only my dog for company, as I usually do, I become lost in thought. My feet trace the circuitous paths they’ve taken so many times, while my brain goes off on whatever wild tangents it chooses: What am I going to do about that plot hole in my WIP? … that was such a funny story on the radio … better remember to add red pepper to the grocery list … how can I make my antagonist more villainous? … what exactly are we going to have for dinner—
And then Tock barks at a squirrel and I return to full consciousness, back in the present. But unless I’ve made it out of the trees to a place with a view, the strange sensation of having no idea where I am sometimes sweeps over me.
Let me put your concern that I’m a victim of amnesia to rest. I always know which general trail system I’m hiking in. Based on how sweaty and tired I am, I also know whether I’m still heading up to my destination or down toward the trailhead (except for the rare flat bits, it’s gonna be one of those two things). But the trails in the woods near me are plentiful and have a way of looping, branching, and re-connecting as if they can’t bear to stay apart from one another for too long. Every now and then while I’m in my semiconscious mode, I’ll even follow my dog into a wrong turn—not because he doesn’t know where to go, but because he enjoys taking little detours to explore scents or find an especially big, prickly pine cone for me to throw for him. On a wonderful walk with my dad (and dogs) once, we were so immersed in conversation that we failed to pay attention at a critical junction right near the trailhead. We ended up actually repeating a large portion of the entire walk before we figured it out (this was a flattish trail, or we probably would have noticed sooner).
After I’ve “come to” and returned to reality, I tuck my confusion away and simply keep putting one foot in front of the other. I study the plentiful pine, larch, and fir trees on both sides of the trail and the even-more-plentiful needles at my feet, trying to figure out exactly which section of the trail I’m on. Did I pass the third junction already, or am I still on the second? Am I almost back to the car or do I still have a good half hour of walking ahead of me? The occasional trail signs posted on trees are spectacularly unhelpful because they often appear to have been conjured by someone who doesn’t believe in whole numbers.
Questions about my location flit through my head, but they don’t alarm me. On the contrary, I revel in the feeling of not knowing, however briefly, where I’m going and what decision I’ll need to make at the next trail junction. I’m on a real adventure now! This chance to walk on an “unknown” path is such a rare opportunity in our GIS-programmed, cell-phone-connected, social-media-spiderweb of a world. On that memorable walk with my dad, I remember looking at the view with new eyes, certain it was a section of trail I’d never seen before, providing a glimpse into an unknown and unexplored valley. I experienced the thrill Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet must have felt when they stomped around and around the same tree searching for the Woozle, finding more and more footprints the farther they went.
All too soon, usually before I get to another fork in the trail, my sighting of a particular leaning tree or a hollow stump will jog my memory and snap, I’m back in the 21st century, with a walk to complete, errands to run, and people to see. My pace speeds up and my imagination dims.
But it doesn’t have to. As writers, we are lucky beings. We can allow our characters to take us on the path less traveled every time we whip out our pen and notepad, or sit down at our computer to write. This is true no matter whether we write free-form, with no idea what’s going to happen until the words start to flow (aka “pantsing”), or whether we prepare a detailed outline, with all of our plots, subplots, and setting and character details listed before we write a word of the story (aka “plotting”). In either case, all we have to do is follow our characters when they exhibit an inclination to head somewhere new.
I’m a fanatical plotter. I spend at least a month preparing an outline for a new novel. But my characters—sometimes the protagonist, sometimes secondary figures—never fail to surprise me by taking directions I didn’t anticipate. All I have to do is stay relaxed and keep my organized conscious mind out of the way long enough that I can listen to them. And if they choose to detour for just a moment from the reality of the plot, or if they head off on the path overgrown with weeds, I’ll walk right along behind them.
It's possible it’ll be a dead end, and my characters and I will need to backtrack to the plot I’d already envisioned. But on the way, you can bet we’ll see some fascinating things and we’ll learn a little more about one another. We might even receive a jolt of adrenalin from looking at the view in an entirely new way, counting two Woozles instead of only one, or maybe, frighteningly, two Woozles and a Wizzle. When I return to my outline, I’ll happily revise it to accommodate this new vision for my story. It’s always more interesting than the one I started out with.
So my questions for you, Dear Writer, are these:
1. Which way will your character take you at the next fork in the trail?
2. Will you let your guard down long enough to find out?
3. And if it’s the path less traveled—will you allow yourself to take it, too?
Happy Tales!
I love this post too. I love all of them. You are such a wonderful writer and these posts are so engaging. Thank you for sharing your wisdom and insight.
Thanks for your confidence, Wendy! I'm in love with the nenes, the state bird of Hawaii--beautiful geese with a great family life!