Speaking of the Unexpected

Well, there's the unexpected in life, and then there's the unexpected in art. I suspect, after my writing session today, that the unexpected in art can be just as disjointing and terrifying as the unexpected in life.

I was trotting along on this story I've been working on, when suddenly, Bam! The character has an insight about himself that feels totally right, but changes everything he's been thinking up to now. And now I'm left wondering: What the hell is this story about then? What kind of story is it? It's no longer a known thing, and while that's kind of nice--unpredictability is what saves us from formulas and the conventions of genre--it's also kind of scary and frustrating. I have so many questions, none of which I have the answers to yet.

I can't remember who it was that said that writing is like driving at night--you can only see as far ahead as the headlights allow, but you make the entire journey that way--but that's exactly it right now. Essentially, I'm blindly stumbling forward, hoping that nothing jumps out at me and wrecks the whole endeavor. Will the journey end safely? Or will the story be killed by a metaphorical deer? All I can do is drive slowly and carefully, paying close attention to what I can see, and trusting that what I can't will eventually be revealed, and that it won't kill me.

Wish me luck. It could be a bumpy road ahead. Or then again, maybe not. I really have no idea.