Reflections Upon “The Wings in The Sand”
Research shows that scent is heavily tied to memory. I've always had sinus issues, so my scent memories aren't too strong (for the most part), but I find that for me, music is the summoner of recollections. Music and, strangely enough, writing.
I exclusively type up all of the content for Prose. But that wasn't always the case. The first handful of posts were stories that I had lying around and simply cut and paste on here. Those stories, I originally wrote by hand.
There is something infinitely enjoyable to me about the feeling of pen on paper. My writing, too, flows almost uninterrupted on the page. Not so on my computer. The ease with which I can simply vanish an unwanted word or sentence, rather than encouraging progress, for me it hinders it. On top of all this, writing on paper allows me to revise stuff more easily when I ultimately type it up.
Now I told you all THAT so you could understand my writing process. And I told you about the writing process to tell you this:
I wrote "The Wings in The Sand" at my local Panera. Yeah, its weird. I can quite often recall exactly where I wrote a particular piece. Mind you, I can't recall every place I worked on the piece, but I can usually tell you one very specific and distinct locale. And for that story, it was Panera.
I sat in their little patio area till it was too dark for me to see the notebook before me. It was autumn, and I enjoyed the chilly breeze. But it was getting a little too cold for me, and the crappy metal chair I had been sitting on was making my ass numb.
I had been toying with the idea of making a short story collection in the format of a "found manuscript" at the time. The collection would focus on a fictional collection of stories that I, as the author, had found in my deceased grandfather's personal effects. It was to include stories of every genre, and it was really just me wanting to flex my short story muscles without having to think too hard about an overall theme or connecting tissue.
Usually, a title, a plot point, or a visual are the elements that form the beginnings of my stories. For that piece, it was the visual. I want to say that I was reading H.P Lovecraft at the time, and a story of his inspired me to make my own version of one of his pieces. But I can't really recall (I can tell you I was drinking a frozen caramel, though -.-).
Once I had the visual, the theme came to me rather quickly, but for some reason, I recall that piece being really hard to finish. I think I struggled with how to actually write it. Would it be third person or first? Was the narrator going to be the main character? Should I reveal how the wings got there? Would that really matter?
Ultimately, I ended with something that was far more emotionally poignant that I had intended (not that it actually was emotionally poignant, but whatever). Upon skimming it now, after three years, its interesting to see how much it actually holds up. I began my writing career making semi-unconscious efforts of evoking the works of my favorite writers (Sir Conan Doyle, Edgar Allan Poe, Lovecraft), but although there are certainly echoes of Lovecraft, or attempts at them, I think I can say that, for better or worse, the piece is my own.