Dogwood flowers are unique. Our dogwood buds form in the late fall and then winter in the Colfax cold. Like the first inkling of a story, it lies dormant, biding its time. Even while sleeping, that bud is alive and preparing to bloom. This process is unseen to the casual observer.
As the days become longer, the tree awakens. Its sap begins to flow, and the buds swell. For some writers, this is outline time. For me, it is a time of dreaming. I write nothing at this time, but the juices are beginning to swirl in my mind.
The dogwood flower curls out and pops free, spreading its four petals. At first bloom, the flowers are small. I can remember being disappointed, thinking the blooms were smaller this year. I also experience this with my books. I wonder if that first idea has enough story in it for a book. This is when I must be patient—letting the juices flow.
Characters flit about in my mind and begin to take shape. I imagine a flickering of a face or movement. I begin to see them in their surroundings and sense their problems and joys.
I may have written two or three chapters by this time, but I am often dissatisfied with the results.
The characters are not fleshed out and haven’t developed into their full bloom.
Writing takes patience—waiting and watching. As I read through the early chapters, I listen and begin to hear voice and tone. Thoughts take shape in my vision of the book.
The dogwood flower continues to grow after the bud bursts. The first petals are as Shakespeare writes, “the lovely April of her prime.” They stretch out their white petals to the sun and let the magic of spring work on them—molding them into all they can be.
This is the exciting time of a book. The characters are in full motion, displaying their growth with action and thought. They have become chatty in my mind and their voices clear.
And yet, these are still the early days of my novels. Spring in Colfax comes in early May, with the possibility of late storms.
I continue to revise, but the changes are subtle—adding a word here, removing a phrase there. By now, I know these new friends well enough to think, “She wouldn’t say this” or “He wouldn’t do that.”
I must watch closely to see the development of the dogwood flower. A glance at the tree shows its beauty but misses the subtle changes taking place. As a writer, I must spend time with my characters, watching them closely to see what intricacies might be noticed and brought into the expanse of summer.
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