I've never been able to decide if the tale of the Gordian Knot one of brutality (Alexander the Great was ruthless, after all) or of relief (from releasing an agonizing tangle).
This past weekend, I (being the kind of person who claps her hands because she really does believe in fairies), decided that it's probably both.
Our critique group (The Ladies of the Gordian Knot) retreated last Friday into an idyll of writerly delight: a cabin on a lake in weather that, if weather could be eaten, you would describe as ambrosial.
There, we sliced into each other's Gordian Manuscripts with both brutal honesty and sweet relief.
(Unlike Alexander, we Gordian Knot Slicers are ruthless only in our passion for good story--and we trust each other to save the drama for our stories rather than stir it up among our fellows.)
Plus there were cookies and purple M&M's.
It was all good.
And. . . .
- with one slice, I gained a playful new structure for the picture book manuscript. (I am now so glad I did not send it off in the first rush of infatuation).
- with another, I can envision how it might look not to cram every idea I have into a single, overwhelmed journal.
- with yet another, I learn the value of sharing a rough first draft rather than honing a plot that I haven't thought out yet.
There were slower unlayerings, too.
One quiet sharing of a character and a setting, and I get goosebumps imagining what this picture book author will come up with as she begins her first novel.
I became even bold enough to ask for help in sketching out the climax of THE BOOK DROP DWARVES.
(The climax is when the story is woven so tightly that everything comes together in, as Linda Sue Park phrased it, an "unexpected inevitability.")
So: here is my end-of-summer recipe for Gordian Ambrosia:
- Mix brutal honesty, courageous listening, and purple M&M’s loosely in a bowl.
- Share it outdoors, near still water, with mugs of strong coffee.
- Serves as many readers as might someday enjoy untangling a well-tied plot.
