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Drawing Dragons

We need to write better stories: Drawing Dragons Day 122

I saw a movie with my husband tonight, which meant I ate a box of Milk Duds. This does not matter at all in terms of what I am going to say.
 
But as I watched the movie — I watched the destruction, the death, the carnage, the uncaring sprinting forward of the plot — I realized I was cringing. This wasn’t the movie I wanted to see.
 
I loved these characters, but this wasn’t about them. In fact, they were barely there at all except as set pieces on a burning stage. In the end, I knew some of them would fall. After all, they were set up that way, like little dominos on their way to a burning trashcan of death and oblivion plus some garbage and dumb stuff.
 
I get the point of the movie. I know what they were doing. It’s all about the villain. He just has so much he needs to do, you know? Worlds to destroy, and all that.
 
But we have to do better than this.
 
If we’re not going to develop characters — if we’re sacrificing them for plot or action or an epic twist at the bitter end, well, then maybe we need to write a better story in between. one with pacing that makes me fall in love with the world, or be pulled into the story, or at least have a moment to breathe as a character dies, or laugh when they throw out a joke. A story that doesn’t just pull me forward — it pulls me in, with an understanding that on the time I spent in that movie theater isn’t just affirming what I already know — that there are people who are terrible who have enough strength of will to burn down the world.
 
We need to tell better stories.
 
I know they’re not going to all be big and beautiful and life-affirming, like I want. But if they’re not, they need to sing with their own kind of truth.
 
That’s the thing I was missing. That’s the reason I was recoiling into my seat and chewing my Milk Duds to pieces.
 
I want the truth, some version of it. And all I saw tonight was movement. No characters. No life. Just an erratic and meaningless trek toward inevitable death.
 
So I came home and added the dragons’ claws. I thought about dinner, but really, I’m too far gone: angry and frustrated and sad. I’ll leave you with a dragon because at least I can give you that. That’s the truth I can see right now, and the one I want to share with you.

finished dragon child looking up, in pencil

Keep creating,

Kate