What Do I Want Out of My Story?

This is something I ask myself every time I first sit down.  Doesn't matter if I'm starting fresh or geared up to write an ending.  All along the way, I want to know why I'm doing this. Where is my mindset? How do I feel about these characters?  What the hell am I trying to say?

Last night, I stepped outside to smoke a cigarette.  I don't do it often.  Those fuckers are expensive and I don't like the dependency. Last night, I wanted to commune with the night and enjoy the smell of tobacco. As I sat there, I had this odd insight about the difference in light and shadow.  It was something I had learned in art school years ago when I had been asked to draw the refracted light and shadow in a glass. There is very little pure white light and when shadows layer with light, there is beauty in the abstract.  Last night, the small wonder of it involved the curl of the smoke, the waxing gibbous moon in the sky behind me and my dad's car parked in the driveway. 

The insight depended on the exact condition of all three things.  If I didn't feel the urge to smoke, if dad parked his car on the street like he usually does, if the moon had been in any other phase, that moment may never have come. This time, it leaked into a scene in my story, one that started out as profound then blended with my own inability to write without throwing my own brand of humor in.

That is what I want out of my story. Not only in the stories themselves, but I want each piece to grow into something complete, to satisfy my constant curiosity.  I want my doubts and frustrations to lead me to seek new things. I am not the sort to beat myself up over not having the exact tool I need.  Nearly everything I'm seeking creatively comes in its own time. If I can't visualize a fantasy world, it's usually because it's time to focus on a character. If I'm not psyched about writing, there's usually something begging to be drawn.

People often seek to wield or control every aspect, but I'm learning that some things need to be fed gently to grow. Yes, an artist of any kind does wield the power, but I find power in relinquishing control sometimes, in letting the world around me give a nod.  When I pick up the tools to translate the secrets whispered to me, that is my gift to give. 

Worlds are not always weaved from climactic battles and fantastic creatures.  Some worlds are weaved in the quiet hours of morning when a writer asks 'what am I here for?'.