I received a Fitbit for Christmas, just in time for the New Year's Resolution frenzy. The Fitbit (in case you don't know, and don't feel bad if you don't, because I didn't) is a rubber bracelet with a pedometer inside that syncs to your computer and tells you how ridiculously lazy you've been each day. It sets fitness goals for you, and it has declared that I should be walking ten thousand steps per day. It would have been easier to ignore this goal if it weren't for the time of year: I mean, I have friends that are resolving to run multiple marathons in bright and shiny 2015. I can at least manage a daily walk, right?
In New York, ten thousand steps wouldn't have been a problem. The average New Yorker walks about six miles a day, and on top of that, I was often working physical jobs, like bartending. Here in the "you must drive everywhere" woods of Massachusetts, it's a bit more difficult. My sedentary job at the gray cubicle isn't exactly conducive to exercise. Nor is writing. I do have a dog, but she's a spoilt little princess who will not deign to go outside in the cold, even when I put a silly sweater on her. I'm not a fan of frolicking in the New England winter either. The sidewalks are promptly cleared of snow in the city. Here, I'd have to obtain a pair of practical boots from L.L. Bean or some such thing and wade through the muck and the slush ten thousand times.
My solution to this pervasively inert environment is simply to pace around my house for ten thousand steps. I blast hip-hop music that talks about how great other people's booties are (to motivate me to get my own great booty) and I powerwalk around the house. If the right song is on and my housewalker's high has kicked in, I even jog a little. I daydream about public future successes where I look really good in an age-inappropriate dress, think a little bit about my novel and where it's going, wonder what's going to be for second dinner.
It's not the most important goal in my life or the most important part of my day. Not even close. But it's a humdrum daily goal that I've set in the interest of being healthy enough to accomplish all the other, way more glittery goals.
I know. You're wondering what the hell my pathetic suburban attempt at fitness has to do with you and your writing. Bear with me.
So often, when we think about what our characters want, we're thinking about the big things: love, power, identity. Big and lofty is good and true and entirely worth writing about. But big and lofty usually boils down to smaller actions. What do your characters do (or put off doing, or stop doing) to make their lives better? Are they trying to avoid salt? In the midst of quitting smoking? Starting an exercise regime? Resolving to meditate daily? Learning Spanish via Rosetta Stone on the way into work?
Write a page describing your character in the midst of one of their minor life habits. Try to hint at the background reason for the choice. (eg: a man learning to cook without salt so that he can attend his six year old daughter's wedding, a woman learning a new language after a divorce.) If writing about success within the habit isn't doing it for you, have them fall off the wagon.
No comments:
Post a Comment