Writing Lessons Learned from my Grandson

Yesterday morning, before my daughter dropped off my 4-year-old grandson, Evan, to spend the night, I set out to write my blog about the challenges we encounter in writing a novel. I hoped to address increasing tension and build character stakes, along with fixing plot holes.

I had just begun to type when I heard the pattering steps on the stairs leading to my office, followed by the most angelic voice calling, “Gramma, where are you?” Evan raced to my desk clad in his red Spider-Man t-shirt and matching Spidey shorts, and wearing the sweetest smile, “I’m here!”

Immediately, I scooped him up, and we hugged as if we hadn’t seen each other in years, even though it had only been two weeks. Several seconds later, we dragged out the toy box where multi-colored Magna-Tiles spilled across the floor. For the next fifteen minutes, we built skyscrapers almost as tall as Evan, connected by bridges and tunnels over an imaginary river. Then we tested their strength, sending Hot Wheels and trucks over each before crashing the tower and moving onto playing with a remote tow truck. 

A tiny hook connecting a toy car to the tow truck kept falling off. With intense focus, Evan tried to reconnect it before getting frustrated and then throwing the car onto the floor. I said, “Hey buddy why don’t you leave the car for now and we’ll do something else and come back to it.” That’s when we went outside, drew a wobbly chalk rainbow on the driveway and pretended that when it rained, it would get sucked up into the sky.

Earlier that morning too, I had been frustrated after I’d tried for hours to fix a major plot hole with no success. Maybe I just needed to walk away for a while and come back to it.

Next, we grabbed two bottles of bubbles with magic wands and blew the biggest bubbles that sailed across the deck and onto the lawn. “What are bubbles made of, Gramma?” he asked. I told him they are like the soap he uses to wash his hands. He dipped the wand and swirled it in the air, sending a flurry of tiny bubbles that burst on the grass and asked, “What makes them always break?” I explained that bubbles are delicate and when they touch something dry, like grass, they pop.

 Actually, the scientific reason is that a bubble requires a precise balance of surface tension. Too much stress from wind or an unbalanced structure, which occurs as they dry out, causes them to collapse. It made me think about my protagonist. Yes, that was it! I needed to brainstorm more situations that could cause her to break, and it would help to increase the tension and her stakes.

Across the front lawn, Evan walked towards the three-foot high retaining wall separating our neighbor’s driveway. I had always held his hand when he walked along the wall, pretending it was an imaginary tightrope. But today he said, “Gramma, you wait at the end. I can do it myself.”

 I was a little nervous at first. Before he walked, I reminded him to stay focused on his feet and to take small steps. As he stepped forward, I called out, “Take your time and don’t rush.” After walking the entire length, he hopped off and, wearing the biggest grin, shouted. “I did it, Gramma.”

He was so proud of himself, and so was I. He’d stayed the course, stayed focused, and believed in himself.

The next morning while Evan and I were playing fort, we heard my daughter’s voice. Neither of us was ready for Mom to find us. We ducked under the fort built of pillows and blankets and sat very still, hoping to linger longer inside the special little world we’d created. 

Thank you, Evan, for reminding me of how much I love being a writer and for the best advice ever about how to deal with some of its challenges. 

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