One of the biggest problems of writing Dystopian, as I see it, is the world I’m writing in doesn’t exist. Or possibly parts of it do. It’s a matter of figuring out what survived and what was built on; what’s disappeared or what’s changed so dramatically you wouldn’t recognize it anymore. The whole geography is different. In a flooded city, the streets don’t exist. Did they rebuild over where the old streets were, purely out of practicality? (The buildings are still there after all.) Or did they create new connections between buildings? Or both? I was just writing a scene I took notes on a week or so ago and wanted to flesh out. Now seemed like a good time. The scene I wrote gave me some insight into my characters, and gave me a little more of a view on their world.
It also had me thinking about the timeline of my book. I’m slowly piecing all the scenes together in my head like a jigsaw puzzle and realizing that the beginning might not really be the beginning. Some of the scenes I’m writing feel like befores and I don’t want them to be flashbacks. It’s a little exciting: this is a story no one else can tell and I get to choose how to tell it.
I got sidelined for most of the day with a migraine (thank you, allergies!) and I’m on my way out, so my word count for today is only 571 words. But it was a strong 571 words. Feel like I was really in my character’s head. When they start making choices you wouldn’t make, and thinking things you might not, that’s a pretty awesome feeling.