The beginning of the beginning

Four days ago I searched through my iTunes and found my Eminem folder. I turned the volume up on my laptop and hit random. 'Till I Collapse blasted out of the speakers and everything else in the world fell away. I picked up a stack of big blue index cards and started taking notes.

I found my way quickly to Wikipedia. (Don't tell my students but I love Wikipedia. I love how I can research one topic and three hours and twelve pages later find myself reading about the largest walled prison in the United States!) I found my way to mafia and mob postings. To old stories of Detroit. To gangsters new and recently jailed. I wound my way over to Amazon and ordered a large fold-out map of metro Detroit. I read about horse race tracks and arson statistics. About HIV infection rates and women owned businesses in lower Michigan. I read and I read and I took notes faster than my hand wanted me to.

And then yesterday, I looked at all the blue notecards. Some written in black ink, some written in blue ink. I looked at the pieces of white paper with pink and black notes scrawled on them. I looked at everything and I declared in my brain that I had no idea what the heck I was doing. I didn't have a main character. I didn't have a story. I didn't really have anything except a pretty good grasp of the mob in Detroit and how rough Detroit's got it right now. So I made a sandwich and I stewed. I thought and I thought and I decided to write down some names.

I sat at my desk with my black pen and I scribbled out the names of these women I want to get to know. Names that sound interesting and strong and perfectly ordinary. I scribbled and I made up their ages and I made them daughters and best friends and third wives and I added a father and a boyfriend to the mix. I had one page with some names on it. And a spark. A spark that the main character might do this because of this. And there it was. On that piece of previously stark white blank paper.

The beginning.

I headed off to an appointment. I sat in the waiting room and I read a novel. And I thought about my characters. My women. And I decided that the name I'd given my leader wasn't her name at all. So I sent myself an email with two options. And then I went about my night.

This morning after I'd paid the bills and graded the paragraphs and read all of Facebook and the Los Angeles Times and finally, after I'd made myself jasmine rice and veggies for lunch, I sat back down with my names. And then I made a new chart. And then I made some more cards. And I wrote out the log line, well scribbled down a bunch of words that fit in that category. And then before I knew it I was hand writing two pages of a very clear start to the show. To the pilot episode.

The beginning.

All of a sudden I have this woman who is doing things. Feeling things. Experiencing things. Needing to make a choice. She's backed into a corner. She's thrust into the middle of a shitstorm. And so? I need to follow her. I need to figure out what path she's taking and what turns she's making. And to me, that's how it all begins. With a character. With an idea. With a spark.

It's the beginning of the beginning and I couldn't be more terrified. Or excited.