I've taken a serious vacation from my computer the past week. I've been editing on hard copy. There's something about all the handwritten words scribbled in purple all over the neatly typed pages. It's a visual cue that the story is gaining substance. While I still haven't settled onto one project, progress is being made on both fronts.
I don't know about you but when so much is going on inside my head, I get quieter. I can chitchat with the best of them but once it's time to get down to work, I do it. Less time is spent in my own conversations when I'm listening to my characters. I used to process out loud. The sound of my own voice often led me to some interesting insights.
I'm not sure what changed but lately I need silence. I need the peace that comes from the hearing pen scrape across the page. The crisp Autumn air fills my lungs, the rain splashes against the leaves and my brain gets to work. Perhaps it's the continued mild weather. Perhaps it's the noise in the rest of my life. Whatever caused this new working method, I have no real desire to examine it too closely. It's working. I'll switch it up if this stops.
In the meantime, don't expect much in the way of profound thoughts. I'm distracted with the work in front of me.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Platitudes
"Confidence - fake it til you feel it."
"If you don't believe in yourself, no one else will." Which is usually followed by "It's not rocket science. Anybody can write a book."
It's amazing to me that we even continue to write. Through life dramas, illness, jobs, and day-to-day living, authors still carve out enough time in their day,whether it's pre-dawn or past the witching hour, to create little worlds in which the rest of us can escape.
I'm sure you could sense my growing despondence with the lack of progress in my own writing career. A lot of it was generated by unrelated issues that crept into all aspects of my life. While most people were encouraging about the writing, one friend was about two sentences away from sharing the idea of monkeys producing Shakespeare, aka the 10,000 monkey theorem.
That's when I took a good hard look at why I write; at the sense of accomplishment I feel when the story is told; how powerful it is to create worlds and manipulate characters; how satisfying it is to have total control over that one aspect of my life, whether it comes to my attitude, commitment, dedication or schedule.
What drives me back to the computer time and again is not the platitudes plastered all over office walls and self-help books, but rather the need to know where my imaginary friends are going and how they're going to get there.
Both my curiosity and imagination must be appeased.
"If you don't believe in yourself, no one else will." Which is usually followed by "It's not rocket science. Anybody can write a book."
It's amazing to me that we even continue to write. Through life dramas, illness, jobs, and day-to-day living, authors still carve out enough time in their day,whether it's pre-dawn or past the witching hour, to create little worlds in which the rest of us can escape.
I'm sure you could sense my growing despondence with the lack of progress in my own writing career. A lot of it was generated by unrelated issues that crept into all aspects of my life. While most people were encouraging about the writing, one friend was about two sentences away from sharing the idea of monkeys producing Shakespeare, aka the 10,000 monkey theorem.
That's when I took a good hard look at why I write; at the sense of accomplishment I feel when the story is told; how powerful it is to create worlds and manipulate characters; how satisfying it is to have total control over that one aspect of my life, whether it comes to my attitude, commitment, dedication or schedule.
What drives me back to the computer time and again is not the platitudes plastered all over office walls and self-help books, but rather the need to know where my imaginary friends are going and how they're going to get there.
Both my curiosity and imagination must be appeased.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Dilemma
I spent the afternoon at The Purple Purl with great friends. On the car ride up, a passionate conversation ensued about the sweater book. Book or film? What serves the story better? How best should it be told? Think of all the colours. They are so rich and visual.
Once there, other conversations quickly took precedence while I gave Stashaholic the opportunity to convert more wondering souls to the beauty of spinning. She had a few new drop spindles that made their way into my bag. Sadly, she made me give them back.
I pulled out my Icelandic wool and own heartier drop spindle to show my film buddy. She's always argued for the film version of the sweater book and today was no exception. How could mere words capture the textures and vibrancy of the fleece, yarn and community in which we were immersed?
I'm truly torn. There are compelling arguments for both mediums. Pen and paper are readily available; not to mention self-reliant. It's just me and my thoughts to consider. The film requires a crew and budget to accommodate a trip to Iceland for all of us.
The thing is I have the entire synopsis broken down into scenes, turning points, and character arcs which can be tweaked for either/or. Finally my friend turned to me and spewed the very words I fed her back in May at HotDocs "Write a proposal." Maybe that will help clarify the dilemma. I hope so.
Once there, other conversations quickly took precedence while I gave Stashaholic the opportunity to convert more wondering souls to the beauty of spinning. She had a few new drop spindles that made their way into my bag. Sadly, she made me give them back.
I pulled out my Icelandic wool and own heartier drop spindle to show my film buddy. She's always argued for the film version of the sweater book and today was no exception. How could mere words capture the textures and vibrancy of the fleece, yarn and community in which we were immersed?
I'm truly torn. There are compelling arguments for both mediums. Pen and paper are readily available; not to mention self-reliant. It's just me and my thoughts to consider. The film requires a crew and budget to accommodate a trip to Iceland for all of us.
The thing is I have the entire synopsis broken down into scenes, turning points, and character arcs which can be tweaked for either/or. Finally my friend turned to me and spewed the very words I fed her back in May at HotDocs "Write a proposal." Maybe that will help clarify the dilemma. I hope so.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Contemplating
When something doesn't work it's madness to continue. That's not to say one should shift goals but rather the method by which one hopes to obtain those goals. Our local's writer's group did a wonderful experiment several years ago to increase one's productivity. We each made a list of our writing limitations (ie. I can only write on the computer as the click of the keys triggers a creative response) After examining the list our challenge was to write in as many different venues, with as many different tools(pen, paper,sand, branch,pencil, etc.) as possible. Productivity for the group overall increased and mine was shot from a cannon now that I didn't need the laptop.
I feel that I'm standing at another crossroads. For the past year I've been writing something completely different - Casey's non-fiction story. It's hard work, no two ways about it. In one sense I'm merely recording the healing process but in another I'm analyzing our interaction, studying what works and what doesn't then evaluating our roles in all of it. I can't hide behind fiction but have to stare the bald truth in the face and acknowledge the ways in which I've failed as well how I've helped triumph. Honesty is painful.
At the same time, it helps people connect to the subject matter immediately. As soon as you read first person, you're immersed in the story. As a reader and a writer, my preference is for third person. I like omniscience. I'm the person, who not only wants to know everything, often thinks she does.
In the last year as I've worked on Casey's story, while playing with another paranormal and a women's fiction, I've noticed my reading habits have undergone a huge transformation. One of my favourite books in that time frame was The Host. I was shocked at how quickly, and deeply, I identified with the main character given that it was written in first person by an alien. One of my other favourite series was Outlander, also first person. And let's not forget The Art of Racing in the Rain" - another first person point-of-view, even if it is a dog's.
All of which leads me to the conclusion that if readers aren't connecting with my third person protagonists, perhaps it's time to consider first person. That's a daunting task for someone who likes to be omniscient.
I feel that I'm standing at another crossroads. For the past year I've been writing something completely different - Casey's non-fiction story. It's hard work, no two ways about it. In one sense I'm merely recording the healing process but in another I'm analyzing our interaction, studying what works and what doesn't then evaluating our roles in all of it. I can't hide behind fiction but have to stare the bald truth in the face and acknowledge the ways in which I've failed as well how I've helped triumph. Honesty is painful.
At the same time, it helps people connect to the subject matter immediately. As soon as you read first person, you're immersed in the story. As a reader and a writer, my preference is for third person. I like omniscience. I'm the person, who not only wants to know everything, often thinks she does.
In the last year as I've worked on Casey's story, while playing with another paranormal and a women's fiction, I've noticed my reading habits have undergone a huge transformation. One of my favourite books in that time frame was The Host. I was shocked at how quickly, and deeply, I identified with the main character given that it was written in first person by an alien. One of my other favourite series was Outlander, also first person. And let's not forget The Art of Racing in the Rain" - another first person point-of-view, even if it is a dog's.
All of which leads me to the conclusion that if readers aren't connecting with my third person protagonists, perhaps it's time to consider first person. That's a daunting task for someone who likes to be omniscient.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Nomads
Everyone knows the old adage, "write what you know". My characters are nomads. Most of them haven't lived in a place longer than five years, and most view homes are transitory places of abode. One is just the same as the next. Their attachments are to people not houses. Nea takes that to the next level by not residing anywhere.
I'm not quite that bad but I did grow up on the move. Military families are like that. One never knows when marching orders will come in or where they are sending you. Apart from family and prized possessions, it's a new life every few years.
I'm not only third generation Canadian but my great-grandparents weren't exactly stationary back in Scotland either. My paternal great-grandmother moved every few years as well. The only two siblings who were born in the same village as each other were the twins. Given that great great Grandpa Campbell married a MacDonald may account for some of that moving. But for the most part, I think I just came from people with a low boredom threshold. Both maternal and paternal grandparents changed residences several times in their lifetimes.
As much as I love this area of Niagara, as much as I consider it home and always have (most of my paternal family settled in and around here) we're not exactly well known in the community. We can't trace our lineage back to the founding of the town.
My Dad's cousin's family settled here a little more solidly than our branch. They owned and operated a butcher shop on the main street that it seems like half the town worked for at one point or another in their life. They were support beams, not pillars, for the church. The minister went so far as to call my Aunt Marg a saint the other day at her funeral. Their roots were firmly settled into the ground here. When someone expressed surprise the other day that I was related to them, that they were my people, I felt this clutch in my belly. I was able to see my context in the web of this small town. It was both unfamiliar and welcome.
In that moment, I truly understood what is missing from Nea's life. What few tenuous connections she does have to people and places have all been torn from her. I'm not writing what I know but rather what I thought I knew. What a relief. Who wants to live like a rejected demon?
I'm not quite that bad but I did grow up on the move. Military families are like that. One never knows when marching orders will come in or where they are sending you. Apart from family and prized possessions, it's a new life every few years.
I'm not only third generation Canadian but my great-grandparents weren't exactly stationary back in Scotland either. My paternal great-grandmother moved every few years as well. The only two siblings who were born in the same village as each other were the twins. Given that great great Grandpa Campbell married a MacDonald may account for some of that moving. But for the most part, I think I just came from people with a low boredom threshold. Both maternal and paternal grandparents changed residences several times in their lifetimes.
As much as I love this area of Niagara, as much as I consider it home and always have (most of my paternal family settled in and around here) we're not exactly well known in the community. We can't trace our lineage back to the founding of the town.
My Dad's cousin's family settled here a little more solidly than our branch. They owned and operated a butcher shop on the main street that it seems like half the town worked for at one point or another in their life. They were support beams, not pillars, for the church. The minister went so far as to call my Aunt Marg a saint the other day at her funeral. Their roots were firmly settled into the ground here. When someone expressed surprise the other day that I was related to them, that they were my people, I felt this clutch in my belly. I was able to see my context in the web of this small town. It was both unfamiliar and welcome.
In that moment, I truly understood what is missing from Nea's life. What few tenuous connections she does have to people and places have all been torn from her. I'm not writing what I know but rather what I thought I knew. What a relief. Who wants to live like a rejected demon?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Connections
I was remiss with a post last week because I was enjoying good friends and great conversation on Stingray Point in Virgina. I'm so used to Internet connections all over the place that I didn't prewrite my post to automatically publish on Sunday. I just assumed (always dangerous) that I could post from the cottage.
While I was away, I did absolutely no writing, not a single word scribbled down, despite the ever present Casey journal and a stack of paper in the living room. What I did was listen to my friends talk about books. There was literally a two hour discussion of a Linda Howard book that her avid fans didn't enjoy. They analyzed what they liked and didn't, why they forgave her that one book and made allowances for trigger points that the author knew nothing about. Those readers have a strong connection to that author's work. They enjoy not only her characters and storylines but her writing style as well.
Robin Sorrentino is a brilliant storyteller. Sitting in a circle of Adirondack chairs and listening to her describe the next project, George's Book, was so much fun. She pointed out the island across the way which served as inspirtation, used her entire body to describe his journey and made us laugh with all of her research questions. We might not all be agile enough to hide out in the trunk of a car but we'd all fit. Just not all at the same time.
It was fascinating to listen to everyone share their love for reading; for good books and excellent story-telling. At any given time over the weekend you could enter any room of the cottage and see someone reading. There were even a few occasions when one person would be reading aloud to others.
As a writer, stuck alone in the attic with only your characters for company, it's easy to lose track of your audience. We get so focused on the words on the page, on making a particular scene shine or another scene come to vivid heart-stopping life, that we lose sight of who we're bleeding on the page for.
It's one thing to write for yourself; and honestly I'm my first reader, I need to feel/enjoy/engage with my project. In order to be a successful author, the connections have to radiate across the sky to bathe a multitude of readers in the warm glow.
That awareness came home with me. I was able to keep an open mind when Kate, my brilliant critique partner, told me how difficult it was to connect with Nea. Demons by their very nature are not sympathetic creatures. Understanding what made her so nasty might make it easier for the Reader to go on this journey with her. So the prologue is written.
Casey is so darn easy to connect with that his story naturally flows. As his journey is ongoing, the challenge will be knowing when to stop writing and just continue to live with him.
While I was away, I did absolutely no writing, not a single word scribbled down, despite the ever present Casey journal and a stack of paper in the living room. What I did was listen to my friends talk about books. There was literally a two hour discussion of a Linda Howard book that her avid fans didn't enjoy. They analyzed what they liked and didn't, why they forgave her that one book and made allowances for trigger points that the author knew nothing about. Those readers have a strong connection to that author's work. They enjoy not only her characters and storylines but her writing style as well.
Robin Sorrentino is a brilliant storyteller. Sitting in a circle of Adirondack chairs and listening to her describe the next project, George's Book, was so much fun. She pointed out the island across the way which served as inspirtation, used her entire body to describe his journey and made us laugh with all of her research questions. We might not all be agile enough to hide out in the trunk of a car but we'd all fit. Just not all at the same time.
It was fascinating to listen to everyone share their love for reading; for good books and excellent story-telling. At any given time over the weekend you could enter any room of the cottage and see someone reading. There were even a few occasions when one person would be reading aloud to others.
As a writer, stuck alone in the attic with only your characters for company, it's easy to lose track of your audience. We get so focused on the words on the page, on making a particular scene shine or another scene come to vivid heart-stopping life, that we lose sight of who we're bleeding on the page for.
It's one thing to write for yourself; and honestly I'm my first reader, I need to feel/enjoy/engage with my project. In order to be a successful author, the connections have to radiate across the sky to bathe a multitude of readers in the warm glow.
That awareness came home with me. I was able to keep an open mind when Kate, my brilliant critique partner, told me how difficult it was to connect with Nea. Demons by their very nature are not sympathetic creatures. Understanding what made her so nasty might make it easier for the Reader to go on this journey with her. So the prologue is written.
Casey is so darn easy to connect with that his story naturally flows. As his journey is ongoing, the challenge will be knowing when to stop writing and just continue to live with him.
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