I lost my voice! September 12, 2007

I suppose this is the danger of working on multiple stories at once? I’d been working on draft in first person POV–what drew me to the story was the character’s voice, which I heard as if she were whispering in my ear. I put the draft on hold for a bit because I’d reached a roadblock. Now I’ve cleared the roadblock, plotted a course using an outline, but when I sit down to write, the voice is gone! Will she come back? I certainly hope so.

I blame this on the outline. I’ve started using outlines because several people recommended doing so, and because writing without one can be done, but it takes a terribly long time.  And there’s a lot of heartache and anguish involved. But with an outline, I just can’t feel my characters the same way. We’re not discovering their story together; I’ve already told them where to go.  A large part of the reason a particular plot works or not is because of how it’s written; when I outline, I’m not taking that into account.

I’m sure there’s a happy medium, somewhere, somehow. Its just a matter of finding it, maybe loosening my grip on the outline.

Full circle September 11, 2007

In the last three years I’ve gone from writing with abandon, then scrutinizing every aspect of my writing and trying to apply lessons from those writing books, to going back to writing with abandon. And I have to say, it feels damn good.

My attitude change was the result of a new draft I’m working on. I mulled over it, I took a writing class and decided I was starting the story too soon, based on the professor’s opinion.  But his recommendation would mean I was writing an entirely different story, not one that I’d thought of before. I tried to do it–I sat down and wrote out outline after outline, but I just couldn’t get excited about it, so I put it away, thinking I’d deal with it later. Well, recently I pulled out the stuff I’d written prior to the class, and reread it. And fell in love with the story again.

So here’s the thing. To me, there’s no point in writing if I’m not writing what I want. I want to do this more than I want to be published. I’ve educated myself about writing, how to show not tell, and all that. I hope I’ve absorbed them somehow. But in the end, I just want to write with that wonderful, freeing abandon.

I want to write like a man September 6, 2007

Okay, that sounds weird, vague, and sexist.

What does a man write like? Obviously it depends. So maybe what I mean is, “I want to write more masculinely.” I need to channel my inner yang.

Sometimes I feel like my writing is too delicate. I’m constantly on the search for what sounds pretty, what looks pretty. Mincing words, slicing this and that, but always I have the compulsion to embellish, complicate, or make more subtle.

I’ve been thinking recently about author Stephen Pressfield. He write historical fiction that I enjoy. He writes about warriors, and his prose is like a knife that cuts. Sometimes it’s a bit too sharp or blunt, sometimes he pares out a little too much, but there’s no ambiguity, no wishy-washy-ness. It is what it is. And I like it.

So I’ll try an experiment. From now on, bold statements. Swift decisions. Short sentences.

Ah, how I do love thee, Mary Renault! August 10, 2007

I know, I know, this is probably the third or fourth time I’ve raved about her. But I can’t help it. I just finished The Persian Boy, and her brilliance continues to haunt me. For the most part her prose is straightforward but every once in a while she throws in these gems.

Examples from The Persian Boy:

“He sat there, smiling over his wine with his clear blue eyes, his flaxen hair a little damp from the heat, turning the knife in my heart.”

“To honour the King, the ladies of the household would appear and dance. This was something indeed, in Sogdiana, where to look at their women is a matter for long knives.”

And…

“On the steeps below, where in sumer one would not have seen foothold for a rock-rabbit, winter had picked out in white the tiny ledges, or cracks that gashed the hills.”

I wonder if her books would be as popular now than they were then

I was a tad disappointed with the death of Hephaistion, which she treated very matter of factly, but given the personality of her main character, I think it worked. Esp. because Alexander’s death made me weep–I don’t think I could have tolerated two moments of sobbing, and drawing out Hephaistion’s death would have taken away from Alexander’s.

What strikes me most about this book is how brilliantly she manipulates emotional drama without making it maudlin. The main character Bagoas, in whose POV the book is told (in first person) is a deeply emotionally complex, imperfect character, and she does such a powerful and effective job of carving out his niche, what he wants and needs from Alexander, apart from what the Macedonians want, what the readers might want, or what morality might suggest is necessary. In other words, she never loses touch with her character, even if his resulting actions can be uncomfortable for the reader to accept.

What to read next? I think I should take a break from Renault, tempting as it is to read “Fire from Heaven” (the first in her Alexandriad, and the first book I would read of hers written in 3rd person POV), I don’t want to get saturated with her. Others have been raving about The Great Gatsby recently–perhaps I’ll revisit that book. I think it’s been 15 years since I last read it.

Ah, sweet muse. July 12, 2007

I woke up a couple of nights ago I had an intense dream, and on waking, knew I had to get it down on paper. And I’ve been writing it ever since. Besides the premise and four of the main characters, I know little else about the story, or even the world it’s set in. I’ve never quite felt like this before, not even in the giddy moments of Nanowrimo, but the story is coming so smoothly. I usually write things in piecemeal, as a scene comes to me, and then another, regardless of where they might be in the book. But this one, the first four chapters so far have rolled out for me, even before I know what I’m going to write, I’m typing away.It’s a great feeling.

Mary Renault must have rubbed off on me. I definitely hear both Theseus and Bagoas in my style and the voice for this book. I’ll have to watch it–I don’t want to sound identical to her, much as I admire her.

This is also the first fictional piece I’ve written in the first person, and I heartily recommend it to people who are having trouble, as I did, with story crafting and controlling narrative.

Here’s the thing. First person has an enormous amount of power because it lets you play with the omniscient without letting go of a close POV, because your narrator is your character. The very flaw of first person, is also it’s greatest strength.

So some people say first person is doubly artificial in fiction. First, there’s the fictive past, which, in the lives of the characters, is really the present. Then, because the narrator is telling a story as if it’s happening, but if it’s written in the first person, the narrator already knows what’s happened, and they are telling the story. Which is why I think that some of the most compelling and effective uses of the first person narrative are for books that span a great deal of history.

Again, I’m heavily influenced by Renault here, but take a look at her novels The King Must Die and Persian Boy, Steven Pressfield’s The Virtues of War, John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meanie, and Jaqueline Carey’s Kushiel Series. Each of these is told in the first person, each spans many years, and in each, the author effectively weaves the past together with the character’s “present”. It’s a commentary, so we get the benefit of the character’s having lived through the entire experience. They drop in comments–”Had I known then as I know now I would have…” or something to that effect.

I’m having great fun with it now. It really forces you to think about how to plant information, how to form the story structure.

Anyway, this is a lot less articulate than I wanted, but I’m eager to get back to my work. Maybe I’ll clarify this later.

Writing about children? July 10, 2007

Okay, here’s another thing I’m having trouble with. One of the characters in my book is a young boy about 8 years old. I want to write a short story about two kids, a girl of, say 5, and a boy of about 7 or 8. So… how do I do it? I don’t have a lot of experience with kids, and so I’m at a loss. How do they think? How do they move? Feel? Act? Emote? I guess I have to spend some time with kids. Maybe I should start kid-sitting again.

A day in the life July 10, 2007

I’ve been thinking a lot about how to manage my day. Have not yet managed to come up with a formula. Right now, it’s woefully procrastination heavy. That, and writing new material. The editorial process is what bogs me down. But, of course, that’s exactly the process that will more likely let me get published, unless, of course, I can get it perfect the first time!

So, here’s what I’m thinking. Once a week I think I need to sit down and drum up new ideas for stories, articles, books, characters, whatever. By brainstorming for just half an hour, I can come up with a pretty decent list of material to work on.

To limit idea generation like this is somewhat artificial, since in reality I’m constantly coming up with ideas and jotting them down on little scraps of paper. Which leads me on to the next thing–processing material. I need to collect, record, and clarify all the stuff I jot down on the backs of receipts and jam into my wallet. Probably rewriting the notes, or taping the papers, into some centralized notebook would be a good idea. Maybe once every other week, or once a month, I should go through these and pick out the ones that could be developed into stories, novels, articles, are just have no hope whatsoever.

Okay, further processing. Filling out character sheets and world building sheets once I’ve decided to pursue an idea. I think I should try to do these as quickly as possible, in order to maintain a certain inertia and keep the characters consistent. A few hours a day would probably be good to devote to this.

And now for the writing of drafts. In general, writing the first draft quickly is key for me. Get it down, get it out and done with. I get the feeling once I decide to initiate the draft writing, I should devote as much time as possible. Perhaps only writing just the draft for a period of a few weeks (or a day or two, if it’s a short story). This is the part I love–it’s like a high.

Rewriting… okay, this is what stymies me. I could probably spend forever rewriting, only because I lack focus. I sincerely believe focus is the key to accomplishment. And so, I think once I have a first draft completed, I need more, measured time to devote to a second draft. If I’m in a writing group some the scheduling is already enforced. Otherwise, I think the bulk of my time, assuming I’m not working on a first draft or characters sheets, should be devoted to this. For later drafts, I can devote maybe a few hours a week on a give project.

Critiques–I recently joined an on-line critiquing group called Critters. It’s been fun so far, though I haven’t yet submitted anything, so I don’t know what the quality of responses are. But I do think you learn every time you critique, and so I’ve decided to commit to spending some time a week critiquing. Perhaps an hour a week for Critters, another hour for my writing workshop.

And finally, the business of writing. I want to be published, so I know I need to devote regular time to preparing things for submission, submitting, writing query letters, intiating that whole process. So I think an hour a week, for now (since I don’t actually have anything ready to submit) will be sufficient.

Hm… there is a natural rhythm in here somewhere, I just haven’t quite put my finger on it. I almost need something like a school class schedule, with blocks of time that I can allocate to different tasks, depending on where I am in a given piece.

Did I forget anything? Oh right, sleeping, eating, and life.

A solitary endeavor June 25, 2007

I’ve been anguishing about my writing lately, and whenever this happens, I seek affirmation. It must be an ugly sight. Nightly I crawl into Ryan’s lap, or lay my head on his shoulder, give him my puppy-dog eyes and say, “I can’t do this! I’m not good enough!” He knows the drill, and, bless his heart, plays his part without an inkling of exasperation (I knew I chose the right man!) “Of course you can,” he says. “You’re a terrific writer, and you’re so dedicated.” I’m reassured enough to sleep.

By morning, the insecurities have returned, and I call my writing friend. Same thing: “I can’t do this! My story sucks!” She, too, patiently comforts me. I always hang up the phone feeling relieved, back on course. But within a few hours I’m up pacing the floor, berating myself. What was I thinking, trying to write fiction? The arrogance! The stupidity! Starbucks is hiring–I should just go work there, for crying out loud!

After I talk myself out of that I refocus, and sit down at the computer. And of course, nothing has changed. I’m faced once again with a story that’s floundering, a plot that’s flopping about, and characters that are running amok. And today I’m struck by how isolating writing is, not just because the writing lifestyle demands long days spent cooped up indoors, crouched over a keyboard. Rather, I realize I am alone in this. No one else has ever told this story, and no one else can because it is my story to tell. I can scream and whimper and find shoulders to cry on, but there is no one else. No one can write it for you, no one can understand your characters or give you that one element that somehow you know you are missing. It’s entirely up to you. This concept scares the crap out of me; at the same time, I think it’s what keeps me writing and exploring, the thought that both the product and the struggle are uniquely mine.

Down, you! June 22, 2007

Okay, reworking my first drafts of my first two novels, and this one character man, he’s getting on my nerves. He was supposed to be a minor character, a friend to my protagonist, but twice now he’s taken over my entire story. I’m wondering if I should just scrap everything I’ve written to date and write _his_ story, since he’s so eager for the lime light. The only problem is it would be entirely different from what I’ve imagined, and I don’t even know what the story would be about. Him discovering himself, I guess. But I don’t know what to do. It’s always cool when characters act in unexpected ways; I feel as if I’ve done my job in creating thinking, breathing people, but sometimes, sometimes I just feel like murdering them all, the unruly little bastards.

a brief rant… and thoughts on negative space June 14, 2007

Gosh, it’s been forever since I last posted. I’m still plonking away, not quite making the plunge into rewriting, but certainly dipping my toe in it. In the meantime I’ve decided to write some short stories. Partly because they intrigue me–it’s a form I’ve never quite gotten a grasp on, and I’m finding the challenge motivating. Partly because I can submit them to magazines, and at least have something published (crossing my fingers!)

All that aside, I’ve been feeling a little frustrated with my writing group lately. They are all wonderful people and good writers. Maybe it would be more correct to say my dissatisfaction is a bit more general, not directed to the specific people involved. Sometimes the group swoops in on a piece, dissects it, and I feel clarified. Recently it’s been feeling like they swoop in, and come up with all these nit picky little things. They question everything. “This seems out of character.” Um, yeah, that’s kind of the point. “You should write, ‘He felt angry.’” What, the fact that he was gritting his teeth and cursing the other person didn’t clue you in? “It seems like they’ve been walking a long time.” Maybe because they have a long way to walk! “I’d expect her to cry about something as upsetting as this.” But she doesn’t, so what does that tell you about her personality?

Okay, I’m sniping here, but I was puzzled by their confusion. I wanted to remind them about Occam’s Razor. “That phrase makes her sound bitter.” Well, the logical conclusion should be that she _is_ bitter, right?

I’m beginning to think writing fiction is partly about removing and dismantling expectations and presuppositions. Readers jump to conclusions. You have to give them enough to stop them from jumping to the wrong ones. Maybe my writing is simply not authorative, descriptive, or clear enough. With the novella I’m working on now I’ve developed an oddly minimalist style, which is running me into trouble. People like things, objects, and their minds strive to fill in all the holes. I’d like to keep the style–it’s fun weeding through all the crap that I could write, and decided just the most important descriptions or aspects. Maybe I’ve gone to far? After all, if no one understands your writing, you’ve sort of failed in your mission as a writer. “Is there a chandelier? A fire??” one of my critiquers wrote, “Chairs? Tables rugs walls? Seems like they’re floating…”

No, when I say they ate dinner, I think we can assume they are at a table, sitting on chairs, probably on a floor of some sort, in the house that they entered at the beginning of the last scene. Should I put all of that in? I like the concept of making the reader meet you half way, but it seems I haven’t found my balance. I’m struggling with this, the mundane details vs. what we might consider essential. I mean, who really cares if there’s a rug underfoot? Yeah, it would be nice to know. Yeah, it might help create a mental picture of the scene in your head, which some people argue is one of the primary goals of fiction, but wouldn’t you rather have a moment of clarity when an aspect of the character is brought into intense focus, revealing some new insight? Those moments would be lost, I theorize, if everything else in the room is equally focused. By writing less, I’m actually able to say more. I didn’t anticipate how much this would confuse people. Maybe we are too used to stuff cluttering up our senses.

But I like negative space. We’re not used to thinking about it, but what’s not written is just as important as what is.