Part two


 

( in which the boxes win )

Inspired by wordsrmylife and her Great Sorting, I dug up this essay from 5 years ago.

         

( Read more... )

 

Just finished reading Marcelo in the Real World last night.  I really loved it, and it was nice to read a book that's gotten a lot of buzz lately and NOT be disappointed (I need to be more cautious about the buzz thing -- I have purchased too many mediocre books in hardback!).

At the same time, it is not a book that jumps off the page at you and whirls you away on a rollicking plot.  Quite the contrary.  The plot is that Marcelo (very high-functioning teen with Asperger's, or something close to that) has to work in his father's Boston law firm for the summer in order to keep going to his special private school where he feels at home.  About seventy pages in, I said to myself, "Wow, all that's really happened here is that he's figuring out how the mailroom works."  But SO WHAT?  I was riveted.  There IS a more compelling plotline that gets introduced, although it plays out fairly slowly and is more about making decisions than about action.  This is perfectly okay with me.

Things I loved about the book:

-after reading soooooo many books told by first-person teen narrators with attitude, I found it incredibly refreshing to read a first-person narration that was completely devoid of attitude.  And so much unexpected humor to be found there.

- if you've ever worked in a dysfunctional office, you will be shouting, "YES!" every few pages.

- the characters are mostly very complex.  Marcelo is himself much more complex than he appears, but the really fascinating character is Arturo, Marcelo's father.  Seen entirely through Marcelo's literal mind, it is clear from the very beginning that Arturo is multi-faceted and  conflicted, and so are Marcelo's feelings toward him.

-when Marcelo got lost, I thought to myself, I ALWAYS GET LOST IN THAT PART OF BOSTON.  In a car, on foot, doesn't matter, it's extremely confusing there.  Yay for accuracy.

-the philosophical discussions are just amazing.  When he asks Rabbi Heschel why people sometimes consider sex evil, she comes back with an answer that is just...wow, absolutely right on.  The plot is a fight between good and evil, but in the real world (yeah, that title) rather than in some epic fantasy battle. There are times when the philosophy maybe goes on a teeny bit too long -- the last third of the book could be trimmer.  But I honestly didn't care while I read it.  I would not want to read the inner thoughts of every teenager in this detail, but I was happy to make an exception for Marcelo.

Wildcat woke up with a fever today, so:

no drama camp (the play is today, so she'll miss performing)
no Thursday group for me
no getting a whole lot of revising done -- though to be honest, this has not been zipping along at quite the pace I had envisioned anyway.  It turns out I am semi-paralyzed by a combination of a) so much to be added in that I don't know where to start, and b) being seduced by my own writing, as in, "oh, but the dialogue flows so nicely in that scene -- if I add in the mother it will throw everything off!"  (yes, I know better, but I can't seem to summon the proper ruthlessness)

It's so dark out it looks like nighttime, and it's not quite 9 a.m.  It's like living in the Arctic circle in winter.

I am officially REVISING* now, rather than drafting.  WOOHOO!  Also, FD -- Flying Dutchman???  (Sorry, still stuck on last post.  I am easily amused)

It's 344 pages, and therefore longer than anything I've ever written in my life.  I know a lot of things need to be added to the earlier chapters -- let's hope I can cut a chunk out of the later ones.  But IT GOES FROM POINT A TO POINT B AND IS MORE OR LESS LOGICALLY SOUND and this is a good thing.  Especially as my kid is out of school for the summer in about half an hour!


*revising in the USian sense and not the British!

So I'm driving around doing errands, listening to NPR and thinking about Iran, and hey, I don't know for sure whether there was election fraud or not, but it brings me face to face with a problem I've been ignoring as I near the end of my book.  I've established that the current (fictional) government is corrupt and that elections are commonly believed to be fixed -- so how is my new reform candidate going to win the election, even if she does have overwhelming support?  How can I make sure the election is monitored and fair within the context of my setting? A familiar depressed feeling of "so much for finishing a draft this month" settles over me, as I toy once again with outside, foreign influences pressuring the government to allow international monitors -- and as I think, once again, no, the solution has to come from within, preferably from the ancient traditions of this culture, and then....

The MacGuffin.  In this book, it's a letter proving the Governor tried to have his opponent arrested on false charges.  It's driven my character's actions in two separate plotlines, and all along it's made me rather uncomfortable because it seemed that, while the Governor would certainly not like to be discredited, he has enough money and power at his command to buy or fix the election anyway.  But what if there's an old law that this sort of wrongdoing is sufficient to make the Council of Elders (or something like that -- I haven't actually figured out what to call them) step in and alter the way the election is conducted?  I am really liking the idea that this stupid letter, which has always felt way too MacGuffiny, can actually change history. 

Okay, just had to share that one.

Yes, it's all about ME and my fascinating process!

I never used to think I had anything so organized as a process, but I've been noticing that ever since the Muse left town a few months ago (a few postcards, but she hasn't been back), the only way I've been getting things done is by following a pattern.  It wasn't conscious at first, but now that I've observed it, I think it's a good approach and must try to remember it next time the stuckage occurs.

( Ten easy steps!  )

This, in 3-10 page increments, produces what I euphemistically call my first draft (but which is really, as you can see, my 10th draft at least).  I am always aware that in the next draft, I may change something fundamental about the book which necessitates cutting the scene.  This is what I like to call "fun."

Some days I realize that I read too many writing/editing blogs.  Not because of the time involved (it's not that much -- I only follow a select handful) but because sometimes they start dispensing RULES, and even though I know they're only offering them as possibly useful tools, they feel like RULES and they make me uneasy when I think about how little I follow them.

For instance:  an editor writes that good writers are a dime a dozen, it's the great idea that shines forth from the slush pile.  Stop before writing that book, he says, and consider whether the idea is really that great.

Seriously?  How come another editor assures me that good writing trumps flashy ideas every time?  And wait, stop before writing it?  I don't even KNOW what the ideas (plural, because as Sid Fleischman says, you need at least two) are until a good bit of writing happens.

A writer blog offers a goal-oriented approach: a daily word count, or a revision word count.  The latter confuses me, as so often my revisions involve cutting entire scenes or characters, or deepening a scene, which may be absolutely key to the rest of the story. Or I might be going through the entire book, checking for a particular character arc.  I'd rather accomplish something important to the book than say, "I have revised this chunk from p. 100-125." Counting words or pages is meaningless to me.

Then there is the perennial "Butt in chair" advice, which I've heard so many time over the past few weeks that I could scream.  Yes, butt glue is all very well.  But sometimes it's counterproductive.  Sometimes there is nothing better for my writing than getting OUT of the chair, going for a walk or bike ride so I can think something out that just won't come while I'm staring at a screen.  Or there is going to meet my Thursday group, who let me babble on about my plot, which really, really helps me sort out what I'm trying to do.

Finally, today I read, "Swimming doesn't count as writing."  I DISAGREE.  It all counts.  If the characters are in your head while you swim, you are writing.  If you're playing Spider Solitaire (...okay, I confess to this particular mindless vice) and getting fabulous ideas while you click your cards around from pile to pile -- that's writing. 

Oh, wait.  Terry Pratchett agrees:  "I assume that what I'm doing is writing all the time -- even though I'm actually doing something else.  When you are stuck and you go out into the garden to pull weeds, you are still writing...So writing isn't just sitting in front of the keyboard."

I'm off ON MY BIKE to meet the Thursday group!

eta: Also, did I mention that last week one of my critique group members mentioned to me that anything over 300 pages was too long?  Excuse me, this is a first draft and do you really think I need to be worrying about that right now???

It's a no.  "While I enjoyed it, it's not quite right for my list" sort of thing.  Which is fine, because I basically forgot I'd sent it to him.  Okay, not really forgot, but after hearing various rumors as to the size of the pile of stuff he'd requested, I had long since abandoned hope that this was going to work out.  I'm even rather gratified that he got around to my ms. at all. And hey, I got someone else to read the whole thing (...well, maybe.  He doesn't actually say he read the whole thing, but I think I will go on believing it anyway, 'cause that's more fun).

However, I guess this means I either need to send more queries or abandon ship, as I intended to do a while back.  It's not that I want to give up.  It's just that, as time passes, I have less and less connection to the book.  I can no longer remember whether it's actually any good, which makes it a challenge to sell.

So I'm not absolutely sure, but ... *looks over both shoulders nervously*...I think I've figured out how to solve the Big Plot Issue that has been driving me crazy for, oh, months now.  And I owe it all to the wisdom of my Thursday group, who suggested: a) more stuff needs to blow up; and b) more characters need to get killed off.  Then I had my own Aha! moment, which was c) Hey, that creepy guy can LIE about what he's doing, and we can skip that whole conversation where he basically confesses, because why the heck would he do that anyway?  This will leave my MC with no proof, and though she can try to prevent the bombing, she won't have anything solid to go on, she can be unsuccessful and we can blow the building sky-high.

I'm not saying this is going to be any good, mind you, but right now all I want is a finished first draft that hangs together more or less logically.  I think the explosion can accomplish that.  Destruction as an act of creation.

I just sent off my story with revisions!  The revisions were really easy to do, actually, and I do think they improved it.  So on the whole my little mini-experience with the editorial process is very positive so far!

I find myself reading two books at once, which is not unusual at all.  What is unusual is that they are both grown-up books. 

(I was reading three books at once for a while -- the other was The Neddiad, which I finished last week.  Quick review inside these parentheses:  I loved The Neddiad, though I was conscious while reading it that there is no earthly reason why the book should work.  Plot events happen randomly and are accepted without question by the characters.  It's half nostalgic historical fiction in post-war America, half crazy adventure with ghosts, shamans, and evil villains.  The chapters are short and it feels like a Saturday matinee serial, just the sort of thing Neddie himself would have watched at the movies.  I loved it partly because it begins with a train ride across America, and I HAVE TAKEN THAT TRAIN.  In fact I once wrote an essay about that experience.  I titled it Amtrak: A Love Story -- so you can see why the book grabbed me.  I also adored the idea that the book was being written at the La Brea Tar Pits, and I just settled right into the crazy, easygoing tone of the thing.  Pinkwater is some sort of mad genius to pull this off.)

My grown-up books are The Lost City of Z, by David Grann (nonfiction, oh my, I really do seem to be out of my element, but not so much, because it's about exploring the Amazon), and Burger's Daughter by Nadine Gordimer.  The latter was our last book group book of the year.  When it became clear that I couldn't make it to the meeting, I stopped reading the book at about 20 pages in.  Last week I was thinking I'd return it to the library, and I picked it up and started reading...and I think I'll be finishing it after all.  Not an easy read at first, but it's kind of grabbing me after all:  what is it like to be the daughter of a political hero who dies in prison?  Z had me at "Amazon," and it is utterly fascinating.

Meanwhile I am still trying to wrap up the first draft of my WIP -- and it keeps not working.  Too many pieces of the puzzle have to go in at the end.  I keep trying to project forward to how it will all work -- and every time I come up against some sort of wall.  Still looking for loose brick or secret tunnel under wall.  Will let you know.

I don't usually have any interest in the daily "writer's block" prompts (they never strike me as leading to any interesting ideas), but I couldn't help noticing today's: "Who was your first friend on Livejournal?"

That would be Jade!  Yes, it's all her fault!  I wasn't ever going to post anything here, but one day Jade and I had a lovely conversation about writing in Chatzy, and Jade friended me, and I suddenly felt that I was not living up to my end of the bargain.  Surely I should provide entertainment for this new friend!    And now you can't shut me up.

Anyway, Jade really is awesome.

OMG.  I don't even believe this.

My Beast story has just been accepted -- ACCEPTED!!!!! -- by Hunger Mountain.  They are PAYING me (admittedly it won't even cover the cost of replacing my daughter's new glasses, which just got lost, but....).  They will send me an editorial letter next week -- which sounds sort of ominous, but in an exciting way.  I've always wanted an editorial letter!!!

Dudes.  This has never happened to me before. (And the moral, Marjorie, is hit SEND really, really fast before you can stop yourself!!)

The 93-degree heat has passed, leaving us in 57-ish heaven.  Now THIS is the dancing-down-the-street weather I've been waiting for!  Today as I walked to the library to exchange one Jeeves and Wooster video for another, I passed a row of my favorite blooming trees, so in their honor, a poem.  Never gave it a title.

 

I am not one for perfume,

And though I love to catch

A whiff of lilac on the wind,

You will not find me

Wearing lilac-scented cologne,

Breathing in sweetness until

My nose burns and my sinuses swell.

I curse my fellow airplane travellers,

Who exist in a faux-floral haze,

Suffocating them and me.

 

Still, if someone could bottle

The essence of crabapple,

And get it just right,

Subtle and surprising as it is outside right now,

Smelling not so much of flowers as of air,

The way air would smell, I always think,

If we didn’t fill it every minute with our waste,

Then I would tuck a drop of it behind my ear,

And all day long breathe deeply,

Bees or no bees.

...but let's start off with a nice cleansing whine, shall we?  Just so you know it's still me. 
Ahem.  It should really NOT be flirting with 90 degrees in April in Boston.  It's just not a good idea.  For one thing, no leaves on the trees -- thus no shade.  For another, I really, really like those temperatures in the 60s, and we haven't spent any time there at all.  Three days ago the high was 45.  Skipping the good stuff is silly.  So, geez, weather, get your act together.

Happy stuff:
-Wildcat's cello had some problems with the bridge moving and the sound post shifting (again).  The guy at the tiny string repair shop down the street fixed it in five minutes FOR FREE.
-I have partially destroyed the evil bush from Hades that is trying to eat our back yard.  The roots are mammoth and I will probably have a huge battle to make this thing lie down and die, but at least it is chopped down.  In its place there will be hydrangeas.  Hydrangeas are nice and do not eat your yard.
-I may have another place I can send my story (the one that got rejected last week).  Now this may be an invitation for future rejection, but let's just stick with the happiness of the opportunity for now.
-I love my dojo.  Oh, I do.  Even though you might question my sanity as I sing to myself while driving down a traffic-clogged street just so I can put on a heavy cotton jacket and exercise vigorously in this weather.

Two dojo conversations this morning:
friend #1: Every time I think I know what I'm doing in Aikido, I suddenly realize I don't know anything.
Philia: Wait, isn't that like...life?

friend #2: Sometimes I wonder if I'm wasting my time here.  I know I'm not executing the techniques right.
Philia: But it's not about that, is it?  I mean, if you did it perfectly, then you would be wasting your time, because you'd be perfect and not in need of practice.  Practice is about the striving and the learning.

Okay, now connect conversation #1 with conversation #2.  Somewhere in there is a happy thought.

Ooh, I love reading two in a row that I love this much!  From The Underneath, I turned to Geraldine McCaughrean's Not the End of the World.  And it is oh so good, in that mind-blowing, brain-wave-altering way that a really terrific book can have.  This is a daring, thought-provoking book in which Noah and his ark are not the happy Playmobile set we so often picture -- but a religious fanatic and what has to be the ultimate dysfunctional family (especially if you include the animals -- the smelly, filthy, lice-infested animals eyeing each other hungrily...).  Despite the vividly described horror of the voyage, what shines through is the humanity, the insights, the beauty of things lost (oh the quexolans!) and the quiet strength of those who seem voiceless.

Just wow.

I've already said some of this stuff in Chatzy, so feel free to skip if I've bored you already.

I've finished two books in the last week that are such a contrast to each other that I can't help turning them over in my mind.  The first, Graceling, a YA fantasy.  The second, The Underneath, a MG book, illustrated, with animal protagonists (and some fantasy elements).

( Two very, very different books, but guess which one I recommend? )

Last night as Wildcat finished reading her 15th Discworld novel (in no particular order) and started on her 16th, leaving me in the dust, Discworld-wise, I got to thinking about my reading habits vs. hers.  I love Terry Pratchett but I can't read one after another after another like that.  When I finish a book I love, what I want most is to move on to a book equally good, but completely different.  I like to switch genres -- if I've just read something comic, then hand me that gripping, tense emotional ride.  If I've been hitting the middle-grade shelf too hard, pass the Russian novelists.  This is one reason I have trouble with trilogies in which the books don't stand alone -- I don't want to go read the second one right away, or the third one after that.

Wildcat has two current obsessions, actually, Pratchett and Wodehouse.  At bedtime, I read her Jeeves stories -- and we've been getting the "Jeeves and Wooster" TV series out of the library a bit at a time as well.  Yep, this kid is completely immersed in goofy, well-written British humor.  One could do worse.  But I can't believe she doesn't tire of it. The phrase "he biffed off" makes her laugh just as much the fiftieth time she hears it.  (Of course, my sister and I still laugh over "she handed me the mitten"...)

Then I think back to my childhood reading habits, and I think they were more like hers then.  I certainly read all the Chronicles of Prydain in a row.  When I discovered Emily Cheney Neville, I got out every book she'd written and went straight through.  I'm sure I'd have done the same with Joan Aiken and E. Nesbit if I'd had access to all those books at once. I usually had to wait for my father to take a business trip to England -- or at least New York -- to get a fresh supply.  In my teen years I went with him to New York and purchased obscure Dumas titles that I would read one after another.  There were, of course, not nearly as many series books for kids and YA then as there are now.

So is it an age-related thing, do you think?  Do adults prefer variety in their reading, or is it just my own attention span that has shrunk with age?

* * Please note that none of this applies to rereading the Attolia books -- when I take up that world, I don't want to put it down.

 

 This came out of a camping trip near Taos with a college friend and her too-clever-by-half professor father.  The challenge was to write a poem composed entirely of lines from other poems (preferably famous ones).  Given the chosen meter, my friend's father insisted on the title.  I think the "Therefore" was technically supposed to be the mathematical symbol, but I am not keyboard-clever enough to pull that one off.

Anyway, it's a bit like Frankenstein in that I'm the only one of those assembled on that night who actually went home and wrote something.  And here it is:



( a silly poem from about 25 years ago )

 

I haven't done an Evil Editor writing exercise in a long time, but last Friday I saw the prompt and just let loose, and it was a blast to write something so ridiculous.  I am "Queryish Query #5" (mb) for anyone who wants to go looking.