Final Doubts

It's always hard for me to bring myself to sit down and read anything I'm writing from start to finish. For one thing, the vision I have of whatever I'm working on is always so much more than what seems to make it onto the page. The story line seems more poignant, the climax seems more critical, the characters more fully fleshed out in my imagination than they often do once I'm actually reading.

The other thing is this hypercritical editor in my head. This editor hates everything, sees sentimentality in places where it should not be, finds cliche after cliche, and repetition in description. This internal editor is pretty damned ruthless, and I always hate to unleash her.

I've been through three full drafts of this novel. I have printed out a clean copy--all 523 pages (oh, the ink cartridges and reams of paper I have gone through). I would really like to be able to read this as a regular reader would, without a correcting pen in my right hand. But I seriously doubt that will be the case.  I have three days all alone--except for Sam cat--to do it, and boy, would it be nice to have a manuscript worth submitting once I get to the end of these three days.

The last two times I have read the pages through, I have marked all over them, and it's taken me five days each time to get from page one to the end. I  know from experience that there comes a time when a writer has to say to herself "ENOUGH! It will never be perfect." I re-read books of mine that have been published and find needling little things I would change if I could. But at this point in the writing process, I am nearing the time when I will tell myself this is the best I can do with this novel, and it will have to sink or swim on its own. (Another lousy cliche to mark out!)

Doubt is a writer's worst enemy. It is not easy to fight through the doubt that comes as a manuscript nears fruition. You wonder if you have moved your main character through enough for honest change. Have you tied up loose threads? What about antagonists? Are there enough? Is it OK to have a situation be the antagonist, as it is in this current book, and actually, in most of my books? And the ending: is it too smarmy? Does it leave the reader satisfied? Do I need to go on a bit longer? Do I need an epilogue? I know what happens to the characters after the book ends, but will my reader? Will they even care? Does any of it matter? Oh, for the love of doubt!

No matter what though, there has been great satisfaction in creating this novel. The characters have become like family to me. The setting and time period of the story are under my skin. There have been moments of total, magical immersion when the least thing outside my "book world" comes as a startling jolt: the doorbell, nightfall, the cat wanting his supper. And I am so lucky to have my little cottage on the coast. It has become my "ivory tower." I walk in and the juices start to flow. Exactly what I had hoped when we found it two years ago.

So after this phase comes what? I don't know yet. I have been out of the writing and publishing scene for so long, almost everyone has retired or forgotten about me. But it would be lovely to have another book to set on the shelf. We shall see if that is in the stars. If it's not, I will still be happy that I managed to finally finish this book.

Onward....

THE KITCHEN SINK, Or Second Drafts Redux

Writing a novel is like architecture, or perhaps like what I image it would be to sculpt. While I'm immersed in the work, I'm constantly shaping, scraping off edges, gluing on little bits, hammering and sawing. Last blog post was about cuts mainly, but second drafts are also the time to throw in the kitchen sink. Most of the time, things I add at this point are to improve pacing or character development. The additions I have made in this second draft increased the manuscript by eighteen pages, making it, at 527 pages, by far the longest novel I have ever written. But I'll bet some cuts are in store for the third draft.  

By the time I'm working with my second draft, I know my book pretty darned well--scene by scene, the descriptions, the dialogue, the tone. It's all up there in my brain, simmering. So after reading back over the book in its entirely, the second draft is time to simply think about the story, those scenes, the dialogue, the rooms the characters walk through, the garden where that important exchange takes place. Have I described the colors, the bric-a-brac, the smell of the air coming through the windows, the way the wind causes a curtain to billow, rays of sunlight through the trees? I like to hand out my descriptions in small, pointed doses, making sure that each line or phrase somehow furthers the tone of the scene, the development of the character, or the mood of the story. Does the floral tablecloth remind the main character of her grandmother's farmhouse when she was a child? Or does the ticking clock on the wall wither her already shattered nerves as she waits for the telephone to ring? There is probably room to grow most scenes by adding sensory detail. The second draft is when I do that.

Some of these things come naturally in the first draft. For seasoned writers, this is especially true. I don't consider myself to be THERE yet, so I have to constantly remind myself of these tricks, and of how crafting scene after scene gets me to the novel I am trying to write. My vision of my story is always more vivid than what makes it onto the page.

When I'm second-draft deep into a novel, my mind seems to automatically latch onto things I can use. Maybe it's something I overhear at the beauty shop, or maybe it's just the right name for that minor, but important, character I'm developing. In second draft mode, I'm on the lookout for exciting words I had forgotten about, and at the same time, giving a critical look at the words I already have down. Are there too many adverbs, what about adjectives? An overload of either of those weakens a sentence rather than improves it. Instead of "falling clumsily against the door" I will make her "stagger against the door." Better, more concise, choice.

The second draft is the time to make big important changes, too, if they're needed. In my fourth novel, I had gone through my first draft, and the story just didn't work. The pivotal scene was based loosely on a family incident, but it wasn't until I found the correct name for my main character that everything fell into place. Often the main characters needs the most sprucing up in the second draft. I don't want my main character to be two-dimensional; I want him to have flaws aplenty, and lots of room for improvement and growth and change. Getting my character just right often happens in my rewrites.

Oh, the joy of second drafts. And now it's almost time for me to begin the third draft. As I type this, I'm printing out the manuscript once again. Next week, I'm headed back to my coastal retreat, when I plan to read this behemoth yet again. I know it has improved in this second draft, but I also know it's not done yet. What a lot of work writing a novel always turns out to be! Seat of the pants to seat of the chair.

Onward...

THE TROUBLE WITH SECOND DRAFTS

Rewrites are a good thing. In general, a novel gets better with each rewrite. Often, I read a novel that I feel could have used just one more run-through. When I come upon a scene that’s just a bit implausible or some dialogue that doesn’t ring authentic, I think to myself that the writer would have benefitted with another draft.

There are decisions that get made in rewrites. Usually those involve cutting something, or re-arranging elements of the story: This thing needs to happen sooner, or that bit is just a little too long, or too cute, or maybe it’s too melodramatic. There can be any number of things “wrong” with a portion of a novel. The trouble is the fix.

I usually know on a gut-level when I’ve got a problem in a story. I don’t always have the solution when I start my second draft, but I’ve got those places that need extra work earmarked in my mind. Those trouble spots always slow down the second draft, sometimes considerably.

When I do my first read-through, I mark up my pages mercilessly. I have to have a hard copy to do this, so for me, writing a novel takes reams of paper and numerous ink cartridges. I've got to have those margins, to make my marks, and remarks, and notes to self. I’m like a teacher grading a paper.

Trouble comes with knowing when to cut and when to add. It’s easy to cut out things, and then later say, “I need that first bit back in here,” which is another argument for the must-have hard copy. You will still have hold of the part you cut out if you decide you need to add it back again.

On the computer I keep a desktop folder labeled “CUTS,” and when I'm ready to make changes after my pencil-edit, I save all the deleted scenes, interior monologues, and wordy descriptions into my “CUTS” folder. It’s easy to add them back this way, although frankly, once something gets the chop, I rarely paste it back into the story, at least not in its original form.

Another problem with rewrites is being too close to the story, not being able to ferret out the parts that aren’t working. This is why critique groups are sometimes helpful (although I’ll do another blog post on those at some point). Preferably an editor or an agent can help with this problem, but if you’re a beginning writer, you likely don’t have either one of those. At any rate, there comes a time when you need an outside reader, but just not yet. You need to do a couple more drafts first, unless you know someone you really trust, someone who can see the forest despite the trees. (And if you do know someone like that, lend them to me, please.) I have to get a novel as far as I can get it before I ask anyone for help. After all, nobody knows your story better than you do, and it’s important that you listen to yourself before you listen to someone else. You’ll get so you know when it’s the right time to share your baby.

After my third novel came out, I was asked to attend a reading club meeting of members who had all been assigned my book as their monthly novel. This was an excellent group of intelligent, thoughtful, articulate readers. Good discussion happened, and they weren’t the least intimidated by having “the author” sitting right there among them. It fascinated me to hear everyone’s opinion of my characters, their take on what the theme of the book was, on the story arc and on how they were affected by the ending. It was the last part of the discussion that was the biggest revelation to me. Out of the twenty or so people attending, only three felt the novel ended happily. And I was one of the three! Everyone else came away feeling it had a tragic ending. Oops!

I have always wished I’d taken aim at that ending just one more time. So the reader would come away with the feeling I had intended.

The current novel is halfway through its second draft. There are chapters that are already greatly improved, but there are some that still stump me. I find I have more research to do, even after all the research I have already done. I have a multitude of rough edges to file down. Once I’m finished with this rewrite, I will once again let the manuscript rest for a couple of weeks, before I start the process a third time.

Onward…

Writing Through the Middle

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I’ve forgotten how hard it is to write through the vast, uncharted wilderness of the middle of a novel. Beginnings are fairly easy, once you get started. There’s the anticipation of discovery, the excitement of creating, those emotions alone will get you well through the beginning. I’ve read a lot of incomplete, and often unpublished, manuscripts with killer beginnings. They’re polished, compelling, full of promise, but the writer never gets past the opening few chapters. 

Endings are the next easiest. The threads of the story start to twine together. You know right where you’re going, or if you write like I do, you know the ending when you get there. It just feels right, that last sentence or scene, the closing of the action, the change in the characters. And what a terrific feeling it is to write THE END.  Fait accompli. Task completed. Hooray!

But oh, the damned middle….

Is the pacing too slow? Too fast? Do you really need that second love scene, that bit of period detail, the elaborate description of that sunset? Are you repeating yourself? Has this or that character flaw already been well-established? Is this thing really necessary, or that thing moving the plot along? You begin to question everything. Doubt takes hold. And what is the point of this stupid story anyway?

It’s easy to give up at the middle. I’ll bet there have been many fine novels abandoned in the middle. I have a few in my file cabinet, where in the middle I began to feel as if I had been wasting paper and ink on an incohesive, implausible story idea. And just stopped. Sometimes forever.

So do you soldier on? Or is there another way to grab this bull and throw it? Am I mixing metaphors? Sliding into cliché? Have I suddenly realized with purity that I just can’t write? At all. Every sentence begins with “he” or “she” or the dialogue goes on for eternity. What the hell is the purpose of this  chapter anyway? Maybe I should just cut out the whole dreadful thing.

My first novel – (before I go on I want to qualify that phrase. It wasn’t my “first” first novel, it was just the first one that got published. The others are moldering in my attic.) – which ended up with the title of LILY, came to me after spending an entire day reading microfilm at the Bastrop library. I was interested in finding out what had happened at a grand jury hearing back in 1883. I had a scalding headache by the time I drove myself back home. But that night I wrote the first chapter. The next day, I got up and wrote the pivotal scene in the center of the book, the one that the story would turn on, and I wrote from there to the end. Then when I had that much, I went back to the end of that first chapter, and wrote from the second chapter to the pivotal scene. I didn’t know what the chapter number would be for that pivotal scene when I wrote it, nor did I know this for the subsequent chapters that propelled the story to the end. There was much to discover in writing the story backwards. I didn’t know any better. It had not come to me yet that this was no way to write a novel. The other three novels were written from Chapter 1 to the end, in linear fashion. But maybe, just maybe, I was onto something with LILY.

Some writers plot and outline, or write synopses of varying lengths, then flesh out the bones from there. I can definitely see the benefit of this, particularly with mysteries or thrillers. But for me, and for the kind of novels I like to write, this would spoil the fun of writing the thing.

Wait a minute! Did I just say “fun?” This is supposed to be FUN! Wow! Somewhere along the line I think I have forgotten about fun. Creating a story that will be fun for someone to read, should be fun to write. Shouldn’t it? I’ve heard the phrase “open a vein and bleed.” I don’t remember who said it but it was some famous writer. However, I don’t write that sort of book. Mine are not painful to write or read. I don’t want to write that sort of book and I don’t want to read that sort of book either. When I started this writing quest thirty-five years ago, I vowed to write the sort of book that I would want to read myself. But of course, what I didn’t count on was how self-critical I would become along the way.

Which gets me back to the damned middle. In workshops I’ve taught, I have always told my students to give themselves permission to write a poor first draft. Because the “real” writing is in the re-writing. And I know that this is a true statement. So why is it that I have such a hard time taking my own advice? Maybe the answer lies in the middle.

Onward….

The Real Deal

I have not written anything for the last few days but I have been writing in my head. I consider this to be valid, because any writer has to do a lot of thinking about writing in addition to the actual act of writing, or putting words to the page, virtual or otherwise. I stopped working on the screenplay, because I basically got stuck. Couldn't think of what part needed to be amended, or left out altogether, or focused on, so I just set the screenplay aside for the time being. I picked up one of my old, oft-rejected short stories. I have never put all those stories onto this computer, and frankly, the idea of putting them out there for Kindle has been sort of seductive, so I thought I would at least get them onto this computer, and in the process give them a freshening. That is exactly what I thought I was doing with this short story, except.... I got stuck with it, too.

This is a story that has had many very "nice" rejections. In other words, editors have made lots of comments along with their rejections. This story has also been workshopped, critiqued, whatever else a thing like this can go through. I have always sort of liked this story. It has elements in it that I have wished to see in print. Oh well.....

It has also been set aside for the time being.

And so... I am back to thinking about the "endless novel." We have watched a few war movies lately. That has me thinking about it. And I started reading 33 MONTHS AS A POW IN STALAG LUFT III by Albert P. Clark, which has me thinking again about it, as well. I have not gone so far as to actually get it out and dust it off, re-read it or whatever, but I am definitely headed in that direction. The thing is, I have put so much work into this novel. It is 90% done. I re-read it about a year ago, made some minor changes, and found it to have a lot of merit, surprisingly so. A really good writer friend of mine has read it and also found it to have merit -- she gave me some excellent feedback. I really would like to finish it. In fact, it's one of my biggest desires, to finish this novel.

Thing is, I don't know if it will find a publisher. I think fear is inching it's way into this project, insidiously. I am not certain about that at all. But I have been in contact with my "old" editor recently, and so I'm thinking maybe I should just go ahead, on faith, and finish this damned novel. It probably wouldn't take but a couple of months, if I really put my nose to the proverbial grindstone and got after it. I have the backing of my sweetheart -- he says he supports me 100 percent. I have the research material right here, a few feet from my desk. I have new insights into the plot, or character motivations anyway. Why not? It's one of the things I have set my sights on actually doing, completing it. Before I die. My bucket list. Whatever.... I've been talking about it for ten years now at least. Why not go for it? Finish the goddammed thing!!!

I truly think this is the REAL deal. The thing I SHOULD be working on. It's the place all this other superficial writing has been leading me. I truly think that I am a novelist above and beyond anything else. I truly think it's time to put myself on the line with this. Why not? What is the holdup? What new and profound excuse can I come up with now for not going ahead with this almost-finished novel? What better place to work than where I am now, in the peace and quiet of these lovely mountains? What else can I say or do to keep me FROM doing this, completing this? What?

I even think it might be the best thing I've ever written. It has certainly been the most challenging. And the interruptions. The set-backs. Losing a marriage, losing a life, losing a son, changing my whole entire lifestyle, my path. God, what hasn't happened to keep me from doing THIS? But it is time now. Excuses are becoming tired and oh so lame. Not even I believe them anymore.

(In a whisper...) Onward ..... (Yes, I CAN do this, by God!)

Onward (with conviction) ......

Still Reading ....

My friend's novel in manuscript, it's got so much to do with me, as much to do with me as with him I'm sure. There are some really profound things in it, things that stop me. Here's one: "I came to understand that novelists are strictly observers. At first I struggled against it, agonized over it. And then ... I accepted it. I'm fascinated by life, just not terribly involved in it."

Well --- wow!

That's how I used to feel. Not anymore. I'm completely involved in it, 100%. Not just observing anymore but actively participating. I've said before that I lived vicariously through my characters because they lived much more interesting lives than I did, loved more, grieved more, felt more. They were a substitute for the real thing. Now, I have the real thing. And maybe that's why the fire in the belly is gone. I no longer need the substitutions.

It's not that it isn't something I haven't already figured out, it's just that my friend put it so succinctly. And there's more. No wonder I'm loving this book, can hardly put it down. It's terribly disturbing to me that it hasn't been able to find a home. Has the reading public become so shallow?

My SO dispatched the damned armadillo that's been wrecking havoc on the yard. It's not in my nature to feel gleeful when any creature dies, but this one had done so much damage and spoiled so much hard labor, I quickly buried any pang of regret I felt about its demise. Good riddance! That's one thing about living in the country. You have to make decisions, life or death ones, play God.

Onward ....

German Chocolate Cake for My Sweetheart

Made my SO the “famous German chocolate cake.” The quotations have actually been added by my son. This was the cake my oldest son always requested for his birthdays, and the younger son even asked for it a time or two himself. It’s a great old three-layer recipe, a lot of bother with lots of egg yolks and whites beaten stiff then folded in. The frosting is cooked and stirred until your arm aches. But the trouble is worth it in the end, because the eaters usually brag and gorge on it once it’s served. It was a hit with the group once again. Even the SO’s granddaughter, who is a finicky eater, gushed, “That is sooooo good.”

We’re celebrating my SO’s birthday. It really isn’t until the 30th, but his son and daughter-in-law, and granddaughter are here this weekend. Everybody has big news. The son has been offered a promotion, however it means a move to New York City. A big change for them from Austin, but it’s evident that they’re proud to have this opportunity. The granddaughter, who lives with them and goes to junior college, will also have to make some changes. Everybody expects her to move in with her boyfriend down on the coast, and go to school somewhere down there. I had a talk with her last night, and told her not to give up on her education, no matter how “in love” she thinks she is. I felt I could speak from experience and maybe she would listen because of that. Don’t know if it registered. She doesn’t seem as focused on her education as I think she should be, but that’s easy enough for me to say from my vantage point in life. 

But I do enjoy having them, especially her, almost as much as my SO does. In fact, it’s me who often ends up sitting late with them, telling stories and laughing after he's gone off to bed. We will miss them once they move away. Seems there is less and less keeping us in this hot climate. I sure wish I could stop obsessing about New Mexico. It's a really poor time with this real estate market to try to sell this house. We've done so much to it, and really ought to get top dollar when we are finally ready to make the dash for the mountains. Of course, because of that same lousy real estate market, places are really cheap, cheap up there. Sigh! 

Until yesterday, I have kept up the work on the novel, and will take it back up today once our company leaves. I’m still pleasantly surprised at what all is in the pages, things I had totally forgotten about, and lots of stuff I can build on. I have said before, and will say again, writing a novel for me has more to do with architecture than with form. I generally start with the characters, and maybe a situation, and a vague notion of the ending, but everything else is just as much of an unknown for me in the beginning as it is -- hopefully -- for a reader. I've been marking up pages and plan to take the whole manuscript with us when we head up to Denver.

Sat outside this morning in the quiet sunrise with just the kitty and watched the hummingbirds fight over the feeders. I have them spaced so far apart this time, that it really keeps the dominant males busy trying to fend off the other birds. They are such a joy to watch, and their little cheeps filled the air, along with a cardinal's song, and a hawk or two that passed over screeing. Nice way to start a day. I know when the day comes, it will be hard to part with this place. I do love it so much. But I also know that in time it will be more than we want to keep up, and the summers have become so brutal, it's hard to watch all our efforts through the rest of the year, dry up without any rain in the forecast.

Onward ....