One thing I love about writing is that almost daily, unexpected gifts come along. I realize I need a big boost when it comes to plotting the story I want to tell, and I'm having some difficulty when it comes to Setting. A friend happens to mention how much she loves Somerset Maugham. Short on time, I rent The Painted Veil and watch it.
If you know the story of The Painted Veil, you'll know two things about this story. The plot is simple, but gripping, with all the necessary elements, major plot points, reversals, and a twist at the end. The other thing you'll know is that the setting is exotic but not gratuitously, the setting fits the tone, the plot, and the theme of the story perfectly.
Thank you, Somerset Maugham.
More later.
February 26, 2013
February 22, 2013
Let the Fun Begin
You know when you're a kid and you get to do paint by numbers, connect the dots, and trace pictures in coloring books to your heart's content? Art projects with guidelines, when you're still too young to know it's nobler to color outside the lines? Remember the pure joy of those days? Art with parameters? That's the feeling that comes with almost being done with the first draft of an outline for the novel.
The method I'm following calls for lots of preparation. Reading other people's novels, reading pitches on the back or inside covers of novels, studying plot structure, multiple levels of conflict, sympathetic and not so sympathetic characters, setting, theme, voice, point of view, and most important, a compelling premise. All that leading up to the creation of an outline from which to write the story.
Having the first draft of the outline is momentous. There are still inconsistencies, not everything works yet. This stage is fun though. It is like connect the dots. In places the outline is still just dots with no clear way to connect them yet, but at least there are lots of dots waiting to be connected. This is a heck of a lot more fun than when there were barely any dots at all.
Little spurts of dialogue come freely to mind and are put down for later possible use. Use within an emerging structure. Descriptions of places are forming themselves, finally with a reason for their existence. Characters are lining up in the wings, spraying their throats and practicing their lines. Persistence is paying off, because having a plot outline means a full first draft of the novel is within sight. Yahoo!
More later.
The method I'm following calls for lots of preparation. Reading other people's novels, reading pitches on the back or inside covers of novels, studying plot structure, multiple levels of conflict, sympathetic and not so sympathetic characters, setting, theme, voice, point of view, and most important, a compelling premise. All that leading up to the creation of an outline from which to write the story.
Having the first draft of the outline is momentous. There are still inconsistencies, not everything works yet. This stage is fun though. It is like connect the dots. In places the outline is still just dots with no clear way to connect them yet, but at least there are lots of dots waiting to be connected. This is a heck of a lot more fun than when there were barely any dots at all.
Little spurts of dialogue come freely to mind and are put down for later possible use. Use within an emerging structure. Descriptions of places are forming themselves, finally with a reason for their existence. Characters are lining up in the wings, spraying their throats and practicing their lines. Persistence is paying off, because having a plot outline means a full first draft of the novel is within sight. Yahoo!
More later.
February 16, 2013
Chopsticks
When I was forty-nine, I took up the piano for the first time. I'd been an adequate violinist in my youth, learned to read music, sang in many choral ensembles from the time I was twelve, had a deep love of the instrument, worshiped Dave Brubeck. How could I not succeed? Well, I'll tell you how.
I signed up for lessons with a jewel of a teacher at our local community center. Patrick was all you could want in a teacher, kind, patient, supportive but a firm task master. Each week I avoided practicing as I had as a young violinist. Each week I'd apologize to Patrick. Each week I'd promise to do better.
Just by showing up for the lessons and with a modest amount of practice, I was able to even participate in a recital. At least I think I did. Late middle aged women with panic disorders probably shouldn't agree to play in piano recitals. I see a flashback of a bunch of us, all ages, practicing for the recital. The actual recital is a hole in the swiss cheese of the rest of that memory.
Before I started the lessons, I was absolutely convinced that I could go from being a non-pianist to a pianist in record time. When I closed my eyes, I could see myself playing. I was visioning the outcome. I really had no doubt about being able to succeed at playing the piano.
But I did not succeed. Instead I ran off to Texas with the brother of a friend and spent a winter knitting dish cloths in front of the food network. I remember my piano teacher's parting words. "Be sure to practice safe sex." Yes, those were the parting words of my piano teacher.
I like telling little stories like this. It's fun. Really fun. I've been doing it all my life. I've been writing them down for ten years. I could go on doing it for the rest of my life. Easily. But noooo... I want to write a novel. Oh God, please don't let the novel writing turn out like the piano playing.
More later.
I signed up for lessons with a jewel of a teacher at our local community center. Patrick was all you could want in a teacher, kind, patient, supportive but a firm task master. Each week I avoided practicing as I had as a young violinist. Each week I'd apologize to Patrick. Each week I'd promise to do better.
Just by showing up for the lessons and with a modest amount of practice, I was able to even participate in a recital. At least I think I did. Late middle aged women with panic disorders probably shouldn't agree to play in piano recitals. I see a flashback of a bunch of us, all ages, practicing for the recital. The actual recital is a hole in the swiss cheese of the rest of that memory.
Before I started the lessons, I was absolutely convinced that I could go from being a non-pianist to a pianist in record time. When I closed my eyes, I could see myself playing. I was visioning the outcome. I really had no doubt about being able to succeed at playing the piano.
But I did not succeed. Instead I ran off to Texas with the brother of a friend and spent a winter knitting dish cloths in front of the food network. I remember my piano teacher's parting words. "Be sure to practice safe sex." Yes, those were the parting words of my piano teacher.
I like telling little stories like this. It's fun. Really fun. I've been doing it all my life. I've been writing them down for ten years. I could go on doing it for the rest of my life. Easily. But noooo... I want to write a novel. Oh God, please don't let the novel writing turn out like the piano playing.
More later.
February 10, 2013
Preparation
I used to have a great fondness for painting the rooms of houses we'd bought, but I never really liked all the prep involved. However, being a perfectionist, and liking a job well done, once revealed, a good tip on how to improve the end result could not be ignored.
One day I forgot to take my anti-insanity pill and committed myself to paint every square inch of the basement we were having remodeled. I mean every square foot of sheetrock that had to be primed and painted, and every piece of trim that had to be primed, have nail holes filled, be sanded, and painted two coats.
Our contractor was a friend and long time colleague and knew all too well the tight budget we were on. His job manager very kindly gave me every painting tip he had, of which there were many, as that crew had to be versatile as well as proficient.
The best tip he gave me was to apply paintable calk to every joint between trim and wall, including the baseboards, using a caulking gun to fill the gap, then running my forefinger down the joint, applying just the right amount of pressure to create the slightest indentation with no remaining caulk on wall or trim, all before the caulking started to set up.
Every hour I wasn't working, I spent prepping the trim, walls, and ceilings, sanding, priming, caulking, filling nail holes, and repairing minor blemishes left by the sheet rockers, in preparation for getting out the brushes and rollers for actually applying the paint. Prep to paint time was about four to one. But I knew the end result would be well worth it.
I think you might suspect where I'm going with this. In its current iteration, this blog is about writing a novel. Yet truth be told, I've been doing very little actual writing of the novel. I mean crafting the words that will be on the finished page. That's because I've been doing my prep work.
Writing a novel really is like building a house or remodeling one. If the book is going to sell, the ratio of prep work to story telling may well turn out to be four to one. I won't know until the whole process is finished. What I find different about writing though, is that the prep work is really quite enjoyable. Not quite as much fun as writing dialogue or description maybe, but a different kind of fun.
And very rewarding because I know in the end it will be like walking into that freshly painted new space at my old house. Satisfaction in the knowledge of a job well done. And most likely, the beginning of an itch to get going on that kitchen remodel I've had in the back of my mind the whole time I've been painting.
More later.
One day I forgot to take my anti-insanity pill and committed myself to paint every square inch of the basement we were having remodeled. I mean every square foot of sheetrock that had to be primed and painted, and every piece of trim that had to be primed, have nail holes filled, be sanded, and painted two coats.
Our contractor was a friend and long time colleague and knew all too well the tight budget we were on. His job manager very kindly gave me every painting tip he had, of which there were many, as that crew had to be versatile as well as proficient.
The best tip he gave me was to apply paintable calk to every joint between trim and wall, including the baseboards, using a caulking gun to fill the gap, then running my forefinger down the joint, applying just the right amount of pressure to create the slightest indentation with no remaining caulk on wall or trim, all before the caulking started to set up.
Every hour I wasn't working, I spent prepping the trim, walls, and ceilings, sanding, priming, caulking, filling nail holes, and repairing minor blemishes left by the sheet rockers, in preparation for getting out the brushes and rollers for actually applying the paint. Prep to paint time was about four to one. But I knew the end result would be well worth it.
I think you might suspect where I'm going with this. In its current iteration, this blog is about writing a novel. Yet truth be told, I've been doing very little actual writing of the novel. I mean crafting the words that will be on the finished page. That's because I've been doing my prep work.
Writing a novel really is like building a house or remodeling one. If the book is going to sell, the ratio of prep work to story telling may well turn out to be four to one. I won't know until the whole process is finished. What I find different about writing though, is that the prep work is really quite enjoyable. Not quite as much fun as writing dialogue or description maybe, but a different kind of fun.
And very rewarding because I know in the end it will be like walking into that freshly painted new space at my old house. Satisfaction in the knowledge of a job well done. And most likely, the beginning of an itch to get going on that kitchen remodel I've had in the back of my mind the whole time I've been painting.
More later.
February 4, 2013
Wrong Fork
Months ago, I had an idea for a novel. A good one. Something happened and one day my novel was a cartoon I didn't like or recognize, nor did I think anyone would want to read it. It helps to have a guy who lives in my house, reads a lot, and reads the pitch on the back of the books he buys.
He reminded me of my original story. That perhaps what it means to write the story that must be told that only you can tell means not losing the voice in which you best write, and the story can be a simple one, but true to your time and your experience. He got hooked by that little story back then and reminded me the hook has to be extraordinary. It can be simple, but it must be extraordinary.
I'd gotten all philosophical and got the idea my story had to be timeless, embrace deep, universal themes, and perhaps one day become a classic. Becoming too ambitious can kill a good idea. That little story had spunk, and it was original. So I've gone back to it. Much happier now.
More later.
He reminded me of my original story. That perhaps what it means to write the story that must be told that only you can tell means not losing the voice in which you best write, and the story can be a simple one, but true to your time and your experience. He got hooked by that little story back then and reminded me the hook has to be extraordinary. It can be simple, but it must be extraordinary.
I'd gotten all philosophical and got the idea my story had to be timeless, embrace deep, universal themes, and perhaps one day become a classic. Becoming too ambitious can kill a good idea. That little story had spunk, and it was original. So I've gone back to it. Much happier now.
More later.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)