Method to my Madness Monday: My Writing Season

Stephen King said that you should write a novel in a season.

Yeah, I get that.

You need to stay in that flow.

Up until now, I’ve written every novel in a period of about three months. The first two – Saved By the Music and The Girl Next Door ­– I wrote together in three months. (Not recommended – but good for a jolt to your writing process – akin to jumping into the ocean during winter.)

The thing is: when you’re feeling it, you’re feeling it. You have to go with it. The more you stop, the more time you have to waste getting started again. Warming up...and even remembering what the heck you were getting at when you walked away.

A sampling of my latest notes. (Scrivener doesn't work for me.)
Can you imagine trying to figure this out months or even years later?

If you stay away from your WIP for awhile, you have to figure out what points you already made, what you still have to work in...and you have to get to the heart of your purpose all over again.

This current novel is in its fifth year – but not really. I wrote what I thought was the novel five years ago – but it turned out to be the bones of the novel. It was the true grit of it – the deep emotion. But I had the structure all wrong – and I had to find a cohesive path for the character to feel all those emotions.


I  had to put some flesh on those bones - and pack some fat in between, too.

It took me the interim years to work up the nerve to do this. Piecing those bones together had been so painful!

As I’ve said before, this is my most ambitious endeavor timeline-wise. My other novels take place in a period of months. This novel has a forty year span. It’s almost as hard figuring out what to leave out as it is to write it.

So I took out the draft and I went over it and I rearranged and cut and added – and now I’m in the home stretch.

Finally, this draft, I’m writing my novel within a season.

 

Feels good!

And who am to contradict a master?

Read this book if you haven't.
You really can learn from a master - and his story of writing CARRIE is awesome!
Quite an inspiration!

Tightrope Tuesday: Brimming with Words and Trying to Relate

The college applications are in (except for CUNY schools, due 2/1) and we’ve moved onto the financial aid stage. I’ve filled out the federal form, but I’m confused about the CSS profile from the College Board (AKA: Highway Robbers.) Is it necessary, and why? It is expensive, or course – because it they could, the College Board would charge you for the air you breathe while taking the SATs.

I’m also moving towards the end of my latest novel. An exciting time, but also hard because when I’m in that zone, it’s hard to think about anything else. Imagine trying to live in two worlds at once. Something’s going to suffer.

Then there’s my younger son, Casey. I feel like I should be giving him more attention.

I took the kids to see RENT recently, and Casey loved it (yea!) This, after he practically had to be shanghaied to go. We’re going to watch the movie this weekend.

And I took him shoe shopping.

Other than that, Casey prefers to be with his friends – either on-line or in person. I guess this is normal, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m doing something wrong.

With Michael, it’s so easy. We can laugh at anything together. We both love Hard Core Pawn, and have a plan to journey to Detroit (the heart of Detroit’s 8 Mile, to be exact) to see American Jewelry and Loan in person. I want to meet Les Gold, the owner. I don’t even know why, but I do. I just love that show. And the great thing is, Michael’s down for it, too. We want to bring things to sell, and we’ve got a plan. We have to bring them all in separately, because if you bring it all together you get an offer for the lot, which is never enough.

These are the things we talk about. What do you talk about with your kids?

Casey, on the other hand, would never be up for a road trip to Detroit. He wouldn’t even entertain such a discussion.

My kids are so different.

It’s not that I don’t relate with Casey, but the relating seems to come in dribs and drabs, while it’s always there with Michael. But I do have a rapport with Casey – and he knows he can always talk to me, no judgments.

What can I do but take it day by day? I’m not complaining – I’m just unloading my brain, and possibly not very coherently, I’m afraid.

It’s hard to walk this tightrope of parenthood – and even harder with all these novel thoughts brimming from my soul.

But I’m grateful for everything.

Method to my Madness Monday: The Things I've Left Behind

My latest novel is in some ways my greatest challenge. Is this because it’s deeply personal?  No. I’ve written novels like that before. One of them was so emotionally close that it nearly killed me.

Okay, this book is not that challenging – thankfully. But it is my biggest test plot-wise, and in its overall breadth, if that makes any sense. My novels thus far have covered a very limited period of time. One of them covered a summer. Another spanned ten months, the other two – maybe a year. This novel covers forty years of a life. Talk about an epic journey!

A lot of scenes are required in a book like this. I’ve been told a novel must be in at least 80% scene. Problem: scenes take up more room than summary/telling. With so much space being occupied by extra scenes in this revision (because of the 80% rule), it sadly followed that some plot points needed to be dropped – or the endeavor would be 1,000 pages long!

Have you read The Things They Carried? (You should.) In the midst of writing this novel, I’m mourning for the things I’ve left behind.

The first thing to go was the most poignant love affair the character experienced. Why? First, because it was too much of a diversion from the main theme of the book. Second, because it required too much of a set-up and explanation – for which there was just no room!

The second thing to go was a set of secondary characters who were quite amusing and animated, but they also took up too much room for the limited amount of time they were part of my character’s life. I couldn't justify building up a personal trainer (pardon the pun) who would only be around for a few years, or a shrink who was present for a few months. In real life we gain insight from many people we encounter. In fiction, it’s richer and more satisfying to meld these people into one strong secondary character, who will act as the main character's “go to” for the bulk of the story.

The third thing to go was a collection of funny and poignant scenes that did not pull their weight in yanking the plot forward. They were well-written and satisfying and I hope to publish them in a collection of short stories, because they hold up on their own – but in this novel they were like boulders strapped around the plot’s waist, weighing it down.

So many pages have been cut – valiant, fallen soldiers who fought the good fight but made the ultimate sacrifice for the cause. Writing a novel is in fact like dodging bullets on a battlefield, but they’re the ultimate friendly-fire because the sharp shooter aiming at you is you. This is impossible to fathom if you’re not a writer.

It’s hard to fathom even if you are one.

My Aunt Olga the violinist once told me an amusing musician’s break-up line: “I love you darling, but the season is over.”

The same may be said to the things I’ve left behind.