Blog Trek

Life And Art On Parallel Courses

I seem to be spending a lot of time in the card shops or at least the card sections of local stores lately.  Birthdays aren't the only reason I'm there--condolence cards have been bought and paid for by me more in the last few weeks than I ever remember.

I guess that old adage about everything coming in sets of 3 is true, or maybe it's just that these people were all elderly and summer, with its heat, seems to take more than energy out of us.  I was relieved to buy birthday cards, three of them fun and one sentimental, and an engagement card on my last trip to Target.  Then I heard about another death on my mother's side of the family over the weekend.  The cycle evidently wasn't over after all.

We all have to deal with the Grim Reaper, but I think I've had enough of him in real life.  This is at a time in my second draft of "Indelible" where I have to revise the chapters where the two protagonists have to deal with sudden death and then the chapter about the funeral.  While I realize that in this case, fiction and reality are not related, they do seem to be on somewhat of a parallel path. 

I'll need to make sure I get out and socialize, so I don't fall into a Real Funk.  While a bonefide R F will do wonders for my bonding with my characters and getting into their heads, it can also result in me becoming quite blue and introverted, thereby isolating myself.  Then life will really imitate art, and I could spend the rest of the summer under a cloud that follows me wherever I go.  The uplifting part of "Indelible" will happen after all these events that really do bring the protagonists to their darkest hour and their moment of revelation, or at least on Kaylen's part.  Brian is still a bit dense where his feelings are concerned, and he will have to confront them more frequently, and painfully, as the second and third books come together.

In the meantime, I make sure I let plenty of light into the apartment and get out in the fresh air and sun more frequently.  It's good to remember life and the living at times like this.

"All That Glitters" cover

After hitting my operated toe on the footstool in my living room yesterday, and thereby, as my podiatrist termed it "displacing but not dislocating it," I needed a bit of good news.  And yesterday evening, I got it: my completed book cover for "All That Glitters."

Right now, it's visible on Alameda Writers Groups members' books page, along with the blurb:

http://www.alamedawritersgroup.org/members/bymembers.html?a=3889&ref

In February, it will go up on Awe-Struck's website and will be available for purchase.

No, it did not take my mind of my painful foot, but at least it did take the edge off.

Switching Gears

I'm in Chapter 5 of ALL THAT GLITTERS.  I stopped writing to send another article to Blogcritics, then was asked to revise that article a couple of times before it got published over the weekend.  Therefore, I did not do any work on ALL THAT GLITTERS, let alone get back to revisions of ROSE TATTOO, or write more pages of its sequel, SWIFT JUSTICE.

Now I'm having trouble going between the mystery/suspense with a romantic subplot and the romance with a mystery subplot.  I find myself making the romance couple too strong, and the mystery/suspense protagonists too weak.  It's an issue that will only be resolved when I get the partial completed and on its way.

It used to be easier, for some reason.  I could write 2 novels in 2 different genres at the same time.  Either my brain is going on hiatus, or perhaps because I'm writing on a deeper level, emotionally, it's just not so easy to turn of or turn on the appropriate feelings/reactions/etc.

So, I really have to complete this partial.  No whining or complaining.  After all, I am the one that wanted to stop the presses and get this done.

I have no one to blame but myself.

Hitting the Nail on the Head

I've got to say that most of the time, I find Simon Cowell just plain annoying, past opinionated and pompous.  Which is what he wants to project, and probably what keeps people watching American Idol.

I find him SO annoying, that I don't watch most of the shows.  In fact, I missed the final show yesterday because I was too tired to deal with him, and instead, finished my paperwork from the day and watched a 2 hour CSI on Spike TV. 

But, having said all that, I do have to admit sometimes he has a way with words that would be envied by any novelist.  I just read a comment from dear Simon that compared winner, Taylor Hicks' moves on stage to "a drunken dad at a wedding."

A thumbnail sketch with the keenest observation.  A character description I would give my eye teeth for when I'm describing one of my own.

Maybe I should take some Pepto Bismol or a shot of something stronger and make myself watch American Idol next season.

Revisions, revisions

The more I change, the more I need to change.  The revisions are not finished.  I have changed and chopped and now parts of my manuscript need additional work to smooth out the rough edges.  It's really a complicated game, or perhaps it's a complicated web we writers weave.  When you remove one thread, you end up changing more than you bargained for, and sometimes, creating a hole.

I have tinkered and tinkered with one scene.  The more I change, the more I need to change.  I'm finding all sorts of analogies, like trying to stop a hemorrhage, or plugging the hole in a dike, but when it comes right down to it, the problem is that chopping what is deemed to be excess wood results in ruining the flow.  Now I have to fix dialogue, actions and reactions to restore that forward thrust.

It's at moments like this that I doubt my abilities, but when those thoughts arise, I put down my red pen, close down my computer and take a break.  The mind can only take so much before it rebels, and right now, bed looks like a great restorative force to me.

If that doesn't work, my car is dirty inside and out, and needs a total clean.  Now that should drive me back to the manuscript.

Revising

The revisions go on.  I gave the first 50 pages another cleaning this evening, tried to move one phrase before saving and lost all the revisions I had made this evening.  While my brain was still in the semi-fresh state, I vented my spleen, rebooted and put them all back in.  I don't understand why my computer went nuts when asked to copy one sentence, but at least I've completed 3 chapters.

It's amazing how a fresh eye can stimulate me to cut so much and also add some clarifications.  What appeared to be just fine now looks overcrowded.  I found similar phrases and mannerisms that had slid right past me when I did the last draft.

I suppose it's that old adage about a writer never being satisfied with anything.  I have heard that many a published author can't even look at his or her earlier work, because it needs revising.  Nothing ever seems to be completely polished, spot-free and untouchable.

I guess that's just the nature of the written word.

Getting behind the mask

My leg is improving, although I have yet to either:  a.) ride my stationary bicycle  b.) go hiking  c.) wear my tennis shoes.  I have recited the story of my accident to several people who were observant enough, but with most of my leg covered, I have found most people aren't that observant, or they never look at my legs.  This could be because I'm getting older and there's nothing to look at, or perhaps they think it would be rude to do so. 

It has been hotter than hell again around here.  It makes doing anything constructive difficult and uncomfortable.  Hanging around under the air conditioner becomes a daily distraction and much preferable to sweating with the high humidity and trying to be productive in anything.  This morning I got outside and cleaned my car and watered the yard before the afternoon heat set in.  Then I stopped ignoring my need to reconcile my finances and made myself get that horrible job tackled.  I checked my email accounts.  Now I have to call my cousin in San Diego back and then I can actually sit down and write. 

My critique group wanted to know what motivated my male protagonist to act the way he does.  They wondered why he wasn't all warm and fuzzy.  I think it was probably unfortunate that they received pages from a fellow writer with a hero who definitely is warm and fuzzy and the new, sensitive male.  My protagonist, Brian, isn't that kind of guy.  As a detective with a hard upbringing, he's sharp around the edges and unwilling to open himself up to anyone, although he does have the ability to do so (he's not made of concrete.)  I decided to ask him for a few more details of his history, and as with some characters, that was like opening a flood gate.  He proceeded to tell me more than I probably will ever use in this novel, and getting him to shut up became more of a chore than asking him to open up.

Some characters come easier than others, I've found through experience.  Some arrive complete, whole and ready to go.  Their motivations are easy to see, their histories are open books.  Others arrive murky or moody.  They grudgingly reveal themselves bit by bit, chapter to chapter, until by the end of the manuscript, they may have given enough of a framework to complete their traits and motivation, or they may not have done so.  Sometimes it's like pulling hen's teeth, which happens in real life, too. 

When that happens, I usually have to sit down and open a dialogue.  It's to their benefit, I tell them, to let me past their suits of armor.  I'm not going to harm them, but they may have to go through more angst than they appear to be willing to suffer in order to grow and become capable of stepping off the page and lingering in the memories of the readers long after they have put down the book. 

In real life, we all hide behind some sort of facade, even if we tell ourselves we don't.  Laying ourselves wide open to any and all isn't the way of the world.  It also leaves us completely vulnerable to whoever wants to step on our sensibilities.  Why should our characters be any different?

Inspiration

There are those stories that when you see the plotlines, you think "Why didn't I think of that?"

Recently, I have said those words twice.  The first time was when I saw that someone had brought Alice back to Wonderland as a disturbed adult woman who has to deal with endless teaparties, talking animals and the Red Queen.  First as a game, then as a movie plot.  Inspired, I thought, and making me very jealous.

The second time was tonight, when I saw the write up on CARPE DEMON by Julie Kenner.  Her heroine took a Buffy Summers-like character (BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER) from Sunnydale, made her all grown up, gave her a different identity and name (Kate Connor) and sent her to live as a stay-at-home soccer mom in the 'burbs.  She hasn't dealt with demon slaying in a while, until one arrives in the pet food aisle of the local market and then crashes into her kitchen.  A second inspired person, and damn--it wasn't me.

These two storylines take the old adage "there are no new stories" and put a fabulously inventive twist on them.  I haven't seen the game or the movie or the book yet, but the very ideas make me want to see the results.  I blogged the other day on how Hollywood was the land of lackluster sequels.  These are sequels as they should be: fresh and new and totally enticing.  Like ALIENS, like BACK TO THE FUTURE.  Don't just make it a continuation of an old story--put a fresh spin on it and what was old becomes new again--and very lucrative.  CARPE DEMON has already been optioned by Chris Columbus and 1492.

I'm already smelling popcorn and programming my parking spot in the lot opposite the theatre.

The baby or the bathwater

I threw out the baby but kept the bathwater.  At least, I hope I did. 

The bathwater I'm referring to is the framework of my novel.  The baby was a pesky chapter that wouldn't go right despite the work I put into it over a two week period.  It was like a bad smell that can't be pinpointed.  Something reeked, but what?

It was one of those talking-heads chapters where there is a lot of conversation, but it didn't matter what I did with it, the characters always ended up just chatting and not really giving any information.  I could get them to talk AT each other but not to talk TO each other.

It's like that in real life, sometimes, but fiction, no matter how well it's written, is never exactly like real life, or it would fail to entertain.  We always strive to advance the plot and these two people weren't advancing anything except the page numbers.

Finally, after I stopped pushing and took two days to just mull things over, while driving down the freeway from La Crescenta, it came to me.  I must throw the whole thing out.

Being a brave soul, but also being cautious (after all, this was an entire chapter we are talking about here,) I copied the chapter to another file before deleting it and replacing it with the new chapter.  In fact, I then went on to rewrite the following 3 chapters and they actually flow a lot better, at least to my own mind, and yes, folks, the plot is advancing, although it's beginning to go off in a different direction that I know is going to haunt me in the next part of the manuscript.

No matter.  As long as it makes sense to the critique group, I believe I may be on a different track, but it could be the right one this time.

Writing is always an adventure.

Where did all the creativity go?

I just read an article from the L.A. Times's entertainment section.  It confirmed what I have felt over the last few years--the film industry has lost its mind and its creativity. 

I know I sound like I'm old and full of sour grapes, but I have said the same thing about the publishing industry for the last few years also.  When a story gets told, several other versions of it come out in quick succession (THE TRUMAN STORY and ED TV were 2 examples quoted in the article and that instantly came to mind when I started reading.)  How about the comet and the end of the world as we know it?  And incidentally, how many boxing movies are going to come out before the execs realize that no one is paying to see them anymore?  I give you CINDERELLA MAN as an example.  A period piece set in the 30's and about a washed up boxer who galvanized a nation, supposedly.  We have been subjected to MILLION DOLLAR BABY, FIGHT CLUB, ROCKY in all his incarnations, THE HURRICANE and I forget what else. 

The same thing occurs in publishing:  take an idea and keep churning it out with different characters and different settings until it's so overdone that the books bomb as big as the movies.

There are supposedly only a limited amount of ideas and ways to tell them.  I disagree.  There are unlimited ideas and the key to success is in finding inventive ways to tell them.  Every time a writer gets an idea, he or she should be trying to make that idea better.  All too frequently, it looks like something that comes out of a brainstorming session is taken immediately into production or the first version of a book gets sent to the presses. 

The hardest thing is for new writers to break into any of the medias, yet we are told that the medias are also screaming out for new ideas.  Perhaps the problem is that they keep going back to the same wells, and the wells are running dry.  Tapping new wells would seem to be a great solution if we were talking farming or developing nations, but for movies, books & television, this absolutely doesn't apply.

No wonder there has been such a booming Independent movie business.  I can see the same thing happening in publishing, even if it's in epublishing, which is something akin to "straight to video."  The cutting edge will always be out there, trying to get their voices heard; their material watched or read; their fresh, new ideas validated.

We should all be giving them a round of applause.  Creativity lives, even if it's not given much recognition. 

It beats yet another round in the boxing ring any time.