Getting to know you…

In my last post I mentioned how the Huguenots made a surprise appearance. I thought I was writing about the Huguenots, but I discovered this was not so. I was writing about one of my secondary characters.

Back in August, in More!, we talked about secondary characters. Yet, the full implications of my post did not fully hit home for me until yesterday. I suppose it’s human nature to not realize I had something to learn until I learn it.

Anyway, yesterday, this secondary character had a moment when she decided to become leading lady. There was so much about this woman, my MC’s midwife, that came out. I thought I knew my midwife, or all I needed to know about her, yet here I was diving through her childhood and romances. I am always amazed at what the mind produces when I think its dormant- this is one of my favorite things about writing.

I was a little startled while writing, a little nervous, but I let it come: where was this going? Was she trying to take over? Then I realized, no. I had remained in my MCs POV. She was getting to know her midwife. She was shocked at how much there was in this woman who tended her, so much she had never seen, or even supposed. So, at the end of all this I had learned something crucial about my MC.

Now that I know this particular secondary character all that much better I find I have a new connection with this novel. There are more layers, more nuances, and it is oh so much more interesting! I am curious to see when re-drafting how much her character has developed from her initial introduction. Perhaps, it is not about getting to know my characters, but about giving them room to grow into themselves.

We talked about the story having a life of its own…

Today I was writing when suddenly the Huguenots made an appearance.

My midwife said something like this: “My ma was a Roman Catholic, my pa of Huguenot ancestry.”

I had no intention of writing about this part of history – my setting for this part of the story is 1914. I did not realize I had been thinking about the Huguenots, but obviously I had been, somewhere. I think that the Huguenots represent an element of such mystery and horror to me that they found their way into the story all on their own. Next thing I knew my mc was discussing history post Bloody Mary. Ok, what’s going on? I asked myself.

I re-read and re-read what I had written. Normally I just write without pause, yet this was so unexpected that I had to stop.

Was this out of character? No, it was  just a short dialogue. My MC is an amateur historian.  Her midwife an educated woman.

Yet I wondered, what did this snippet of detail contribute, other than satisfying my own fascination? I had no idea, so I decided to make a note for myself, add a footnote, and continue on. Maybe the appearance of the Huguenots would have a purpose I could not yet deduce, or maybe not. Not, I could just cut in a later draft.

Perhaps this will reflect a trait of my midwife; perhaps there will be correlation with the war of 1914; or maybe it will be about my MC, and her response to this info about her midwife.

Amazing how one little line can creep into my book and cause all this mayhem. I look forward to seeing what it will turn itself into.

Oh Canada.

Last night was Giller night. I was startled to realize one year had already passed, and as many of you know last year’s winner (Through Black Spruce) is one of my all time favorites. Tough competition in my eyes. I have not read this year’s winner, The Bishop’s Man, I actually haven’t read any on the short list (shame on me!), but I certainly will. I admit I did not watch the awards last night, but I pvrd it.

I did catch part of a pre-Giller show on Arts & Minds (bravo tv) which had the short list authors as its panel.

A clip caught my attention: Margaret Atwood, recalling her first book launch in the men’s department of the Hudson’s Bay Co. She said, in the 60s in Canada, if my memory serves me, a grand total of 7 novels were pressed by a Canadian Publisher.

Yet, what has been on my mind today is the whole Can Lit phenomena. The Pre-Giller show was discussing this when I tuned to it, questioning one of the authors if she felt her literature was Canadian enough. Well, this startled me. Canadian enough? Had she betrayed her Canadian heritage? She patiently replied no. The hostess then asked if the authors thought about their Canadian identity when writing. Another curve ball to me. Have I ever sat down and thought, ok, I am Canadian, now I write?

I was happy when two authors announced that if a writer were to ever do so, the novel would be horrible.

One of the judges had made a statement that in the long list there were some fabulous novels, yet at the same time there was some horrible Canadian lit. You can read her thoughts here, should you desire. She mentions that most characters are tuque wearing country bumpkins, ok I added in the bumpkins part. I am certain this is true, and I am certain that a lot of Canadian literature is horrible. It makes me giggle that we had to point this out – are Canadians supposes to be above horribleness?

Anyway, all of this to say, that when I write, the fact that I am Canadian has never consciously risen. Aside from the fact that Vancouver, Toronto, and Montreal are entirely different cities. Perhaps we should add in this distinction now as well. I do know that my environment plays a part in shaping me, which turns dictates my writing.  For some reason the British author, Louis de Bernieres comes to mind. He can take on the voice of any ethnicity accurately, at least he convinces me.  Perhaps there is such a thing as Can Lit, and I just don’t see it.  Yet, I think I Colin McAdam voiced it perfectly on the panel last night when he said, Can Lit? What’s that?

Sometimes things follow you…

This past week has been filled with doctors, and ultrasounds, and vaccine clinics, and this week will be filled with kids at home due to swine flu at schools. When I have days, or weeks, or as it turns out, months like these, I rely on my fiction. Nothing like loosing myself in a good book (writing or reading).

Lined up for my reads were: Santa Olivia, by Jacqueline Carey and The Year of the Flood, by Margaret Atwood.

Little did I know that both these books were about the aftereffects of a flu pandemic (I suppose I should read jacket covers more often.) Such different authors broaching the same subject, yet certain elements of the books are surprisingly similar. Both have the Texas border sealed off. In Carey’s novel the street kids find a home in a Church. In Atwood’s novel the street kids find a home in a ‘new-age’ clan, God’s Gardeners. I am still reading them, and will see how the novels will diverge, yet both have thus far shuffled between an adult and a child pov.

I suppose that both these authoresses were inspired by the events of last year’s swine flu.  This post is not about any revelation of mine, or any breakthroughs, but is really just about the reminder I had of how susceptible we are to our environment.  Writing is such a solitary practice, yet daily activities, and even global events will find their way into our stories, be it in the form of a character or as a major plot. Sometimes I forget this.

Intuition vs intellect

Coming out of a wonderful Halloween weekend, I happened to catch  part of a segment of Writer’s Confessions on Book TV. The topic: muse. Perfect for a creepy, gusty, weekend.

This wonderful series covers so many different topics, and features many literary writers. You can see some clips by clicking on the link above.

One thing all these writer’s had in common was the idea that the best writing is done without thought, by giving oneself over to the story and characters. Many of these writers are professors, yet they all said that when writing a first draft the intellect must be put aside. Otherwise you fail your muse.

Where does the muse come from? One author said that being a writer is akin to being a patient with split personality. Another said it is tales and personae that seep into us from our world.

Intuition. Do not think about your outcome, do not think about your path, let you intuition write for you. We should be surprised, surprised by ourselves and what we bring forth. One author spoke of the writer being able to reach a point of levitation – he compared it to the transcendence Buddhists experience. He said he reached this point once in writing, and hopes he can reach it again.

I rely on my intuition when writing. In the last year I have feared that I have done so on too large a degree, thinking that more of my work should be done consciously. I am learning that the intellect must take over once the intuition has laid down its foundation. Contrary, when I began writing I only believed in intuition, refusing even to edit lines that my intuition created. One author said (I am sorry I took no notes and cannot remember who said what!) that even when sitting down to begin a new piece do not think of theme or plot. Go in with a blank slate and let your muse create.

This past week I spent editing a short piece that I wrote maybe 2 or 3 years ago, not long after I began writing. I know where my muse came from for this particular story, and the story wrote itself. I recently gave it to my critique group, and now decided to go in and edit. I tried to let my intellect guide my intuition, not wanting to lose the atmosphere my subconscious had created (I could never do this on a conscious level – never – and it just amazes me.)

The end result was a crisper, cleaner, piece. But better, what my intuition had been trying to display was now even more evident.

Do you struggle with the balance of your intuition and intellect when writing and editing? Do you find you favor one more than the other?

My 2 three word wednesday

Incubate
Nightmare
Vanity

These three little words, provided by Three Word Wednesday were a delight to me. I checked them out, went to tuck the little ones in tight, and let the words work their magic. As the bedtime stories were Halloween ones, well, here goes:

The unrest.

It manifests itself after an incubation.

It reveals its form, a nightmare.

The howls are external, growing from within.

The vanity. The ego. Does not allow it to be seen.

I tried to go lighter, but the word vanity stumped me. Then, I tried to go younger, and had a lot of fun:

The nightmare has come! The nightmare has come!

Quick, it is time to hide! Into the incubator, and shut the latch tight!

Do not move, do not groan, for lest you will be found.

Soon he will come back around.

Grunts you will hear. Snorting and snuffing,

but do not fear.

All your needs will be provided for until all is clear.

For vanity will haven taken the beast for a fanciful feast,

where children do not hide, with tricks that lock them tight.

Writer’s block – and I didn’t even know it.

Looking back, I see that many of my posts speak of my battle with returning to writing after a stint away. I suppose this is  a period in my life which is very unpredictable, (and I must admit time management has never been my forte).

During this last period of unrest, I found myself writing in my head when I should have been sleeping. I lay awake night after night, re-writing scenes, creating new ones, and even entire short stories. I had rediscovered the joy in writing. I had not even realized I had lost it.

When I began writing, I wrote with the sole purpose of writing. I had no ulterior motives.  Publishing was a goal, not a purpose, and it was also not something I was scared of. And I also knew that I had to gather experience before publishing would be possible.

When did things change? I think when I came very close to finding representation for my first novel this summer, and did not. Somehow, publication became my purpose. I began blocking myself when writing – was this good enough? Would I have to rewrite and rewrite? Would this novel end up shelved? The worst part of all of this, was that I was not aware I was doing this.

Unable to sit at a computer and write, I returned to story telling (even if I was my sole audience). I had freed myself in doing so, and when I sat down to write a week ago, I was able to do so with joy again. I dissolved into my story, became my characters, and was taken. I did not worry about my prose, or if the plot followed a proper time line, or word count, or, or. I just wrote. And the thought of editing to fix all of these deviations became something I looked forward to. I loved editing my first novel. I loved seeing myself progress with each draft, and how I grew as a writer.

I have always been told that distance from one’s craft can be good, yet I had never experienced the benefits until now. Usually I return frustrated that I lost time, with a large amount of material that needs out.

Have you had to cope with writer’s block? If so, how did you manage it?

Walking the landscape.

It`s been a few weeks, but this post goes back to my last post about landscape. A few days after I posted last I had a chance to read an essay in The Writer`s Notebook, Craft Essays from Tin House. This particular book was recommended by Cynthia a little while back.

How appropriate that the first essay in the notebook was entitled Place, by Dorothy Allison.

“Place is not just landscape,” she states. “Place is feeling, and feeling is something the character expresses. More, it is something the writer puts on the page – articulates with deliberate purpose.”

articulates with deliberate purpose. This sentence captured the whole editorial process for me. At times, donning the editorial hat is tricky for me – it keeps falling off. I tend to get wrapped up in the story, the grip of emotions, without ensuring that every element moves the story forward. At which point, I need to go back X pages and begin again.

“I need an actual person walking the landscape, responding to it, telling me, in fact how he or she wound up there.”

“Place is emotion.”

“Place is people.”

“Place is visual detail…conditions….place requires context.”

I tend to write in close third person, except for shorts which often come out in first person. I find that writing in this way, I have a greater connection to my characters. I also prefer readings book in this pov, for the same reason of connection. When writing a description I tend to ask myself, what does my character see? I am very visual in my writing – if I cannot see it, I cannot write it. Next, and almost more important, is what does my character feel in response to what she sees? What is the reaction / response?

Allison`s essay, brought my self-posed questions to a higher level, and encapsulated all that I was trying to do on a subconscious level. Sometimes, becoming aware of these automated editorial process we each have makes everything clearer. Seeing my surroundings, something so commonplace, as powerful is new for me, and quite amazing.

“Story happens from what we put on the page and what the reader takes off the page. The reader does not always take off the page what we imagine we have put there. “

All quotes from Dorothy Allison`s essay Place, published in The Writer`s Notebook.

People in landscape

A few days ago I read this post by Joseph.

I grew up in the city. My childhood was filled with streets, cars, bikes, buses and metros, trains, and people. Lots of people everywhere. But, no landscape. Unless you count Mont-Royal. Architecture yes, a view – no.

When I was a young adult I traveled, and all my photos were of landscape, not of faces. I remember standing and shooting the Syrian mountains for hours. Waterfalls. Oceans, seas. Bedouin tents. Bombed buildings aside apartment buildings. Wildlife. Mountain goats (my childhood nickname from my parents – what does that say about me??). Southern shanty towns. Ok. Some of these are not the most desirable kind of landscape (and I have even probably expanded the definition of landscape) to be surrounded by, but I was in awe. I hardly ever took a photo of a person. At home, I had plenty of people, in all forms, shapes, and sizes (gotta love Montreal for that alone ). All my friends always told me I took the most boring pictures EVER!

Does my writing include pages and pages of scenery and description? No, but when editing I do come across gorgeous prose that just goes nowhere because all it did was describe a room for two paragraphs too long. Slash, slash. Painful, but necessary. I can read description though, and when reading older literature I am at times envious of the fact that the author was given permission to ramble on for pages at a time, describing detail.

When I grew up some more, faces became interesting again. She was mad, she sad, he anxious. Each face told a story, a thousand stories. One of my top priorities is to visit Angkor Wat. Ancient city, jungle, and faces. Massive faces carved out of stone staring at you from every angle. I have seen slide-shows from a family member who has returned to Petra, and I am always in awe at the presence these faces hold.

Painting provided by courtesy of Robert Brown (acrylic).

So, faces found their way back into my photos. As Joseph pointed out, landscape without people is boring.

I was thinking about this last night, and wondered if it is perhaps my fascination with people that led me to begin writing as an adult. (As a child and pre-teen that was a whole other kind of motivation). But, then I thought, no, for me it is their stories.

How do you use description in your writing?

This is one big complaint

I’ve been reading some books that are just not doing it for me lately. I am not talking trash here, like in my post To trash or not to trash. One is a fantasy book that you will see in my sidebar, and took me weeks too long to read. Another is a historical fiction (that I haven’t put there yet). Both received great reviews. Both seemed interesting and light – just what I needed. To hop into a world and be taken away. Yet, this didn’t happen with either.

Still, I read, and continue. I am not capable of quitting a book without getting to the end. I asked myself why do I continue? The characters, I told myself with the fantasy novel. I want to see where things are going, even though this is the first in a set of three. I even find myself considering reading the other two just because I began the series.

In the historical fiction book, I read because I should like it. Does that make any sense?

The novel is written by a woman who spent years researching it. She has a list of credentials and endorsements. Plus, I bought it, so I have to read it. The other came from the library.

The main problem for me with both novels is so simple I cannot understand why the editors did not insist on the change. The POV switches non-stop between characters. And I don’t mean at intended points or three asterisks or end sections, I mean from one paragraph to the next, and multiple times and viewpoints.

As a reader this is my biggest pet peeve. How can I get to know anyone this way? And, how can I trust the author?

So, what do I learn from this? Two things: 1. anything can be published (sorry for being so cynical) and 2. make certain I do not make the same mistake.
Ok 3 things. People will read (I did).

As a reader and writer, what is your big pet peeves when reading?

PS. This goes against my outlook of, if you have nothing good to say, don’t say it all. I just had to get this out – it’s been bugging me!