Words, and Other Catastrophies

It seems that I’m a lazy writer.

Oh really?

So I don’t like the query process… The thought of trying to distill eighty thousand words into less than one page makes me sick–perhaps that’s why I had gastro last week.

Then there’s the synopsis. All that marketing speak–it’s completely unnatural for a writer to write like that. If I knew how to market, I would work in marketing–there’s a lot more mony in it, guaranteed.

To all of that, I say: Meh

So call me lazy. Actually, please don’t. I’ve just written eighty thousand words, and rewritten them, and edited them, only to find a hundred holes so I patched them up, which caused a rewrite. I’m on draft 4, officially, which doesn’t take into account all of the unofficial drafts and the sleepless nights.

So, just try calling me a lazy writer…

I just wish somebody else would do the boring bits for me. Any takers?

this is (not) me, being lazy--god, how I wish...

Talk about schizophrenic.

I am literally writing everyday at the moment, and I’ve never written such a diverse array of material. Whether it’s this blog, or this website, or even…

Photo by Striatic via Flickr CC

1. The autobiography I’m ghostwriting/co-writing

 

Not entirely unfamiliar with non-fiction writing thanks to the years as a journalist. Plus, I ask a lot of questions. Still, I’m using someone else’s words and can’t embellish–that’s been very hard. It’s meant a lot of focus, and really getting into Simonne’s mind and voice, which seems to come naturally. I feel like I’m possessed.

While draft three is with four readers and I’m writing my agent queries, I’ve been redrafting…

Photo by gogoloopie via Flickr CC

2. A short story

I grabbed a chapter from an old manuscript that centred on a telephone call. It explores my usual obsession with death, but also looks at a woman who is schizophrenic and plays with suicide.

Looking at this story, and previous one, The Seventh Day, the main protagonists are barely present in their own lives. They skirt around the edges, and we see them through others. It’s like drawing with charcoal. You shade around the picture you want to see, leaving light on the page. That’s what these characters are. Other people surround them and form them, even when they don’t say or do anything.

And while this story stews, I’ve been outlining and researching…

3. The Immortals trilogy

What? This one came totally out of left-field and has me wondering–what the hell is it? Is it sci-fi? Fantasy? Paranormal? Well, according to the lads over at Writing Excuses, it’s Urban Fantasy. Me, urban fantasy? It’s nuts, but after weeks of researching and outlining, I’m completely embracing what is a very new genre for me.

I’ve only ever written standard literary fiction but I guess I’ve dabbled with it as a reader–I studied Philip K Dick, have been obsessed with the Vampire Diaries and Twilight (yes, I admit it, whatever), Lord of the Rings–and I watch a bit of it–True Blood, Heroes, Buffy–so I guess it isn’t a huge stretch.

But a trilogy? Yep, I’ve already got the premise of each book plotted out.

I hardly know who I am anymore, and I’m loving it!

In reponse to my last post: Yes, draft 3 has now come to an end! But it almost broke me.

This was the draft where I did all of my fact checking–and when you’re dealing with the life of an 82-year-old, there are a LOT of facts to check.

I decided to take some time off over Easter and went to the little shack in the country so I could focus on the manuscript entirely and, you know what? It worked. In a matter of days, I finished the draft and was ready to have copies printed for Simonne (the subject of the autobiography) and my beta readers. It’s a total relief to have finished it, even though it was three weeks later than I had planned. I’m off to see Simonne today to go over any changes she migfht have.

The plan now is to take a few weeks away from it while I wait for the beta readers to provide feedback by around mid-May, and then take in any further feedback and then re-read/redraft.

In the meantime, I have been working on a query letter and going through the enormous list of agents I’m going to query. Who knew about queries before? I was talking to a colleague of mine who also works in publishing and she’d never heard of agent query letters. Well, I’ve been learning more and more about them thanks to websites like Agent Query Connect. Luckily there’s a pretty tight formula to them, except that the formula seems to vary ever so slightly in each example I read. Argh! Which one’s right???

I suppose, ultimately, as long as the letter isn’t complete crap, what will always sell the story is the idea itself. A decent letter will obviously help but you can write the best query and if the story is a dud, your one-page masterpiece isn’t going to help.

So, here’s to agents… (and outlining the next manuscript!)

So I am nearly at the end of this draft – the third. THANK CRIPES.

Don’t get me wrong, I am thoroughly enjoying writing, but the next book is starting to knock on my door with a lot of force that I want to get stuck into it. Sure, I could multi-task, write them both, but I ain’t made that way. My entire body has been overtaken by the current book. I have to wait until I’m finished and then I need a serious exorcism. If only Jason Miller were still around *sigh*.

Draft three has been all about entering corrections, restructuring and fact checking. It’s been a long process.

And, what am I writing?

I’m ghostwriting an autobiography; I say “ghostwriting”, but I’m actually co writing, really. Simonne Jameson is a Holocaust survivor who spent three years, from the age of twelve, locked up in the cellar of the Paris National library by her local police. She was raped daily, sometimes she had more than one visitor a day, and sometimes they were brutal. They brought basic food, comics, sometimes lollies. She was surrounded by books and rats, no natural light, no clean clothes other than what she had on. By the time of the Liberation of Paris and her release, she had tuberculosis and weighed 37 kilograms. She had never entered a Nazi camp; her tormentors were her own people, the French men who lived in her quarter.

Despite this crazy start to life, Simonne, who was born Simonne Levi, has marvelled at life, taking it into her own hands and living it in a way most of us can only dream of. Simonne has been married four times, has five children (one of whom she adopted when she was 50), has been in the theatre,  travelled the world, studied psychotherapy under Carl Jung, has known Picasso, Dali and Chagall, has been an art curator (and still is), and a child counsellor. Did I forget anything? Probably.

So, while I’m looking forward to having this manuscript finished, I can’t imagine a day when it’s no longer echoing in my head.

I guess that’s writing.

Photo by leah jones

I sometimes read interviews with writers but nothing comes even remotely close to the sorts of pieces from The Paris Review. I went through a magazine collecting phase a few years back and, along with some primo editions of Rolling Stone and Face, I nabbed some old editions of the Review. Beautiful, vintage pieces that delved into the real whys and hows of writing. The Hemingway piece is still a favourite. Check out their online archives. I see that the current edition has Jonathan Franzen talking about the art of fiction. 

Nothing gets me more than when a writer, when asked why they write, responds with “I just need to.” What the hell does that mean?

Writing is one of the most solitary conditions. Not as solitary as, say, being trapped in a mine or deep sea diving, but it’s definitely a solo act where you get trapped inside your own head.

I write because I like to tell stories, because I want to see and readwhat’s in my head. And I like seeing my name on things.

Here are a few more things I ask myself.

 1. Is the simple act of writing enough or do I need to get published?
2. When should I write? Morning? Night? Do I need silence? Quite frankly, I can write anywhere because I, quite literally, escape into my head.
3. Do I care about what people want to read? Am I abreast of the latest trends in fiction? I hear that historical romance is dead but paranormal romance is HOT.
4. Should I write to a schedule? 1000 words a day? Two hours a day? Every day? Weekends. Or will I just write whenever I can?
5. What do I like to read? Whose voices speak to me the most? Do I read for story or style?
6. What about me? Is story key? Or is literary style most important?
7. Am I able to write what I don’t know or will I limit myself to my experiences?
8. If I don’t get a novel published, what other publishing paths am I prepared to take? Self publishing? POD?
9. How about writing groups?
10. How do I stay motivated when the ideas simply aren’t flowing or like’s kicking me in the guts and writing’s the last thing on my mind?
11. What am I prepared to do to make this happen?
12. Writing contests? Huge potential or letdown?
13. Will people think I’m writing my own life?

 What questions do you ask yourself about writing?

Writing is a long process that involves listening, often to things you don’t want to hear. I tell the stories that I know; not verbatim but, rather, a retelling of the ideas. Often these are tales that my parents have imparted and tales that they have invented purely for my amusement. My father is fond of the wandering fable and that is how I like to tell my stories. It is a voice that always exasperated me for it meandered ever so slowly—“get to the point,” I would often say but, for him, there was no other way to tell a story. And as my mother says, “a story can be told in many ways, and sometimes, the telling is just as important as the story itself.” Hopefully you will agree. Mostly I like to tell stories that I think I remember. To me, my childhood is always sunny, filled with the hopeful sounds of cicadas and bees, trails of ants making their way to their underground lairs, split figs and shiny loquat seeds discarded in the yard, boys riding rusty BMX bikes out the front of the school during recess and the thin black strap behind a nun’s oak desk. That’s what I remember. Half truths.