Category: writing

A Dark & Stormy Night

It was a dark and stormy night.

My psyche has been talking to me for the last few days. With some reluctance, I recognized what my psyche was telling me. Being a stubborn soul, I preferred ignoring my psyche for as long as I could. Yet, I’d come to a fork. I could continue to the right, along the path I’d been following. I already knew that was rocky. The going was treacherous and uneven. When it comes to writing, following a treacherous and uneven path is mentally and emotionally exhausting, especially if you know that following the other path would be a smoother journey. But —

Exceptions exist. But, the other path was the one my psyche was telling me to take. But the other path didn’t directly relate to the novel I was writing.

Yet it did; I needed to know what happened with Phileas and Brett. Generally, I knew Phileas is a highly respected scientist. Working for a major corporation, she led a team searching for the latest God Particle, a project known, with matter-of-fact drama, as the God Particle Search Project. Significant progress was slow, so another project, private and personal, the stuff of her childhood dreams, drew her.

It was a dark and stormy night.

Phileas first read those words when she was two, but once they were read, everything was changed. ‘A Wrinkle in Time’, by Madeline L’Engle, was the first book she read more than once, and in fact, went on to read a dozen more times. By the third time, she knew all the words and didn’t need to read the book, but settling into bed and opening up a screen above her face soothed her. Being in bed and secretly reading under the softly glowing faintly blue panel was cozy. It was a romantic escape for someone who was otherwise ruthlessly determined, logical, practical and mathematical. In fact, it was a dark and stormy night on Castle Prime, while visiting, when the weather control system in one of the domes malfunctioned, that crystallized the epiphanies that initiated her turn toward her personal project.

It was a dark and stormy night. 

For me to understand what happened with Brett and Phileas, I needed to know more about Phileas and then learn about what happened with her and Brett. I knew many basics. Brett had a son. He didn’t know he had a son. The son, Kimi, had been illegally conceived.

Kimi worked for Phileas on the GPS Project. Brett was a fourth-waver, inhabiting newly terraformed planets on the corporation’s behalf to prove it was safe. Kimi’s ‘fake’ father had manipulated the genetic maps related to Kimi and Brett. The systems had caught the errors but flawed results ended up reversing the maps so the systems thought Kimi was Brett and vice-versa. That’s the basis of the first novel, ‘Returnee’, available on KDP.

While writing ‘Returnee’, I established that the systems thought Brett was Kimi. What I didn’t establish but I knew was that as part of that, Phileas had inadvertently taken Brett when she thought she was abducting Kimi. She took Kimi, along with the rest of her team, because she’d traveled into the future. While in the future, she’d learned things, and now she was covering her trail, and attempting to keep others from following her path – because she knew, in science and technology, that major discoveries like hers rarely happen without like discoveries being made elsewhere.

The result was that the GUFIN virus was created and brought back from the future. And this is where the next novel, ‘Long Summer’, (the work in progress) comes into play. To know what happened with Brett, Phileas, the GUFIN virus, and the Travail, I had to know what happened when Phileas abducted Brett and wiped out his knowledge of what had happened.

And that’s what my psyche was ordering me to do: write that out so I fully understood it. Naturally, I had to write it out in story form, because I think in story-telling form when I’m writing fiction. So, thinking about Phileas and her background, and her literary hero, Meg Murry from ‘A Wrinkle in Time’, I was able to begin:

It was a dark and stormy night.

As I knew, the first line is actually homage to another novel — and Snoopy, of course, loves it — but once I wrote it, Phileas leaped to life.

Time to shut down and call fini to another day of writing like crazy. No words were written in the novel today, but so much progress was made.

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Your Good Taste

I think Ira Glass captures the truth between effort, taste, and beginning in this video, ‘Nobody Tells Beginners’. Gallery posted this as encouragement and insight for the NaNoWriMo participants, but wherever you reside on the writing spectrum, you can learn from this video. It’s about having courage and patience, enduring setbacks, and persevering.

So here, it is.

 

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Purpose

It’s the best kind of day when I start out and have a purpose. The purpose can be born out of anything – writing, walking, hiking, cleaning, organizing, or whatever. But to have that sitting in my mind, “Yes, today is the day I am going to do this,” is powerfully rewarding to me. Because my energy is already aimed toward a target, my mind is engaged, and my will is determined.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Unleash the insanity.

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Today’s Theme Music

Well, we’re into NaNoWriMo so I thought we’d bring up a classic.

“Dear sir, or madam, will you read my book? It took me years to write, would you take a look? It’s based on a novel by a man named Lear and I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer.”

I looked up the lyrics to confirm I remembered them correctly and had one or two wrong, but then the song was a Beatles hit in 1966, fifty years ago, when I was ten.

To all you writers out there and in here, here is ‘Paperback Writer’. It’s not a great recording but it’ll do.

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Twelve Percent

Here I am, storming away, out of coffee, typing as fast as I can, unable to keep up with my mind’s streaming words until my fingers call, “Time out.”

Sitting up and stretching, massaging my fingers, I see how the coffee shop has changed since my arrival. I see my mocha is gone, that I drank it all. I think about getting another. But my laptop’s battery power is down to fourteen percent and I didn’t bring my power supply today. It’s going to be warning me soon that I need to shut down.

Putting it all together, I realize I’ve been writing – thinking, typing, editing – for almost ninety minutes with but a few pauses. I remember checking the time once and seeing it was 12:15. Now it’s 1:01.

Spending time with my characters and exploring their lives and situations was mesmerizing. I’m sorry that it’s ending. I think, maybe I can go power up at home and continue. But I know that’s not how ‘it’ works for me. Time to stop writing like crazy, pack it up and head home. The rain has stopped and the sun is shining, and I have some yard work planned, anyway.

Also, I just realized, I didn’t eat breakfast or anything, and I’m becoming very hungry.

And there is the laptop’s warning: twelve percent. Time to go.

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For Those About to NaNoWriMo….

I never did the NaNoWriMo. It’s a terrific idea. It started in 1999 but I didn’t hear about it for a long time. By then, I’d established my writing habits, understood my preferences and was working full time for IBM and didn’t embrace the idea.For a long time, I believed there was one way to write and searched for the magic formula. The magic formula appeared to be research, plan, write, edit & revise, polish and publish. I’m being simple. The formula was much more complex.

So I worked hard on planning, researching, outlining. I created huge outlines, detailed drawings and maps, and entire histories of characters. After months and months of work, I’d have an enormous wealth of information, and nothing written. Discouraged, the next time I had an idea, I thought about it for a while. A scene came to me and I jumped in and started writing. I later discovered that others do that. As a process, it’s referred to organic writing, or being a pantser. I’m still refining my writing process but I’ve come a long, long, long way.

I admire those out there jumping into NaNoWriMo and salute you. Have fun.

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The Progress Reports

“How’s the writing going?” I’m asked after a session.

“Did you have a good writing session?” another asks later.

“How’s the book coming along?” a companion queries me when I meet.

And I want to respond with a lot of information. I’ve written sixty thousand plus words. The book excites me. The ideas, characters and settings are all lively, energizing me when I sit down with it. That’s how it is on most days.

But some days, my writing sessions aren’t about the laptop’s clicking keys. Some days, I sit and talk to myself, or I’m walk and talk to myself. (Walking is a great way to write.) “Why did this happen? Because that happened. What did he do? What did she do? So what happens next with her?”

On those days, I’m likely to do a lot of spot editing and polishing, re-reading what was written about one of the story lines to find the path and generate enough light to look ahead to ‘what’s next’. Paradoxically, these are often the most exciting and enjoyable sessions because I’m solving a problem, and I also see clear progress of the novel being written. It’s all coming together. I’m assembling the puzzle, I’m learning the fuller story, and gaining greater understanding of my characters and the setting. I’m fortunate to write another 800-1,000 words on those days.

These sort of days prove, it’s not about the word count.

On all writing days (which is about three hundred sixty-one days of the year), though, I answer the questions with the same non-committal, almost laconic manner, “It’s going good.” I know they’re being polite and supportive. It’s like asking, “How is your day?” A full report isn’t expected, just a general summary, brief, if you please. We’re all just being polite. I hold back for the blog posts to wax more enthusiastically, but even there, I restrain myself. I’m just one of seven hundred gazillion writers posting and writing, gluing my sanity back together and casting the tea leaves, trying to make something out of the voices in my head who urge, “Write this down.”

But sometimes, when I’m writing, I can’t help myself, and I laugh out loud at what I thought or wrote. Nobody looks up, because, you know, I may look harmless, but I might be crazy. You can never tell.

They don’t know that I’m just a writer. I leave my badge at home.

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