Writing Days 14.5/15

Today, I chose to include this quote from F. Scott Fitzgerald because over the course of my writing work this week, I have discovered that there are far more people living in my head than I previously believed.

To put this into perspective, I feel it is necessary to provide you with a little background on the current novel. The story follows Verity, a woman born and raised in the rural Midwest, who upon beginning work on a community-based genealogy project realizes something isn't quite right in her idyllic small town. As she begins investigating the cycle of deaths she has uncovered, she  begins experiencing vivid dreams of these "accidental" deaths from the perspective of the deceased. So, over the course of the novel, she not only is telling the story of her search to find answers and uncover the truth, but also the stories of the unfortunate souls who have lost their lives in and around the town.

If I were to say this involves a lot of stories, I feel like I would be downplaying the reality of the novel. It is a ton of stories - or a shit ton if you'll forgive my overuse of a colloquialism. All of these people insisting their stories be told becomes somewhat overwhelming if I think about it too much. So, I have decided, much like Verity, that I will tell them one at a time as I come to them rather than ponder on the enormity of the task as a whole.

I have to say one of the positive aspect of this experience is that I am still madly in love with this story, and from everything I've read, this is a good sign for me. Also, I constantly doubt whether anyone will actually want to read it when I finish; however, according to my sources, this is also totally normal. So there you go.

I have one complaint over the past two days which I feel obligated to share. I am certain that I am not the only one this happens to, so here it is. WHY is it that I can sit and stare at the television for hours and no one feels the need to speak to me, BUT as soon as I open the laptop and put the ear-buds in, everyone in my house is suddenly possessed with the need to engage me in conversation or ask me questions or beg me to do something for them??? Why is that? It drives me absolutely up the wall! I'm like "OK guys, I have been sitting on the couch for two and a half hours watching crap, but as soon as I start typing, you all need me for something!" Good Grief! I feel like Charlie Brown - can't win for losing. Anyway, I needed to get that out there. I feel better now. I just have to remind my family members from time to time that if I am typing, I am working, and they are NOT to bother me when I'm working. :)

I believe that's it for the past two days. The novel is steadily progressing in a forward motion which is a good thing. Chapter 8 is nearing completion, and after finishing Chapter 9, I will officially be a quarter of the way through the project. Hopefully, this week will be at least as productive as the last few days have been. Of course, either way, I will let you know. :)

Good day and Good Writing to you all!


Writing Stats -

NIP - WTA - pages: 56; word count: 15529

Writing Day 13

In light of the way I've spent my research and writing time this evening, this particular writing problem is quite apropos. Now, you may or may not be asking yourself, "What in the world has she been doing?" Well, either way, I am going to tell you. I have spent the evening researching a wide variety of accidental deaths and writing obituaries and flash pieces. For those who don't know what flash is, flash fiction is a super short story. They are typically 1,000 words or less (some people consider flash 300 words or less).

Yes, you read that correctly. I have been writing obituaries for a few hours tonight. I wonder how many people outside of the field of journalism can say that.

Since Verity and I came to an understanding over the weekend and put her part of the story on the back burner until later this week, I worked on telling some of the other stories in the book. Verity's story is not all hers after all. Half of the story is her journey to find the truth, and the other half is her telling the stories of those unfortunate souls who no longer have a voice of their own - which, by the way, is a necessary component to her finding the truth and shedding a light on the dark past of her hometown.

I'm excited at the prospect of digging out these stories. Especially because I have absolutely no idea where they are going to end up until I begin writing them. All of the deaths are elementally-linked, so I know going in where the ultimate end is coming from (earth, air, fire, or water); however, learning the where, when, and how comes along as I write for each person or incident. Much like Verity, I have no idea exactly what happened until I see it for  myself. Once the obits are complete, the characters determine where their story will go. They tell me, and I write them down.

While this is an energizing way to write, I certainly wouldn't want anyone (particularly if you are squeamish) to look at my recent image searches. :)

I've been working in the binder today, so I have no new stats to share at the moment. I will be transcribing tomorrow, so we will see just how much work I have managed to accomplish then.

Good Day and Good Writing to you all!

Writing Days 11/12

Okay, so what can I say about this weekend. . . well, I guess I would say "interesting" just about covers it. Did I get a lot of work done? Ummm. . . not really. Did I learn a lot. Yes, yes, I did.

I started out the weekend with high expectations. I was able to get so much writing done over the week that I just knew this weekend would be full of writing genius. I set everything up to work - as is my habit - black notebook, 2 blue ink pens, cigarettes, and Diet Coke, all laid out and ready to go. I sat in my favorite spot on the front porch, opened the notebook, and. . . nothin', absolutely no single thing came to mind. I knew where the story was going. Knew what needed to be said. Knew where my character needed to go next, what she needed to do, and what obstacles were to be laid in her path. Still nothing.

I began doodling around the edges of the paper and thinking about the story. I wrote a sentence, then another, then a paragraph. And the entire time, the voice in my head kept saying, Crap! This is crap! What are you doing?

I wrote a second paragraph, finished a page, then two. But, I still couldn't shake that voice. No, no, NO! This isn't right at all.

Now, before I continue, I feel it's necessary to mention that I do not actually have schizophrenia. However, I have been living with this story for much longer than I have actually been writing it. When you read interviews with writers, many talk about writing as a kind of itch in their brains, something that keeps them up at night. That sometimes a story demands so insistently to be told that it will wake them in the middle of the night and refuses to quit until they get the ideas down on paper. That has happened to me for as long as I can remember. I sleep with a notebook and pen beside my bed (have for years and years) just so I don't have to completely get up. Hoping that if I can write it down quickly enough, I may actually be able to just drift back off to sleep quickly. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't.

But I digress. This story, and perhaps more importantly this character (Verity), has been rattling around my subconscious and my journals since an early creative writing class I took back in the spring of 2009. That is a long time for someone else to occupy that very personal space. By the time I actually started the story in 2013, Verity had already been present for four years, creeping around the periphery and pushing for her story to be told. She has changed very little over the years, other than aging a bit (she began life as a teenager, but she now lives quite happily in her late thirties).

Struggling through those Saturday morning pages, the voice seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I took a break. Walked around the yard. Then, it hit me. Verity! And, man, she was not happy with me.

I went back and re-read what I had written. Verity was right. It was crap. At this point in the story, Verity is returning to her old home place for the first time in many years. All the family is gone and all that remains is her great-grandmother's old empty house. Besides being a pivotal piece of the story, this is an important moment for Verity - an exorcism of demons, in more ways  than one. I did not do it justice. I did not do her justice. And she let me know that quite plainly.

 I knew it wasn't right, but the words still refused to come. So, what did I do?

I stepped away. I played with my granddaughter. I watched Frozen three times in a row. I went grocery shopping. I cooked supper. I took a breath. Sunday, I watched movies with my daughter and paid a long overdue visit to an old friend. I thought about the story, dreamed about it even, but did not pick it back up.

Driving the dark tree-lined road to get back to town, I realized what needed to be done. A field trip is in order. I already have it planned for Wednesday - just me, Sis, and the camera.

Until then, what's on tap for the novel? Well, fortunately for me, while this is Verity's story, it is also about her telling the stories of others. So, while her story is going to go on hold for a moment, she is going to go ahead and tell the others' stories in the meantime.

She and I are both very happy with this arrangement.