Monthly Archives: December 2017
We try to work inside these days, and our feet leave swirls in ash when we go out for the mail, while our protective masks set our spectacles askew. But we can stay home, so far, pat the cats, and feel better.
For those dark figures who stand against the fires when I would flee, I send my gratitude, nearly as deep as my fear. I could not do what you do. Thank you is a flimsy sentiment against what you put on the line by an act of will.
We are in heavy smoke on the South Coast, the sun left us before noon to disappear behind a great blanket of ruddy gray from the Thomas Fire. White falls like snowflakes, except we’re breathing the ashes of other people’s dreams. We aren’t in danger but I can do nothing without turning on the lights and the occasional sky light is rosy orange. Surreal. Weirdly cold. I should be writing an apocalyptic novel but it’s hard to concentrate, so I am doing massive Christmas cookie baking for my neighbors.
I’m a little slow posting this, but while Nanowrimo (national novel writing month) is officially over, the greater part of the work on a novel begins. The biggest job isn’t the first complete draft, though you can’t go anywhere without one!
I totaled 67,565 words on mine, working title Living with the Enemy, then over the first days in December I created a chapter log– giving the page number on which each new chapter begins and what the main action or actions may be in each. This allows me to look over the action and pacing, as well as keep a sense of character development– the progression of change in each person of interest. I also note what themes are recurring, so I can figure out what events might better serve in a different order.
Many of you who write, and it doesn’t matter if it’s fiction or non-fiction, make an outline. Sometimes I do, but this November I didn’t. Writing in the first person makes an organized plot harder for me– I feel as though I’m letting another voice speak through me when I write in first person, thus it’s much harder to guide. I feel there’s an organic power rising through first person narrative. Maybe I will cut and shape later, but while the story is first erupting, I hate to dictate what I want to hear about. (No, don’t tell me about the murder right now– I want to hear about the dog…)
I want to invite in the voice out of the darkness that comes and tells me something, sometimes troubling or even terrible. Such a voice gives me a feeling of personhood, and the burden that soul bears. Who is it? How did he or she get there? Sometimes I’ve thought it was a woman or a girl, and then I found out as the reveal progressed that I was wrong, and I have another strange man in my head telling me what happened to him. After all most voices sound alike in a whisper.
So I will confess it right now. More times than not, I write the end of a novel before the beginning. How many of you do likewise?