Novel Gazing

Progress on the rewrite is moving along nicely. It’s slowed a little, given my post-vacation status, but it was bound to get stickier anyway. The first eight chapters were pretty well fine as written; they only required minor tweaking and a couple of new scenes to help re-establish the focus. Now that I’ve crossed the line into where I went astray, it’s taking more time and even more thought and still even more “effort to resist what’s already been written”.

What was written before was all good material. I had simply lost my direction. Many of the scenes will feature in the rewrite, but I’ve encountered an unforeseen curiosity: I view those scenes as written in stone. My mind is trying to place them “as is” in a new location, and gets frustrated when the pieces don’t click into their imagined place.

Two scenes are about to become one. I’ve laid the mental groundwork, envisioning the setting and committing the dialogue to memory so I can blast it out when I’m done with this post. I was still struggling yesterday morning, labouring under the misconception that they had to appear in the same chapter yet remain independent of each other because, let’s face it, each one is effing brilliant, when a little voice quietly suggested, “Why not merge them?”

Uh … DUH!

From that one small instance, I realized that my logic processor is trying to control my creative process. It wants me to believe that what’s written cannot be altered to accommodate a new format, a better format, may I add, which further supports my argument that the ego, the mind, the intellect, is so freaked out over losing control that it will sabotage its own success.

Well, get thee behind me, micro-manager, I’m onto your neurotic game. As soon as I realized that two good scenes could become one better scene, you could almost hear the whoosh! as my imagination took flight. Suddenly, I saw how one location could support a longer conversation and add a new element at the same time. That element will lead into yet another (new) scene to keep the plot on course and voila! Another chapter finis!

Thunder-struck

I’ve not been writing much of late. It’s typical at this time of year, when fiscal-year-end eclipses life outside the office. I’ve been reading instead, seeking inspiration to keep from freaking out that I’ve lost my gift. Honestly, it happens every spring, and every spring I must remind myself that this ain’t my first rodeo. After Easter, I’ll have time that I presently don’t have to create. In the meantime, read, read, read. I’m almost finished with Lestat and have borrowed Station Eleven from a friend after reading kudos for it from GRRM and Erin Morgenstern.

I’ve also scored a copy of She’s Got Soul—a compilation CD from the Starbucks collection that features Nina Simone, Amy Winehouse, Etta James, and a host of other soul sistahs. It’s squaring off against Diana Krall’s Wallflower for air time on my stereo. I’ve played around with opening scenes and story ideas on Tuesday nights, but have been totally disinclined to boot the writing rig on my days off. I did discover that I can stream whole episodes of X Company from cbc.ca, however, and I’ve baked a lot of muffins in that downtime. Ter and I were also supposed to travel to Vancouver for the Flyers/Canucks game on the 17^th, but the energy required to get there, plus the inconvenience of losing two workdays at this critical juncture, convinced us to stay home and watch the game on TV.

It’s the worst time to wrestle with my muse. I am easily frustrated by alluring fragments for new works and reminders of those that have stalled. I realize that I haven’t finished anything since January, when the speed picked up at work, and have recently (irrationally) wondered if I will ever finish anything that isn’t about vampires. This prompted me to consider, for the nth time, unraveling the novel to the first eight chapters and writing it in another direction though the only thing wrong with what I’ve written so far is me.

Ter and I saw Celtic Thunder perform on March 11. The lads came to Victoria on their “Best Of” tour, and with Damian McGinty returned to the fold, I was taken back in time to the early days of my Fixed Fire series. The first few volumes were driven by Def Leppard and Sarah McLachlan, but a good chunk of the next generation was fuelled by the Celtic boys and “Celtic Woman” before them. Hearing the songs that sparked so vibrantly in my imagining a handful of years ago was a welcome jolt to the system last week. At this point, I’m either winding down at work or completely desperate to escape it, because seeing the show brought back all the passion I felt for my Castasian characters and their wild green mountainous magical world. This past weekend, I dragged out the novel again, reconnected with the story, and have committed to finishing the f***er or die trying.

This is volume 7. I’ve got material for one more after this, and part of my motivation to finish Reijo’s story is so I can get to Aurelia’s. Make no mistake; I adore Reijo. He’s my white knight in dented armour and he deserves a happy ending. I’m just not very good at happy endings, so doing right by him has been a struggle. I need him now, though, to prove to myself that vampires are not my sole strength, to get me through year-end and give me a project for a much-needed writing holiday planned for some time in April.

Live From the Ocean Room ...

… it’s Friday morning! And a gorgeous one it is, too, given that I spent most of Wednesday night and yesterday laid flat with the worst migraine I’ve endured since May the 8^th. There is nothing like 24 hours of pounding, nauseous darkness to make you grateful for a new day. Ironically, the headache struck just as “Glutenous Maximus” went up and the day after I’d been happily telling the gang at work how they’ve pretty well ceased since I went gluten-free. Less is truly more, however; rare as they’ve become, the severity has been shocking in its intensity. Ter had to type my email to the office yesterday because I couldn’t even sit up without wanting to barf – I lay curled on the sofa with my eyes closed while she wrote on my behalf. She’s the best friend in the world.

But enough of that. The headache is pretty much gone, I’m on a legitimate day off and I have plans to write. I intended to tackle the angels once more because I’ve been struggling with them; the story is coming so slowly that I have fallen into the trap of second-guessing every scene and have therefore rewritten the most recent one at least three times. I don’t know what the problem is. Could be that it’s a new world and I have no idea what I’m doing with it, but I suspect it’s more (or less) than that. I’ve simply been unable to immerse myself in the story. Starting something new takes real commitment and I’ve just not been there. I watched a cool documentary about Agatha Christie a few weeks back. She`s a great source for writerly quotes and this one stayed with me:

“All a writer needs is chair, a table, a typewriter and some peace.”

Without complaining, the peace part is missing. I live in a world full of distractions that prove particularly tempting when I’m embarking on a brand new project. So, when contemplating what I would attack today, Ter suggested that I let go of the struggle and write whatever the heck I want. I thought I wanted to write the angels, but what I really want is a cup of Persian apple tea and that was my first hint. The hopeless knot in the novel has managed to unravel itself and the story has regained traction, so back to Castasia go I. And today I’m happy to be there.

And here.