Discovered on ISBW archives:

How to write a novel

If you are a WIFFER, you’ll see right away that this article is for planners, not pantsers like me (planners obvious plan everything first, pantsers write everything first, then fix).

Still I have this gestating embryo of an idea (can’t get past that phase) for a novel that might encompass literary fic, women’s fic, and a bit of futurism (is that sf?), and no idea how to access it.  (I did Artist’s Way several times, and used to be a poet.  There’s a part of me that believes that art exists out there and we have to access it, kinda like Michaelangelo seeing “David” in that hunk of marble).

This may be the way to go, since I can’t do NANOWRIMO because I refuse to start anything until I complete my first novel.

A few days ago, I read this post over at I Should be Writing:

Interesting Point

As mentioned, I’ve been going back over Ms. Lafferty’s podcasts and I’m up to mid-2006.  Anyway, I also mentioned that I had recently found out that an author, Laura Fitzgerald, of  a book I very much want to read is also a member of Will Writer for Wine (a WIFFER).  I contacted her, excited, and asked a question about research (something I dread).  I had unwittingly followed Mur’s advice afterwards because I offered to review her book on Mom Blog, once we are making money again and I can start buying books.  My blog ranks very high and so any reviews I do could potentially help someone reach a bigger audience.

Anyway, she checked out my site and offered me some great advice.  How cool is that?  I’m looking forward to reading her book (although I’m deep into “To Kill A Mockingbird” and “Middlemarch” right now) and having the chance to review it. This could also potentially help me find work as a book reviewer, though I have to think about whether or not I want that type of work commitment.

Ok that’s all.  Just share what you have, pay it forward and you’ll be blessed.

Cool word, pandemonium, isn’t it? (Better make sure I haven’t spelled it wrong!)

What’s new? Lots. Life is in deep, deep crisis. They say that God only gives you want you can handle…I’m not so sure anymore. But writing is keeping me SANE.

Tried to work tonight but couldn’t…that is, web work, my bread & butter, critical now. All I want to do is writing…all I want to do while I’m working my job is write.

I’ve made some interesting commitments:

1) 15 minutes a day, at least on week days, of writing CRAFT. That is, not worldbuilding or exercises or editing, just actual writing, but when I can combine with world-building, awesome!

2) Listening to I should be writing podcasts, from #1, daily. Two to four per day, depends how long they are and what I’m doing. Mur Lafferty rocks!

3) Screw it, I’m going for it with my fantasy book. I’ve invested so much into it, I can’t let it go. To that end, I’m working on Holly Lisle’s worldbuilding book. Was hoping to take her course, but with our current income handicaps, no way…at least not yet! I’ve decided this because the genre is so well-established and is full of REALLY awesome people. Also, local writing group has many serious authors, some published in this genre, very helpful group too.

4) This does not mean I won’t pursue my dream of writing historical or literary fiction. Or both, or a combination. Turns out I’m really interested in wars, particularly from the POV of families. I really want to write something that involves the Iraqi war, and something about Americans too. Not sure where this is going, but oh well… Thus I need to do other writing.

5) the funniest thing I’ve seen all week:
http://matociquala.livejournal.com/1453086.html

SIGH, I miss my cats…I lost THREE of them, and only once was I remotely responsible. phooey…

I’m going to log off now, because as Mur Lafterty says every week, I should be writing (and you too!)

…via ISBW.  Check it out, it’s awesome, Neil is awesome, and a new book is coming soon (September):

ISBW Special #37: AISFP #57 - Neil Gaiman

Adventures in SciFi Publishing

Neil Gaiman

Well, there is a time and a season for all things, and this is my time NOT to write. There is just too much going on, and I can’t wrap my head around creativity.

In fact, last night I was pondering my own story - which is a long journey involving health (physical and mental) and spirituality - and while I realized this was a good basis for a fictional book, my own internal dictation involved no actual PLOT. So it needs work, and maybe this is a mull-it-over scenario for now.

BUT I have been reading, a lot. Last night, I reached a point in my current novel documented atrocities and I realized that most of the novels I’ve read in the past year have included this. Perhaps it’s because I prefer historical drama, and this sort of thing makes the best historical dramas, but here’s a list of what I’ve read, with a star beside the fictional books that included genocide, torture, or such events:

The Historian*
Bee Season: A Novel
The Witch of Cologne*
The Birth of Venus: A Novel*
Water for Elephants: A Novel
A Thread of Grace*
The Bastard of Istanbul*
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book 7)

Feels like I read more, wonder what I’m forgetting? I got to thinking about this a lot, since I am NOT a person who can stomach or in any way see the logic in purposefully inflicting pain on others. In fact, my tolerance for pain is so low, and my imagination is high so reading this stuff is torture for me. Now, outside of thinking myself a masochist, I wondered why it so happens that half (or more?) of my reading list looks likes this.

I do like seeing characters put into impossible odds. And to be fair, I didn’t foresee such circumstances in each book (Bastard of Istanbul, for example). But, then again, perhaps it’s just the eternal, “what would I do?” that captivates all of us as fiction readers.

Just a check in. I am still writing - what’s happened is that now that my novel is reaching it’s end, my workload has quadrupled (can you imagine?), SO the only kind of writing I can do is in my head. I had what was an innocent fantasy, though, suddenly turn into a historical novel in my head.

These are my favorites kinds of novels, and I was highly affected by the last book I finished, The Witch of Cologne. Next thing you know, every time I’m relaxing I’m on my story and I now KNOW it’s a real story because it took an unexpected turn.

The Witch of Cologne is an awesomely beautiful book, though very sad, the characters are revealed through the tragedies in their lives, some caused by their strong and passionate wills. Yea, that’s exactly why I loved it.

Reviews coming soon, I hope, just as soon as I have a free buncha moments…

You know, I always write fictional characters, and so some creative non-fic on my blog.  And I am working on a concept that is much closer to home, about my mom who is dying of Alzheimer’s.

I realized that I have a truer story to tell.  I started to go through it last night, something related to my daughter and motherhood.

But where do we draw the line when fictionalizing reality?  For example, in the Alzheimer’s story I’ve already hit a bump.  My sis is the primary caretaker but I didn’t want to put her in the story because our relationship was nearly destroyed by this.  And I don’t want to risk insulting her.  Or, will she be insulted if I DON’T put her in the book?

Have to explore what it does mean to do this in reality.  At some point, of course, the character takes over and things change but I’m curious about what people think about this.

I was already in bed, but I started thinking and this came to me. Maybe it was a good thing I didn’t work on my other stuff tonight. What are your thoughts?

***

Sara sits in the car and waits, watches the leaves blow around her parents’ house.  She hates this. She wonders how long she can sit in the car before they’d notice, probably an hour or more, if they didn’t need to go near the window and actually pull the blinds.  She thinks about sitting for a few more minutes, but there is a day ahead of her and this process could take an hour or more.  The window to give the pills is closing.

She walks up the driveway, already relishing the 30 minute drive home.  She is 40, but her license is brand new and the one advantage of this weekly chore is that she has conquered her fear of driving and learned to relish the privacy of the car ride home, the absence of children and husband and work and life.  She’s turned into a fuddy duddy, blasting Christian music that she would have mocked when she was younger.

She rings the bell.  It takes a few minutes of her dad hollering, “Just a minute!” before the door is unlocked, unbolted, and unstuck.  She walks inside accessing the mess as she kisses him hello.

She is again overwhelmed by the clutter.  Growing up, her mom kept the house spotless, enlisting her children in cleaning their own rooms and polishing the furniture, but the spotlessness of the walls and floors was always a marvel to Sara, and a mystery once she had her own home.  There were always small piles of clothes, books, notebooks, necessities like keys and coins, but it was not her Dad’s clutter.  She suddenly realizes that her mother’s subtle aesthetics balanced Dad’s his practicality  Not so now.  Things are piled up in order of necessity.  Beds and couches before the TV, blankets piles all around them, food and dishes and silverware lining the kitchen counters instead of its closets and drawers.  Her mom would hate this, but even worse she’d hate the smell.

Her eyes search the room.  “How is she this morning?”

He looks left and right, as if he’s misplaced her mother.  “Well, you know.”  His meaning was clear.  Sara took her coat off, rolled up her sleeves, and walked to the kitchen.

“Hi Mom.”  She  leaned down to kiss her.

“Oh, you, you!”  Her mother gave a half smile and tried to reach up, but her arm was half stuck in her nightgown.

“I tried to dress her, but she didn’t want to get dressed,” Dad said, an angry smile on his lips.  He waves his hand.  “Ah! I give up.”

Her mother looks at him, tight lipped, her eyes narrowed to a point.  “You tried to undress me.  You want my money.”

“Hon, I only want to help you.  I love you.”

“Love? Love?  HA!  You want my money.”

“But Cat…”

Sara stops listening.  She hates this fight and she knows she’ll be pulled into it soon.

Her mom grabs her elbow, her hands are cold as ice.  “What do they want from me?  They want all my stuff.  They want…”  She waves her hand over her body.  “They want that.  And this.  And those.  And thee.”

I came through a fantastic breakthought tonight on my novel that I’d like to write about a family dealing with Alzheimer’s. Yes, I know, it’s been done before and in fact, my idea on how to do it was not as original as I thought.

Until I realized that my mom has a different kind of Alzheimer’s than most people in novels, it’s much LESS, well, I think it’s a more difficult form in that it’s less like living in the past and more like schizophrenia. The POV is a bit different too, but I do need to read some novels to help out. After The Madonnas of Leningrad, I’m guessing it might be The Notebook And perhaps I should see Iris, a movie I’ve longed to see for a long time, but avoided because I heard it was really heart-breaking.

Ah but I love that stuff anyway.

This is as easy as a metaphor. In the olden days, before I was ever pregnant, I went to Crunch, back when it was still a good gym in New York City. I was only interested in the Tai Kickboxing and Yoga. Both were harder than I thought - I had led a pretty sedentary 35 years.

But as I continued to go to one of each class every week, I discovered something:

Yoga made the kickboxing easier.
And kickboxing made the yoga easier!

This was a shocking discovery for me, but I realized that one sport stretched and toned me, while the other built my muscles - and both were needed to perform each of these sports well, only in different measure.

I was thinking about this as a metaphor for my writing. Because I was a better writer when I was a writing poet, as well as I was a more involved poet when I was writing fiction. One built my writing muscles (fiction) and the other stretched me (poetry).

I want to give up everything else I’m doing and do this. Don’t know how that will work, but it’s just what I want.