Tag Archives: novel

But I Don’t Like This Re-Run

I have mentioned before how if I write at all, I can write more. For example, after I write my blog post I suddenly find myself writing more on my novel. So could somebody please explain to my WHY when I have written two pages on my novel each of the past two days, I sit here on wordpress.com completely blank. Yes, I did make a blog post yesterday. I wrote it on Tuesday.

I can’t feel too awful, because it is HUGE that I am working on my novel again. I’m writing scenes I didn’t even know I needed. In fact, how could I know I needed them, when I didn’t even know that character was going to die or even that she existed before she was dead. Or dear, I’ve said too much. Never share your plot secrets! What am I thinking?

The answer to that question is always: I’m not (it works with every pronoun) (I don’t need to go through that do I? What are you thinking? What was he thinking? You aren’t! He wasn’t! You get it). I’m not thinking because I am apparently incapable of logical thought. It certainly feels that way. So, yes, here we are right in the middle of a Post About Why I Can’t Write a Post.

Then again, it is Non-Sequitur Thursday. If only I could think of a punchy but not related headline, I could hit publish and return to my knitting and television. If only there was a better re-run of Snapped on, my life would be perfect.

One Must Write, After All

Here’s a writing problem I often have. I finish writing a scene. I accomplish what the scene set out to do (or not, I’m not perfect). I end on a dramatic note, a joke or a cliffhanger. I stop, satisfied. Then I have the damnedest time starting another scene.

I don’t necessarily have this problem with blog posts. Monday I wrote a post about registering for the DARE 5K, turned a page in my notebook and wrote a post about the run I had taken that morning. Then again, that doesn’t always happen either. Sometimes I finish a blog post and stop.

I suppose I would avoid the problem in my novel if I worked from an outline. I could just move on to the scene that comes next or even pick a scene several Roman numerals down the page. In short, I would know what else was going to happen. In the blog, I could make a list of future topics to choose from.

In the novel I am currently working on, I only kind of sort of know what is going to happen. And I keep changing it and adding things. What’s that about? Regarding my blog, well that’s about my life and if you think that’s ever going to proceed in an orderly fashion, you clearly have no understanding of my character.

I don’t know why I’m even writing a blog post about this. Whenever you talk about a writing problem (or any other problem for that matter), all kinds of people are ready to chip in all sorts of advice, comprising quite a range of helpfulness and well-meaningness (my computer says well-meaningness is not a word, but what does a computer know?).

On the other hand, I had to write something. There I was, sitting next to my notebook, pen in hand, poised as it were for literary exercise. I have learned that if one writes any words at all, one can often sleaze over into writing about what one originally wanted to.

That is just one trick, however. Another school of thought says one should do something strictly non-verbal: clean the house, play an instrument, go for a walk. Everything will fall into place.

Frankly, I do both things. I sit at my job doing my work, which is strictly non-verbal. Then on my break I sit at my notebook and write… what I can. It sometimes makes for a very satisfying day.

Oh dear, that sounded like the end of my blog post. Now I’m stuck again.

Lame and Late

It is after 8 p.m. as I type this. I don’t know that I’ve ever written my blog post this late before, although perhaps I have. I knew earlier I would be late with this, but I wasn’t too worried. After all, it is Lame Post Friday. One might have thought I had a built-in title: Better Lame Than Never. That would have been good. Unfortunately, I already used it.

Just before I started typing, I looked it up, to be sure. Very instructive to read old posts. This one was from 2011. I felt encouraged at that time because I was approaching 200 blog posts. 200! What an amateur! Now I’m over 1100! Oh wait, I’m still an amateur. I’ve just written more blog posts.

Not that there is anything wrong with being an amateur. An amateur is one who does something for the love of it. I love writing my blog! Even when I can’t think of anything clever to say! Oh, I know, some people probably think I never say anything clever. Some people just gotta be that way.

I have been doing other writing today. I spent my lunch break writing a couple new scenes for my novel. I wrote more at the laundromat after work. Then I gave it up in a wave of lame. When I got home I worked on my article for Mohawk Valley Living. Oh, I don’t know if it will be good enough, but I will not bother you with my angst.

I see I am over 200 words. Time to come up with a punchy conclusion and dream about writing a better blog post tomorrow. Sad but true, I liked my post titled Better Lame Than Never better than this one. I should check back to this one 900 or so posts from now and see what I think then.

You’ve Been There, Right?

Sorry, folks, but it’s Tired Tuesday. I do have a post on a cheesy movie mostly written in my notebook. But it is only MOSTLY written, and it’s running long, as these posts tend to do. I just don’t feel like typing in that many words and I am clearly incapable of coming up with any more. On that topic, anyways. Apparently I can come up with some for a Tired Tuesday post.

My heinous cold drags on. I am better but just not better enough. You know how it is, just when you think, “Oh yeah, I got this,” you go off into a huge coughing jag that give you a headache or a sore gut or, worst of all, incontinence (curse you, middle age!). And the lightheaded, macroni-legged, heavy, awful SICK feeling. I list these symptoms not so much in the spirit of whining (although I fully expect to be accused of same) but with an air of “We’ve all been there.” Um, you’ve been there, haven’t you?

Be all that as it may, my writing has once again stagnated. I don’t know if I should blame the cold, the Ann Rule book I still have not finished, or my own lack of oomph. I suppose I had better blame myself. After all, personal responsibility is an empowering thing.

Then again, why assign blame at all? What is it with this finger-pointing, anyways? Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was impolite to point? A better thing to do right now, I believe, is to never mind WHY I haven’t written, but to write right now.

And oh, look, I did. Over 200 words of a fairly silly blog post. We’ll try for that cheesy movie write-up again on Wednesday.

Novel Thoughts

Dammit, I can WRITE. I am an awesome writer! You would not BELIEVE the fiction that comes from these same fingers that are currently typing this Friday Lame Post. Wait a minute, I mean you WOULD believe it, because my characters are wonderful, and the story would carry you along.

I had thought NOT to have a Friday Lame Post this week since I have been not exactly non-lame for most of the rest of the week. I guess nobody believed that was going to happen, although who knows, it may someday. To that end (as well as for my fitness and weight-loss goals), I ran this morning. I fully intended to write a Running Commentary while at work. Well, let me explain what happened, starting yesterday.

I have mentioned the problems I have been having with the novel I am writing. It’s been at kind of a standstill, progressing at irregular dribs and drabs. Well-written dribs and drabs, I hope, but still. But my determination is unwavering and I persevere. I spend a good portion of every day at least THINKING about my plot and my characters. I come to very few conclusions.

Until yesterday. There I was, at my machine, hard at work, when two lines came to me, rather dramatic lines spoken by two characters who have previously had no interaction. I pondered them and found them to be good. I surreptitiously pulled out the little notebook I carry in my BDU pants and jotted them down. I pondered them more, where they were said, who else was there, what else was happening.

Then the buzzer rang for the two o’clock break. I ran to my full-size notebook and started writing like mad! That has not happened to me in YEARS! A co-worker made a sarcastic remark about my leaving my machine turned on. I went and turned it off. He made another couple of sarcastic remarks. I ignored them.

“Kind of busy here,” I said, which was not particularly well-received, but I was buried in the fiction by now and was unaware of further sarcastic remarks. It was great.

I’ll be damned if a similar thing didn’t happen to me today, on breaks and on lunchs. Perhaps the writing was a little less intense, but I liked it. I admit it wasn’t all good. I would write a scene, then think about it later, realize there was a better thing to happen, get to the next break and write a new, better scene. Oh, it was fun. This is the way writing was meant to be!

And so I didn’t write a blog post. And I’m not apologizing about it. I’m going to go back and work on my novel some more. When I finish it and publish it, you can read it and tell me if I wasn’t right to do so.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat?

I did, I did work on a blog post. Yesterday and today I worked on a real post. Today I typed in what I had written. And it’s just not good enough. And I just can’t make it good enough right now. Will I be able to make it good enough? Yes, but not today.

I guess this is going to be a Tired Tuesday, although I had hoped to avoid such a thing. Actually, I’m starting to feel it is more of a Wrist to Forehead Tuesday, because I am so conflicted about writing yet another really stupid post. This is what is happening: I typed in the draft I had been working on. I thought, “Oh, I can’t make this work, I’ll just write something off the cuff.” I start to write my usual nonsense, then I think, “Oh, I can’t make another silly post.” I pull up the draft, look at it, and the whole thing starts again.

My novel is going no better, by the way. I spent my whole day at work thinking about what the plot should be, what should happen next, etc etc. Couldn’t come up with a thing. Perhaps I need a new approach.

What, oh what, could I use for a new approach? I can’t think of anything offhand, but I did have one thought. If I can’t finish the other post by tomorrow, perhaps I could write about my New Approach. If I can think of one.

What I Can Write Right Now

It is a dreadful thing when one has made up one’s mind to write and the only thing one can find to write about is one’s apparent complete inability to write anything worth reading.

Um, you figured out that “one” is me, right?

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, what’s a blogger to do? Today I’m going to do what has worked for me in the past: just write whatever I can write right now and trust that better words will be forthcoming. what I’m really hoping is that they will be forthcoming today, and I can type this into my Drafts section for use one day when I am really desperate (making a Full Disclosure, of course) (um, as it happens, I am using it today. Don’t judge).

Part of my problem is the weather. It is a sticky, icky day, conducive to lounging around near a fan and doing nothing. Of course I am not doing that; I’m at work (writing on a break, as usual). I remind myself that I have written on such days before but the memory does not seem to help.

My novel plods on. OK, it’s a hot mess. I can’t figure out what I want to happen or even how I would like it to end. I am reminded of a poster hanging in a guidance counselor’s office in my junior high school, “If you don’t know where you are going you will probably end up somewhere else.” I thought it a dire warning at the time. Now I think, “If you enjoy the trip, at least that’s something.” But now I’m making global statements and veering into half-baked philosophy. Leave that for Lame Post Friday, Cindy. We were talking about one novel, not Your Life.

I guess I’m not going to solve my novel problem by writing a blog post about now being able to write. Still, it felt pretty good to put some words on paper. One does what one can, after all.

It’s FICTION for Heavens’ Sake!

Full disclosure: I am writing this post for myself. I may not publish it (thus rendering the disclosure unnecessary; the irony is not lost on me). I am pondering my novel and I feel the need to talk about it. Of course, this is dangerous. Sometimes when you talk too much about a thing you no longer need to write it. Well, I’m not going to disclose the story. But I think if I talk about some problems I’m having WITH the story, I can come to some conclusions and/or make decisions. Here goes.

The fact is, my novel has come to something of a standstill. I must work on the plot, obviously. But I have some other questions first.

Ooh, as soon as I wrote that, I could hear a snotty voice chime in with, “Maybe you need to work on your CHARACTERS and let the plot come from THEM!” Yes, there is always someone to tell you how to write. I was about to say, “Thank you for your (quite useless) input,” but, in fact, I am not the least bit grateful (and my characters are actually pretty good, if I do say so).

Enough of this digression. I want to talk about setting. I like a small town setting. A village, in fact, although “village” has such a Middle Age sound (as in the Middle Ages, 1400-1600, not middle-aged like me. Sheesh!). I think of villagers chasing the monster to the old windmill or warning foreigners not to visit the Count that lives in the castle on the hill. But again, I digress.

I am talking about villages like Herkimer, NY, where I live now, or Norwood, NY, where I used to live. Many of your well-loved novels have memorable settings: Savannah in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, St. Mary’s Mead in the Miss Marple tales. I think it is time upstate New York had a memorable setting in a book.

Upstate New York, for the uninitiated, includes any part of New York state that is not New York City. Have you ever looked at a map of New York State? It is not a small state. The true crime shows I so delight in will occasionally cover a case that takes place in “a small town in Upstate New York.” Steven and I yell, “Where? What town?” I wonder if residents of other states feel the same way. Still, I’ve never heard anyone say anything like, “a town in Louisiana other than New Orleans,” as if that were the only point of reference. Oh dear, another digression.

Indignation aside, I thought I would place my novel in a specific spot in the state and fill it with background, atmosphere and, you know, setting. For this novel, I chose the Mohawk Valley.

And I’m running into problems. First I made up a big old house (as in over a hundred years old, not as in “big ol’ house”) with a large yard, a summerhouse and a stream nearby. A murder took place in the summerhouse and I wanted the stream to help the murderer dispose of evidence. I thought I might throw in a thunderstorm with torrential rain for good measure. This is an atmospheric murder mystery, not a police procedural.

So far so good. I saw some other ways to use both the summerhouse and the stream to further the main plot and add a couple of subplots. I started making notes.

And immediately began to second guess myself. Would this novel actually take place in Herkimer? There is a stream in Herkimer and any number of large, historic-looking mansions. I don’t know of any that are in close proximity to each other, but does that matter? Couldn’t I just pick a spot on the stream and pretend the house is there? For that matter, couldn’t I pretend the right spot is there? In short, how much could I get away with?

According to some sources, not much. If you make a street run north/south when it really runs east/west, these sources say, your reader will lose all confidence in you, reject your entire novel and all your hard work will be for naught. I think for some readers this is quite true. If you are not meticulous in your research and correct in every small detail which can be verified as fact, they will point the finger of shame at you and refuse to believe any of your fiction.

I can understand that point of view. I know how it is when watching television or a movie and it’s something I happen to know about, and they completely screw it up. You know, like the school play where they’re still blocking at dress rehearsal? And you really don’t expect that sort of thing in a book. Personally I am completely disgusted with historical novelists who play fast and loose with the facts, unless that’s kind of the point. For example, many time travel stories have our heroes helping history along. Or the “it COULD have been like this” story such as Ken Follett’s excellent Eye of the Needle.

But that is not the sort of thing I’m talking about, and I’m no Ken Follett.

Another school of thought says to go ahead and make everything up: it’s FICTION, for heavens’ sake. If your characters and plot are compelling enough, your reader will go along for the ride, even down a street that could not possibly exist.

I wondered if I should completely make up a town. Then I could decide if a street ran east to west and where the mansion was. I had a couple of choices in this direction. There’s the “thinly disguised” option. I could take the name of a Revolutionary War general who didn’t have a town named after him. Or a Native American tribe. Or a European city. But it would “really” be Herkimer. Or Mohawk. Or Ilion. Only with the creek behaving as needed and the historic mansions where I wanted them.

The other way I thought of was to place a made-up town directly in between, say, Herkimer and Mohawk. Anyone familiar with the area would know there is no such place or even any room for one. It would be like another dimension. A wrinkle in space and time. Yes, one of those suspension of disbelief things.

Well, for heavens’ sake isn’t all fiction an exercise in the suspension of disbelief? Am I not making it all up anyways? I think I’m right back where I started.

What I did was I just started writing, figuring these decisions would work themselves out as I went. That has not happened yet and I feel increasingly unable to go on until I decide these things.

I think my best bet is to just decide. And I’m going to decide on the easiest course for me. I say the novel takes place in Herkimer, and I’m just going to move things around as I see fit. I’ll put a building here, a creek there, and my climactic scene… ah ha! You didn’t think I was actually going to give away a plot point, did you? This is not cheesy movie write-up with a spoiler alert! You’ll just have to read the book.

As soon as I finish writing it.

Musings at the End of the Month

It is the last day of June. I seem to remember making a blog post where I said June was going to be All About My Novel and perhaps I would have a Julyathon concerning physical fitness. I should have known that July would sneak up on me. These things always do.

I must admit, to begin with, that June was not exactly All About the Novel. Some days I did not work on it at all. Some days I only managed a little tiny bit. I tried not to get discouraged or down on myself. That is always a danger. For example, I could say, “Oh to hell with it, I missed yesterday and I didn’t do very much today. I might as well give up!” Or I could go the drill sergeant route: “I’m a miserable moron who can’t write a word! A lazy, lollygagging bum! I’ve got to get to work NOW!” (Actually, I usually talk to myself in the second person “YOU’RE a lazy bum!” But I was afraid of being unclear.)

However, I did manage to keep making some sort of progress. Now the month is over and where do I find myself? Um, on the couch, composing my blog post as I type it into the computer (it’s actually a netbook or some such thing) (it was given to me by a generous sister). My novel has not progressed by leaps and bounds, and tomorrow should be the beginning of my Julyathon.

Hmmm… I wrote the title of this post before writing the post, and I don’t know that it really fits. Oh dear, that is OK on Non-Sequitur Thursday but is less than ideal for Middle-aged Musings Monday. What’s a blogger to do?

Waaaait a Minute

So there I was, determined NOT to have a Wuss-Out Wednesday. Unfortunately the determination came upon me late in the day. I spent my breaks at work writing my novel. I was at first greatly encouraged to be putting new words on paper, even, dare I say, moving the plot forward.

And then I thought, Waaaait a minute (like I do for plot holes in cheesy movies), would this character REALLY do this? Or would she be more likely to… I should make THAT character have the idea to… (I know this sounds very silly, but I am determined not to actually talk ABOUT the plot at this point in the writing). Rather than re-write the scene just then, I went to make a note to myself that it was that character’s idea, not this one’s to blah blah woof woof.

Then I thought, Waaait a minute, would SHE think that was a good idea? I was instantly paralyzed. So I worked on Cryptogram puzzles till the end of break.

As I went back to work, it occurred to me that, yes, that character MIGHT in fact have that idea. And the OTHER character (not this character, a third guy) would agree. And she wouldn’t like that he agreed. Conflict!

And now I’ve said too much.

Anyways, with all this on my mind, I did not write a blog post today. When I got home I thought to take my schnoodle Tabby for a walk and write a Pedestrian Post. Steven graciously accompanied us. It was a very nice walk and not a thing happened worth putting in a blog post (I know, since when does that stop me?).

So here I am, over 250 words into not having a post to write. Um…. maybe I could just hit publish and, as always, try again tomorrow.