Three years today.
Current stats:
I’ll make my annual list of self-determined faves from the last year. . . eventually.
But mostly my mind– and mood– is still filled with #s 5-7 below.
So, while congrats are always nice, I desire your prayers most of all. Especially for wisdom as I try to determine where my place of service is in this new balance of things.
~ ~ 1 ~ ~
On Wednesday I was up early and knew I was close to finishing my story. I felt as restless as a cat looking for a place to have her kittens. I was agitated at not being able to finish what was so close, and ended up cleaning the whole house.
As in: the whole. house.
I had called and griped to Jay earlier in the day: frustrated at having to wait, and very close to nagging at him to give me more time. When he came home he was more than impressed.
He took the kids the rest of the evening and it was that night I reached my ending.
~ ~ 2 ~ ~
With a clean house I am a better mom.
Yesterday I let the kids paint until their projects filled the whole table with their drying. Today I could say yes when they asked to use playdough.
When the house is cluttered (and stuff is dried on the table) I never let them use all the cool stuff I’ve collected for them to use. So this has been fun.
I read aloud more when the house is clean, too. I’ve just, well, like I said, been a better mom.
~ ~ 3 ~ ~
Jay and I give the children our one-sided pages for their artwork. Yesterday on the back of their painting I found a page of my original-original novel (as in, I couldn’t find the passage until I went back to my roughest draft) that addresses an issue I’m working out now.
Namely, how to make the Hero more interesting than his foil.
It also brings in a secondary character who (I’d made a note about) needed to be introduced earlier for better context. I read the back of the paper with great interest, making mental notes about where it belonged and what to change.
When I came back out of my office/bedroom I saw Natasha turn over the painting and read the page. I started loading the dishwasher and she looked up, startled. “Is this from one of your stories?” she asked.
~ ~ 4 ~ ~
I’ve fallen off the wagon.
That is, I’m buying books again.
It started innocently enough, as it did last year: buying for the children’s schooling. Then finding several $2 books that I really wanted for my reference shelf (analyzing folk and fairy tales) then picking up the used books that fit my collection, just because they were available and would cost twice as much new.
Once I’d gotten that far I just shrugged and figured I’d blown it. So I’m back to normal.
And normal’s okay for me. I guess that’s what makes it normal.
~ ~ 5 ~ ~
Having just returned a couple weeks ago from my uncle’s memorial service, I am thrown for another loop by the news of another man in his early 50s who died just last night. One of the deacons in our little church.
We got a call as the hospital was doing CPR, and I was shaken by the horrid feeling that I was entering that new life-stage I had only vaguely been aware of 5 years ago, where you start watching friends die.
I remember being delighted with the awareness that I was so much in the “adult” group now that I was making friends with other adults– some old enough to be my parents. Sure I’d been friendly with adults my whole life, but it was like they always knew they were doing me a favor (or that I was doing them one) because we weren’t of the same clan.
And now the down-side. I get to outlive people I love.
Really stinks.
Then I have to wonder what it was like for my Grandpa living longer than many of his friends or, like I’m reading about just now in Numbers, the Israelites loosing a whole generation (a good million people I’ve heard it estimated) in 40 years, and that would be around 68 deaths a day.
So I get a little perspective (“Everybody dies,” my girls chirrup every time we watch Enchanted), and I’m not nearly as morose. But I’m still sad, and I think that’s okay.
Paul said we need to know the truth about those who die, “so that you will not grieve like the rest, who have no hope.” But I take that to mean not that we won’t grieve, but that we will grieve with hope.
We grieve for ourselves, and our loss– and while realizing that makes me feel incredibly selfish, it’s not really going to change my behavior much, other than I’m trying to shift my feelings to think more of the family and their loss: recognizing whatever I feel is nothing compared to them.
~ ~ 6 ~ ~
When my dad’s dad died I was 14. The thing I remember most is watching my parents from the back seat– my mom’s hand on my dad’s leg as we drove the unfamiliar town my where my Papa had lived. And the words my mom used to describe that time.
I don’t know when I actually heard them, but they’ve defined my feelings so many times:
You see that pain someone is feeling, and you start to put yourself there, wanting to share their loss, or understand what they’re feeling– but it’s too much. It’s too painful, and you have to pull back.
~ ~ 7 ~ ~
I’ve been comparing European fairy tales and Greek myths this week (looking at episodes from The Storyteller series is what prompted this chain of thought).
And have you noticed none of the Greek myths really end well? Really. I can’t think of one that ends well (feel free to correct me).
I began thinking that this could have something to do with Christ.
The Greek stories all pre-date him, and center on a time when the best men could hope for or imagine was more powerful versions of themselves. Humans felt knocked about by the world and never knew where or how they would land. Human folly irreparably destroying lives.
The fairy tales, by contrast, have just as much folly and trial and tears, but rooted in a world where the Church had gained great influence there is always the founded hope that the end will come ’round right.
This relief of “happily ever after” (or at least, an ending moment of peace– which is more common if you actually run the numbers) is what ties me so tightly to the Tales I love.
To me it is a reflection of the hope and promise of heaven: that after enduring all trials, through obedience and because of a power beyond ourselves, we have the assurance that will never again be alone or in need.
It is a hope big enough to carry us through every pain and loss.
For more 7 Quick Takes visit Jen’s Conversion Diary
Other 7 Quick Takes on Untangling Tales
I reached it.
I am amazed.
Stories I have in plenty; endings are one thing I have a dearth of.
Two next-steps:
First, updating the added strands of story so they all are current with this version.
Second, I have the notes I made as I went along, like, this event needs to be grounded in an earlier hint, and, she can’t be standing on the left and be doing that on the right.
I’ve got nearly 50 pages of notes, and while I know they aren’t all changes I need to make (most is just a dated list of how much work was done each session) I still get a bit psyched out if I let myself think beyond just a page or two at a time.
Spring is not near by any stretch, but here in the North we have reached a different milestone: being able again to open the drapes when we watch Daddy leave for work, and leave them open.
The light is back!
This makes early rising much more natural and achievable. I’ve spent the last couple days adjusting my internal clock, and I’m all ready to go. Woo Hoo! (Of course, I say that here to twist my own arm a bit to do it.)
I met a gal last week who said growing up in Alaska she gained 15 pounds every winter and lost it every spring.
Winter changes your life. And so does summer.
So I’ve been up early the last several days and have been picking at that last chapter (it’s turned into a total re-write, so it’s a bit slow-going).
I’m reinspired just now, though, because in a pure, words-per-minute way, morning writing is decidedly more productive than evening writing. For now I can still see how much is being accomplished in terms of word count.
I think it’s the natural sense of urgency that I can only write until the day “starts” at 7a.m.
At night it’s a lot easier (or perhaps I should say “more natural”) to dawdle and stare off into space.
I’m not implying these have no value, but not all of them are productive (even sideways) and they certainly don’t get the story written down. Every writer needs both kinds of work.
At night, when the fire of creativity is lit, it’s much easier to ignore the tugging and begging of one’s body complaining it’s tired than it is in the morning to ignore a similar tugging of little hands and voices.
Knowing that that is coming– hearing the restlessness in the next room as little eyes watch the clock waiting for that long-anticipated 7:00— has the effect of hurrying me along. I agonize less over adjectives and race instead to know what happens next?
~ ~ ~
The challenge just now is balancing my theme of teamwork against the need to stay focused on the main character. The first version of this ending was a mass of names and bodies throwing themselves at the problem, and the importance of Linnea and her contribution in bringing the fight to this (manageable) point was lost in the surge.
On one level you could say I don’t trust Linnea (my main character).
~
She’s not all that charismatic or attention-gathering by her personality or wit, and there have been times when I’ve feared she’ll be overshadowed by her companions, so I feel very strongly she needs to be as distinctive as possible at the end.
So this morning I think I found a way to do what I want to do, and I’m just itching to play with it (but I can’t just now ’cause my brain won’t work that way when I’m juggling kids). So that’ll either wait till an early bedtime or tomorrow morning.
I should mention, because it might be of interest, that this teamwork vs. the individual dichotomy became most clear while watching Disney’s Dinosaur with my kids Sunday. That’s a show that tries to be all about teamwork, but it still comes down to the one in the end.
~
Made me think about my goals and how they looked in another story.
Just one scene to finish till I’ve reached “The End” and can start working backwards to make all the details match.
Wow.
I can’t believe this is real.
As in, moving quickly.
I put up more than 2,000 words in the last two days. Which is really good for me.
Actually the whole of it is one scene– the first wholly new scene I’ve written from scratch since… I can’t remember when (rewriting the one I’d already written didn’t count– I knew where it needed to start and end).
One very. rough. scene. But it sort of fixes the problem of #1 in my 7 Quick Takes for the novel, so I’ve got one more thing off my immediate to-do list.
By the time I cycle back around to it I should be able to iron out the really lumpy parts and just keep the useful stuff.
I only have three scenes left people—three!— and everything I wrote that month, long, long ago, will have been chewed through at least once. Everything in this document will be brought into alignment with the final storyline.
I wish now I’d kept track of how much of that month I wrote one-handed, nursing a 6-month-old all hours of the day and night.
And people asked me how I could get so much written when I had a little baby…
Here is an attitude pervasive through our society, and unless you are looking for it, there’s no natural reason to be wary of it.
But it isn’t Biblical.
It was most clearly brought to my attention within the last month, as I was reading Wilson’s The Case for Classical Christian Education.
Modern society does not want to recognize the existence of and problem that does not admit of a human-engineered solution. This solution invariably comes down to some form of education.
I saw the perfect example of this when reading the introduction to a popular education book on the way back from Anchorage this weekend. It was clear the author sincerely believed that if only we could get this education thing *right* we’d finally have everything we’ve hoped for.
That idea might have struck me as vaguely creepy before, but it hardly seems fair to argue against. After all, what other means do we have to even attempt pursuing this high goal?
It was after reading that paragraph from Wilson’s book that a number of things I’ve been struggling with began to come into clearer focus.
I must say, writing a novel while living my life has the tremendous effect of forcing me to see innumerable parallels. Wasn’t I just talking about seeing things more clearly? Things I sort of knew already, but couldn’t quit get at because they weren’t quite… clear.
Anyway, having something before my eyes always makes a tremendous difference for me.
I’m not saying self-education is a bad thing (I live on a steady diet of that); I’m asking, Where is the first place I turn?
If we were not so dependent on the Holy Spirit we could claim our own efforts (frequently to self-educate– some of us) were our solution, our salvation.
In the same way that I can hardly complain of not understanding everything about God (3-in-1? Jesus incarnate = 200%?), I’m beginning to think I should not be surprised when my own efforts or *will* is insufficient to accomplish something.
And I’m beginning to wonder if this is so often the reason why a project may fail, even with with the best of intentions and planning: We really can’t do anything on our own; Jesus himself promised that.
It seems to me we must take that dependence as the most essential starting place, and throw ourselves on the mercies of God if we expect to get anything significant accomplished.
But don’t you dare take that as a suggestion to do nothing. I affirm the “folksy” saying (with my own observations):
Pray as if everything depends on God (because,of course, you know it does). Work as if everything depends on you (because you don’t know how much of it does).
Salvation, of course, is by faith. But blessings (and I would include success here), the Scriptures tell us, are measured out by obedience.
But to finish what I started:
Education is the solution only as much as ignorance is the problem. That is, for “defects of character” or manifestations of Original Sin, education has no relief to offer.
But Jesus does. We’ll be much more effective when we start there.
That is a point emphasized in one of the bossiest and most point-by-point practical books I’ve read on novel-writing.
You Can Write a Novel by James V. Smith Jr.
He approaches the process from a strictly utilitarian point of view; if you are hoping to be published, think in those terms from the beginning: Here, let’s rate your idea. Is it strong enough to sell? No? Throw it out and try again!
~
Anyway, I’ve been thinking in terms of two books for months now, but Book Two has been much more hazy than Book One that is getting more-done every week.
Seeking to re-clarify things for myself I backed up and tried to name my three story strands– the magic number, remember?– and actually found them this time.
Once I had these clearly before me I could look at what I had bumped to Book Two for the wrong reasons. When those pieces were added/returned to my current document it suddenly clarified the question of what Book Two was actually about.
Currently it’s nearly a complete thematic opposite, which is fascinating to me, considering how important I see the original themes.
It also made this finishing process a bit easier because now all of my three strands are happening where we are now, and the time line of the second book may be fitted to this one, rather than trying to write them simultaneously (I was drowning).
As a side-note the compilation bumped my word-count by a solid 10%. This can be good or bad, but I’ve determined I’m not going back to iron out the added sections until I reach *The End* of my current track.
Leaving aside for a moment the question of these statements’ accuracy…
I wrote this mostly because I want to post something after a crazy-stressful week, and I feel both silly and serious.
~
This topic kinda did it for me.
I started a new book tonight– absolutely fascinating so far– and one statement got me following a winding track.
“Comedy comes out of anger, and interesting comes out of angry; otherwise there’s no conflict.”
–Hollywood producer Brian Grazer
Two thoughts came connected to that.
One day at a library (actually, I was trying to map my climax’s time line and picked the wrong section to sit near– fat spines with enticing titles far too easy to read from 6 yards away) I picked up a book about comedy and the introduction observed that the humor of Great Britain and the United States are two entirely different animals: the British emphasis seems to be more on word-play, while American humor is distinctively violent.
Why do we laugh at slapstick, anyway? What’s so funny about watching someone get beat up?
And that makes me wonder about an AP article I read about the difficulty of translating American comedies for the international market
The article was unfortunately poor– only one example, if I remember correctly, and it was of a comedy that was a flop even here at home, so I couldn’t understand the significance of it being a loser overseas.
{shrug}
Anyway, I’ve often wondered if there was a way to learn to be funny. And now I’m wondering if there’s a way to learn different cultures’ funny the way you try to learn their mannerisms or gestures to match their language.
That would be so awesome– one could work at meshing the different types of comedy in the regions referenced in your story, and see how much could be amalgamated with the culture where the story is being told…
And, okay. I’m done now.
Hope your week is more peaceful and less-hectic than mine was last week.
In my Magna Cartas post I got pretty specific about what I like and don’t like in my entertainment.
I decided it would be most accurate to say entertainment, as I feel the same about these theses whether I’m reading, writing or watching it on-screen.
Some of my favorite examples. It’s easy to see why my favorites rate that way, as they fit so many of my criteria.