Daily prompt: A Bookish Choice

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essays, novels, postaday2014, publish

A literary-minded witch gives you a choice: with a flick of the wand, you can become either an obscure novelist whose work will be admired and studied by a select few for decades, or a popular paperback author whose books give pleasure to millions. Which do you choose?

That is a difficult choice. It is an appealing thought to be this sort of “cool” off the beaten path novelist enjoyed by the select few, but when one writes, isn’t it to be read by many?

I have two projects that are different in genre, one id a collection of political essays and the other is a novel set in the 1920’s Paris/New York and is a love story/adventure. I could see the collection of political essays to an obscure publication that could be studied for a few decades; whereas the novel might give pleasure to many different people of all backgrounds. Am I being greedy?

I just want to be finished with both of my books so that I can have this giant expectation of myself off my shoulders. At this point I don’t even mind if I don’t get published, I do want to get published, but I am not even really thinking of that at this point. I want to be able to type the last words and know that I have accomplished the projects that I had set for myself. My two books are all about me and my follow through, I want to be a finisher, not a quitter.

Daily prompt: Great Expectations

Tags

novels, postaday2014, procrastination, writing

Tell us about one thing (or more) that you promised yourself you’d accomplish by the end of the year. How would you feel once you do? What if you don’t?

Everyone who has been following my blog for over three years will be sick and tired of this familiar theme by now; sorry but here goes: I promised myself that I would at last finish my novel by the end of this year; it has only been three nanowrimo marathons and it still isn’t done. I have a nice list of why’s, but the why’s don’t fill a screen; only dedication and will power will fill a screen and currently I am too tired to extend that amount of energy.

I have gotten my character Madeleine to New York. I have researched New York City 1926 fairly well; I have a solid notion of how it will end; the in betweens are a bit vague; how will she fill up her day in New York City while her lover goes about his daily business? That sort of thing.

Why am I stuck? I do not know, well I sort of know, but it still isn’t a very good excuse for not getting over it and just doing the work. It won’t hurt anything or cost me anything if I just sit down and write the words. Goodness knows; I do write every single day. All of you know that very well, I am faithful in that respect. Why am I not applying the same dedication to my novel? Well to be fair, this is far and away much easier then writing my novel, for me at least. When I write here, I feel as if I am writing a fun letter to you my friends so the words just flow from my brain to the screen, no worries, no angst. When I am writing my novel I am writing as my character and I feel her emotions and her truth and the words feel as if they are being ripped out of my gut and it is a little scary. I feel so much more exposed within the context of my novel then here in my blog. It’s weird because this blog is personal, but I feel very safe here, not raw and exposed as I feel when I am living in my novel.

Even within the realm of my political blog, I haven’t any qualms over filling the page. Politics can be quite incendiary, but that doesn’t stop me from writing everyday as well, I know that there are tons that disagree with my views, but I never feel threatened or intimidated so my posts flow very easily.

I have to do something; the longer I put it off, the longer it will lay around not getting done and before I die, I want this novel to be written with The End typed on the last page.

Argh

Ahab’s Wife the book; just getting better and better

Tags

Ahab's Wife, fiction, novels, postaday2013, Reading

The gift that my cousin Nancy gave me, the book Ahab’s Wife, is revealing itself to be one of the better written books that I have read in a long while. The author’s ease with descriptive language is pretty incredible and it is giving me inspiration for my own novel. The descriptive language that the authoress employs is used towards nature, thoughts, relationships and the physical persons in the heroine’s, Una is her name, world whereas I use descriptive language to describe food, cooking, eating and tasting. I think that I will try to incorporate more descriptive language to further communicate the sense of what Paris or now the lack of Paris means to my own heroine, now that she is ready to travel overseas to the new world.

I have often heard that to be a good writer, one needs to read a lot. Now that I have been at Ahab’s Wife for a while; reading a writing style that really has drawn me in and impressed me in a way that I haven’t been since I don’t know when, I feel moved to better my own writing. I know that I could seriously use improvement in my writing style. I think that for my novel, my style may be a little to matter of fact, not descriptive enough. I need to learn how to paint a scene with my words, I know that I paint scenes surrounding food and eating, I would like to try and branch out to my characters surroundings, feelings and physical persons.

It will always be a work progress just the way I am a work in progress as a person. That’s fine, I hope that I will get better as I continue writing, only time will tell.

Breaking through stumbling blocks

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difficult, emotional, novels, pacing, postaday2013, sitting, writing

Earlier today I responded to a prompt about tears of joy versus tears of sadness. After I had written my response, I took Jack, my trusty Jack Russell, for a walk and during my walking and thinking time, I was writing my novel in my head as usual and I felt tears building in my eyes because my heroine is 10 short days from boarding a steam ship, leaving her Paris behind. I know that there will be adventures galore, but she is leaving her friends and family for destination and life unknown with only the love of her life to guide her. I have finally gotten these two love birds to the pivotal point of the book, the big au revoir to France and hello to the United States.

I was a little surprised at how spontaneously my tears came to my eyes when I thought of my girl saying good bye to France. It’s a book, a book that I’m writing, I know it’s all in my head and I still had tears. I can be such a ninny sometimes. I hope that someone will have tears in their eyes at some point if they ever get to read this book, if I ever get my backside in gear to finally finish it. I’m still working on it. I had the worst thought that erupted in my head while I was at the post office talking to two of my friends; I was sharing my writer’s woes and then it spilt out from my lips. What if after this is all said and done, no one wants to publish it or anything and it gets put in the attic somewhere and sometime after I am dead and gone, some one finds it and gets it published because it is then a fashionable subject, wouldn’t that just be awful. I don’t know why I think such silly thoughts, I was experiencing frustration I guess. Writing is HARD.

How it should have ended

Tags

characters, endings, novels, postaday2012, re-writing, stories, writers

There was a story you once read (or saw, or heard) – and it didn’t end the way it should have ended. And that really annoyed you, right? So how *should* it have ended?

When I was in high school I didn’t appreciate the tragic romanticism of certain writers such as Tolstoy, Flaubert and Bronte. When I read Anna Karenina, I identified with the confusion and the desire for the seemingly unobtainable and forbidden passions, after all I was a teenage girl, if it is unobtainable and forbidden, it is automatically more desirable. While reading Madame Bovary, I remember getting so exasperated with her, understanding her willingness to risk everything for love but not understanding her concurrent obsession with all things materialistic. Similarly with Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff would drive me mad with his arrogance and refusal to allow anyone in: Catherine herself wasn’t off the hook from my frustration. Her similar arrogance and immaturity vis a vis her true feelings towards Heathcliff made for painful reading at times. All I wanted for these tragic characters was a little happiness and tranquility. Now as an older reader, I appreciate the masterpieces for what they are, brilliant insights into the frailty of human nature and its inner demons.