The deconstruction of Hafan Deg is going fairly well and shouldn't take me very long. I am working with a much more positive attitude now. Christopher - who's such a know-it-all - seems to know it all, after all, and I am in awe of his succinct, perhaps not always welcome, suggestions.
As I remove said chunks of words, I find myself wondering what that bit was about and why I felt it was imperative to include it. Someone recently wrote that some backstory need never appear, as long as the character is influenced by it through the story, and I see that this is true. Another writer echoed this. The history of each character is a totally separate exercise, outside the manuscript itself, and will be obvious to the reader from the careful drawing of each character.
I think I always knew this. I've been writing for decades, and read everything I could about the craft. Yet I blythely ignored these writers' tips, believing - what? - that I was above it in some way?
So the streamlined version is coming along nicely. The original, larger MS is still on the website, but I will replace it when the shorter one is finished.
In this final slowing-down period, where the worst is over for the creation of this book, I've already begun to think about the next one. Should the manuscript of Hafan Deg be taken up by some agent, or publisher, it could be months, even a year or more, before publication. This isn't the time to sit back and lazily follow its journey. I intend to begin the new one in the next few weeks. I'm also considering a re-write of my first book, because it's a nice story, and no one else has done it, as far as I know.
So I feel the pressure is off for the time being. Christopher has been quite clear about my need to de-stress over it. When I began this blog, I had hoped for clear, firm, constructive criticism - mixed, I'd hoped, with some sympathy, even empathy, to soften the blows. Christopher has done a stellar job of that. Thank you, Christopher.
And I didn't mean it about McDonalds...
Friday, January 16, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
First Novel - Are You Saying Too Much?
Did you know this? I was advised by someone I trust in the business that a first novel should never have more than 90,000 words.
This was a terrible blow to me, having just completed, triumphantly, 126,000 words. It seems that agents and publishers have enough trouble assessing new writers, without the added problem of too fat a book; such wordiness no doubt would cause increased costs, with the possibility of insignificant revenues, should the book do poorly. I am unable to find the words to say how much this upset me. Perhaps my book will do well, but it certainly won't be doing it with the original 500 pages.
I've already begun the task of whittling away words, paragraphs - even pages, to get my MS down to the prerequisite number, and it seemed impossible, at the beginning. Now I find it's not quite as bad as I thought. There is a sense of serious spring cleaning, not just the weekly chores. I was saddened to cut sections that I saw as imperative to the story, but, in fact, they weren't. For instance, my heroine travels a lot, but I chopped out all reference to one particular country, because it had no bearing on the forward movement of the book, even though it was a nice read. I save these abandoned chunks to another document file as I go, where I can probably use them in another book, with revisions, in the future.
So, if you are in the middle of a 500-page saga, hang on a bit. Are all those words really necessary?
Thanks, Christopher, my writing buddy, for pointing this out to me. I'm not happy, and the writing ego is somewhat crushed, but I get it.
I have a cunning plan up my sleeve, however. I'm keeping the original 126,000-word MS in its original state. If some agent gets really excited over my work, and is full of huge optimism and grand plans for me, I can always whip it out and say, "I just happen to have a larger version. Want to check it out?"
We moan and whine at writers' block; we blog excitedly about our daily word count; we agonize over revisions; we use a lot of expletives during proofing; we expect to squirm at the query stage. And all the while, we are blissfully unaware that we're writing too much. Who would have thought it?
This was a terrible blow to me, having just completed, triumphantly, 126,000 words. It seems that agents and publishers have enough trouble assessing new writers, without the added problem of too fat a book; such wordiness no doubt would cause increased costs, with the possibility of insignificant revenues, should the book do poorly. I am unable to find the words to say how much this upset me. Perhaps my book will do well, but it certainly won't be doing it with the original 500 pages.
I've already begun the task of whittling away words, paragraphs - even pages, to get my MS down to the prerequisite number, and it seemed impossible, at the beginning. Now I find it's not quite as bad as I thought. There is a sense of serious spring cleaning, not just the weekly chores. I was saddened to cut sections that I saw as imperative to the story, but, in fact, they weren't. For instance, my heroine travels a lot, but I chopped out all reference to one particular country, because it had no bearing on the forward movement of the book, even though it was a nice read. I save these abandoned chunks to another document file as I go, where I can probably use them in another book, with revisions, in the future.
So, if you are in the middle of a 500-page saga, hang on a bit. Are all those words really necessary?
Thanks, Christopher, my writing buddy, for pointing this out to me. I'm not happy, and the writing ego is somewhat crushed, but I get it.
I have a cunning plan up my sleeve, however. I'm keeping the original 126,000-word MS in its original state. If some agent gets really excited over my work, and is full of huge optimism and grand plans for me, I can always whip it out and say, "I just happen to have a larger version. Want to check it out?"
We moan and whine at writers' block; we blog excitedly about our daily word count; we agonize over revisions; we use a lot of expletives during proofing; we expect to squirm at the query stage. And all the while, we are blissfully unaware that we're writing too much. Who would have thought it?
Monday, January 12, 2009
Hafan Deg - The House
Having photographs on this blog is a first, but I came across these as I was sorting through my writing files. I thought you'd find them interesting.
This is the house in Wales that inspired Hafan Deg. It's the large one, close to the water. You can see why it captured my imagination. Add to this the fact that the place was becoming a ruin, not visible in these pictures, and you might understand how I reacted to it as I did.
I have always been obsessed by houses. Naturally, some of them were my own; there is nothing I love more than buying an old place and re-doing it with whatever limited funds I have. I've owned a few houses, over the years, but once they were redecorated, improved, I moved on.
However, I love all old houses, particularly if they appear unloved. Going for a drive in the country, seeing so many derelict places, I long to just wave some magic wand and make them all whole again, with people living in them. In fact, if you've ever looked at my website, I've painted this kind of house more than once.
My first novel involved an empty house, eerier than Hafan Deg in my current book. But that house had a ghost. I don't believe in ghosts, but I love to write about them. How silly is that?
I think that I'm saying that I believe in the energy of a house, something that perhaps scientists can, or have, explained at one time or another. When I walk through a place - again, when it's empty - I feel the breath of it, somehow. For a woman who is extremely pragmatic, and not into fantasy at all in my non-writing life, this is very odd. Of course, I imagine that we all get that feeling in ancient churches, and it can be overwhelming in some of the grand heritage houses run by the National Trust in England, but, in those places, we already know their history, as the plaques and booklets are right there as we walk around, revealing their sagas.
But it's strange that a very ordinary, sometimes extraordinary, old family home, in its abandonment, can carry that same sense of story, hint at the previous lives spent there.
I'm not complaining about my eccentricity. If it's a psychological problem, it's a gentle one, unlikely to cause harm to me or anyone else, and definitely helpful to the old houses I sometimes buy.
Perhaps there are others who feel this way - practical, scientifically-minded, non-fantasy kinds of people who also get that gut reaction to a place.
I said I don't believe in ghosts, but I know I couldn't spend a night alone in, say, Hampton Court, or the Tower of London. What's that about? Is this a case of 'I-don't believe-in-ghosts-but-I-wouldn't-want-to-meet-one'?
Whatever it is, it makes for a good read, and certainly makes me write. I wonder what you think about it.
This is the house in Wales that inspired Hafan Deg. It's the large one, close to the water. You can see why it captured my imagination. Add to this the fact that the place was becoming a ruin, not visible in these pictures, and you might understand how I reacted to it as I did.
I have always been obsessed by houses. Naturally, some of them were my own; there is nothing I love more than buying an old place and re-doing it with whatever limited funds I have. I've owned a few houses, over the years, but once they were redecorated, improved, I moved on.
However, I love all old houses, particularly if they appear unloved. Going for a drive in the country, seeing so many derelict places, I long to just wave some magic wand and make them all whole again, with people living in them. In fact, if you've ever looked at my website, I've painted this kind of house more than once.
My first novel involved an empty house, eerier than Hafan Deg in my current book. But that house had a ghost. I don't believe in ghosts, but I love to write about them. How silly is that?
I think that I'm saying that I believe in the energy of a house, something that perhaps scientists can, or have, explained at one time or another. When I walk through a place - again, when it's empty - I feel the breath of it, somehow. For a woman who is extremely pragmatic, and not into fantasy at all in my non-writing life, this is very odd. Of course, I imagine that we all get that feeling in ancient churches, and it can be overwhelming in some of the grand heritage houses run by the National Trust in England, but, in those places, we already know their history, as the plaques and booklets are right there as we walk around, revealing their sagas.
But it's strange that a very ordinary, sometimes extraordinary, old family home, in its abandonment, can carry that same sense of story, hint at the previous lives spent there.
I'm not complaining about my eccentricity. If it's a psychological problem, it's a gentle one, unlikely to cause harm to me or anyone else, and definitely helpful to the old houses I sometimes buy.
Perhaps there are others who feel this way - practical, scientifically-minded, non-fantasy kinds of people who also get that gut reaction to a place.
I said I don't believe in ghosts, but I know I couldn't spend a night alone in, say, Hampton Court, or the Tower of London. What's that about? Is this a case of 'I-don't believe-in-ghosts-but-I-wouldn't-want-to-meet-one'?
Whatever it is, it makes for a good read, and certainly makes me write. I wonder what you think about it.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Hafan Deg - First Three Chapters Only
On Friday, I said I would be leaving my complete novel - all 500 pages exactly, how weird is that? - on this blog for one month - well, I said until the end of February. I received a nice comment - very positive about the book, by the way - suggesting I was unwise to show the whole MS online.
I've thought about this a lot during the time I've been posting, and wondered why so few others seem to do it. I simply figured they weren't brave enough.
The book was copyrighted in December through the Canadian Intellectual Property Office, Registration No. 1063562. So that, you'd think, does away with the fear of plagiarism, which, in itself, seems a rather arrogant fear, considering my amateur status. But, you never know...
It's more likely that my helpful reader was concerned that an agent would have no interest in a book that was available free online. I think this is what he meant. I've asked him to clarify, by the way, but nothing to report to date. Whatever his feelings were, I felt that he was right, and I took his advice. That's why there are now only three chapters here.
So, for all of you who genuinely enjoy Hafan Deg, who are Followers of this blog, I'm happy to give you the website where you can read it all to your heart's content, possibly without ever feeling the need to read this blog again, which might be a bonus for you. Just comment and I'll respond with the details.
I have a bit of tidying up to do with my writing docs. I'll probably spend the day fiddling around with them, dumping a lot of stuff, archiving material I didn't use - yes, there was quite a bit that I left out, believe it or not.
And next week I'll begin the query process. I kept the original synopsis and query letter that got this MS into the hands of Allen & Unwin, in Sydney, in the first place. It was successful in piqueing their curiosity then, so I'll undoubtedly incorporate it into my current submissions. Oh, and the book was only 385 pages then. I certainly had a lot more to say. Let's hope it's an improvement.
I was thinking it might be cute to put up some sort of meter, showing the number of submissions, and the number of rejects, with dates. If that sounds coldblooded, well, the publishing world is, isn't it? I'm not so naive as to expect less than a dozen, fifty, or more rejections.
The one thing we don't talk about, the thing that is always uppermost in my mind, is how much all of this is going to cost! 500 pages has to printed many times, I hope, so there's the cost of ink casettes (I'm running it off myself), paper, boxes or sturdy envelopes, stamps. Sheesh! That could add up.
Once again, my thanks to all of you who have been following me. I hope you'll continue the journey with me. I really enjoy knowing you're there.
I've thought about this a lot during the time I've been posting, and wondered why so few others seem to do it. I simply figured they weren't brave enough.
The book was copyrighted in December through the Canadian Intellectual Property Office, Registration No. 1063562. So that, you'd think, does away with the fear of plagiarism, which, in itself, seems a rather arrogant fear, considering my amateur status. But, you never know...
It's more likely that my helpful reader was concerned that an agent would have no interest in a book that was available free online. I think this is what he meant. I've asked him to clarify, by the way, but nothing to report to date. Whatever his feelings were, I felt that he was right, and I took his advice. That's why there are now only three chapters here.
So, for all of you who genuinely enjoy Hafan Deg, who are Followers of this blog, I'm happy to give you the website where you can read it all to your heart's content, possibly without ever feeling the need to read this blog again, which might be a bonus for you. Just comment and I'll respond with the details.
I have a bit of tidying up to do with my writing docs. I'll probably spend the day fiddling around with them, dumping a lot of stuff, archiving material I didn't use - yes, there was quite a bit that I left out, believe it or not.
And next week I'll begin the query process. I kept the original synopsis and query letter that got this MS into the hands of Allen & Unwin, in Sydney, in the first place. It was successful in piqueing their curiosity then, so I'll undoubtedly incorporate it into my current submissions. Oh, and the book was only 385 pages then. I certainly had a lot more to say. Let's hope it's an improvement.
I was thinking it might be cute to put up some sort of meter, showing the number of submissions, and the number of rejects, with dates. If that sounds coldblooded, well, the publishing world is, isn't it? I'm not so naive as to expect less than a dozen, fifty, or more rejections.
The one thing we don't talk about, the thing that is always uppermost in my mind, is how much all of this is going to cost! 500 pages has to printed many times, I hope, so there's the cost of ink casettes (I'm running it off myself), paper, boxes or sturdy envelopes, stamps. Sheesh! That could add up.
Once again, my thanks to all of you who have been following me. I hope you'll continue the journey with me. I really enjoy knowing you're there.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Hafan Deg - my Novel-in-Progress - is Complete
I finished Hafan Deg today, well, about half an hour ago. I'm not putting up the final four chapters until Monday, because I'm tired, and slightly punch-drunk that it's done. I can't trust my own judgement right now when it comes to the proofing. It looks perfect, but we all know what that usually means.
Another chapter emerged from the three I thought I had left. It was necessary, and I think that's why I was baulking at reaching the end. I knew I had something else to say. Well, as writers, I hope we always have something else to say, although not necessarily for our current manuscript.
Writing this blog was so helpful to me, although I knew there was just a handful of people out there actually reading it, but it gave me the resolve to complete it, more or less in front of you. You were the teacher to my homework, if you like. I see my little group of followers, and there are perhaps others who choose not to join the group, but still read the blog, and I am grateful to all of you for being there. I wouldn't have finished this without you, honestly, because there would have been no obligation. After spouting about "flow" and so on, how could I just let the blog slide? Without you, at the tricky points, particularly this past week, I might have stopped again, put the ms away for a bit, until I was ready. And we are never really ready to finish our books.
I intend to leave the whole book up for about a month, through February, let's say, but then I want to start getting it into the hands of an agent. I'm not sure what the etiquette is for novels-on-line, but it's possible some agents could find it a bit difficult to sell, considering I'm flogging it for nothing through Blogger.
After that, I'll send you the website, if you request it, so you can complete the read, if you haven't done it by then, sort of invitation-only.
I joked on Wednesday about how a Mac might have done all the clean-up work, and wouldn't that be nice if they really could invent a program that could do that? Our technology is oh-so-clever today that someone really should have done it. It would be able to deal with the usual punctuation problems, recognize when a semi-colon is the only way to go, know when italics are called for, when "she said, he said" are superfluous, know the spelling of every word, including foreign ones, and proper names. It would advise when to finish a paragraph, when to end the chapter. And it would remind you that you forgot to mention that Jeremy had his teeth cleaned in Chapter whatever, and you had never mentioned it again. Stuff like that. My dear Kit in England said she would like such a program, so I know there's a market for it.
Oh, and at the end of the book it would tell you if this is Women's Fiction, Women's Literary Fiction, Old-Hen Lit, or pure Horror. It helps to know what genre you write in. It could even have little faces, you know, a happy one, a sad one, and a really sneery one for when you've just written a bit of utter tripe.
Through all of my ramblings, including that nasty review I got a couple of weeks back, no one has actually commented on the book itself, which is a bit alarming. One or two of you were following me at my writing site, and you were always more than generous with your praise, but the rest of you...well, what are you getting out of it? Is it a good read, so-so, or what? The whole purpose of this blog was to get feedback, to recognize when I was doing something right, or way off the mark. I would still respectfully ask that you send me your comments. Perhaps you're waiting until the end to give your final verdict.
I remind you that this book is intended for women of a certain age, women who have been-there, done-that more than once, possibly several times, women who've struggled with love, making ends meet, bad marriages, working 9-5, unsympathetic men, and the huge sacrifices of motherhood, all the while trying to keep houses clean, serve appetizing meals, whip up a little something for the church bazaar, remain perennially attractive and sexually fascinating, brilliantly read, and young-ish.
My novel salutes you all.
See you on Monday.
Another chapter emerged from the three I thought I had left. It was necessary, and I think that's why I was baulking at reaching the end. I knew I had something else to say. Well, as writers, I hope we always have something else to say, although not necessarily for our current manuscript.
Writing this blog was so helpful to me, although I knew there was just a handful of people out there actually reading it, but it gave me the resolve to complete it, more or less in front of you. You were the teacher to my homework, if you like. I see my little group of followers, and there are perhaps others who choose not to join the group, but still read the blog, and I am grateful to all of you for being there. I wouldn't have finished this without you, honestly, because there would have been no obligation. After spouting about "flow" and so on, how could I just let the blog slide? Without you, at the tricky points, particularly this past week, I might have stopped again, put the ms away for a bit, until I was ready. And we are never really ready to finish our books.
I intend to leave the whole book up for about a month, through February, let's say, but then I want to start getting it into the hands of an agent. I'm not sure what the etiquette is for novels-on-line, but it's possible some agents could find it a bit difficult to sell, considering I'm flogging it for nothing through Blogger.
After that, I'll send you the website, if you request it, so you can complete the read, if you haven't done it by then, sort of invitation-only.
I joked on Wednesday about how a Mac might have done all the clean-up work, and wouldn't that be nice if they really could invent a program that could do that? Our technology is oh-so-clever today that someone really should have done it. It would be able to deal with the usual punctuation problems, recognize when a semi-colon is the only way to go, know when italics are called for, when "she said, he said" are superfluous, know the spelling of every word, including foreign ones, and proper names. It would advise when to finish a paragraph, when to end the chapter. And it would remind you that you forgot to mention that Jeremy had his teeth cleaned in Chapter whatever, and you had never mentioned it again. Stuff like that. My dear Kit in England said she would like such a program, so I know there's a market for it.
Oh, and at the end of the book it would tell you if this is Women's Fiction, Women's Literary Fiction, Old-Hen Lit, or pure Horror. It helps to know what genre you write in. It could even have little faces, you know, a happy one, a sad one, and a really sneery one for when you've just written a bit of utter tripe.
Through all of my ramblings, including that nasty review I got a couple of weeks back, no one has actually commented on the book itself, which is a bit alarming. One or two of you were following me at my writing site, and you were always more than generous with your praise, but the rest of you...well, what are you getting out of it? Is it a good read, so-so, or what? The whole purpose of this blog was to get feedback, to recognize when I was doing something right, or way off the mark. I would still respectfully ask that you send me your comments. Perhaps you're waiting until the end to give your final verdict.
I remind you that this book is intended for women of a certain age, women who have been-there, done-that more than once, possibly several times, women who've struggled with love, making ends meet, bad marriages, working 9-5, unsympathetic men, and the huge sacrifices of motherhood, all the while trying to keep houses clean, serve appetizing meals, whip up a little something for the church bazaar, remain perennially attractive and sexually fascinating, brilliantly read, and young-ish.
My novel salutes you all.
See you on Monday.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Winter Blahs
I know it's very early winter, but already I have a case of winter blahs. Born in England, I can deal with cold weather, and, growing up in Australia, I expect sunshine, but when it's cold and gray, it's horrible. Nobody minds tons of snow when there's brilliant sunshine, and Canada is usually that way. Not today. It's horrible outside, a sort of half-light, as if the sun is going down, and it's only 3 p.m. So I once again admit that I am adversely influenced by light-deprivation. I have all the symptoms. All I want to do is cuddle up on the couch with my cats, and half-watch TV or doze. Not good when I'm trying to complete my book.
As to the novel, I just can't put more chapters up yet. The thing is just not going the way I want. It's baffling to me that I can't handle my own characters, but, everytime I tell them, 'that's it, this is what's going to happen next...' they just ignore me. The latest words look all flat on the screen, uninspiring, so I delete them all, go back again and tell them (my characters), 'that's it, this is what's going to happen next...' and then I go through it all again. I've been doing this for three days. I no longer spring out of bed to get to them. I no longer rush back in here after making a coffee, or eating my lunch. I sort of wander a bit aimlessly towards the computer wondering if they are ready to behave yet.
I feel that I am on the verge of something. It's not what I planned, but it's coming. In the meantime, I will prattle on here, and try to find inspiration in other blogs, which often help.
Sad thing just happened. My newly acquired and much-loved digital notes, which I have been using wildly since I installed the program, suddenly disappeared from my computer. No sign of my bulletin board, my notes on future blogs, my chapter action summaries, chapter page numbers, etc. They've just gone. Usually a little tab just sits on the bottom waiting for me, but no more. So I opened the program, and it asked me to agree to all terms and conditions, etc., as if it had never seen me before. At least the book is more or less finished, and I don't really need to refer to those notes, but I know there were other things...
Much earlier, I mentioned to my son that I was enjoying this new digital notes program. He sort of said, 'ho-hum', because he has a Mac, and apparently Macs have this program built in; I know what I'm going to buy when I replace this aging computer. I used one years ago, but then every office I knew switched to PC, despite my protests. When you freelance, you use the programs and hardware the client uses, and no one was using Mac. I no longer have any clients to speak of, so I'm free to choose my own computer.
Mac wouldn't have eaten its own digital notes.
I bet a Mac would be able to help me pull those characters into line, too.
As to the novel, I just can't put more chapters up yet. The thing is just not going the way I want. It's baffling to me that I can't handle my own characters, but, everytime I tell them, 'that's it, this is what's going to happen next...' they just ignore me. The latest words look all flat on the screen, uninspiring, so I delete them all, go back again and tell them (my characters), 'that's it, this is what's going to happen next...' and then I go through it all again. I've been doing this for three days. I no longer spring out of bed to get to them. I no longer rush back in here after making a coffee, or eating my lunch. I sort of wander a bit aimlessly towards the computer wondering if they are ready to behave yet.
I feel that I am on the verge of something. It's not what I planned, but it's coming. In the meantime, I will prattle on here, and try to find inspiration in other blogs, which often help.
Sad thing just happened. My newly acquired and much-loved digital notes, which I have been using wildly since I installed the program, suddenly disappeared from my computer. No sign of my bulletin board, my notes on future blogs, my chapter action summaries, chapter page numbers, etc. They've just gone. Usually a little tab just sits on the bottom waiting for me, but no more. So I opened the program, and it asked me to agree to all terms and conditions, etc., as if it had never seen me before. At least the book is more or less finished, and I don't really need to refer to those notes, but I know there were other things...
Much earlier, I mentioned to my son that I was enjoying this new digital notes program. He sort of said, 'ho-hum', because he has a Mac, and apparently Macs have this program built in; I know what I'm going to buy when I replace this aging computer. I used one years ago, but then every office I knew switched to PC, despite my protests. When you freelance, you use the programs and hardware the client uses, and no one was using Mac. I no longer have any clients to speak of, so I'm free to choose my own computer.
Mac wouldn't have eaten its own digital notes.
I bet a Mac would be able to help me pull those characters into line, too.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Chapters One through Thirty-Four Today
Well, you can see that I now have just one place for you to click to gain access to the novel. I think the site looks a lot cleaner, and certainly makes it easier for you.
Only three chapters (I think) to go. I've been avoiding it, this last part. It's as if I am getting ready to say goodbye to an old friend. Of course, it will always be with me, and certainly still be driving me crazy when it reaches the submission stage. But the completion of it, the final resting of it, I hope, in my brain, should make for more normal days. I have been obsessed with it, as I think I told you.
I wanted to comment on something that has occurred to me at numerous times since I've been doing the revisions. I belong to another writing site, where we all critique one anothers' work - although I've been shamelessly lax, being so involved in this manuscript - and I've received suggestions for improvements to the ms there, which I mostly took on board. I also read a vast quantity of blogs and writing How-To sites, and, from all this wealth of information, it came home to me just how terribly complicated the process of writing a book is, way above and beyond the actual creation of it.
It stands to reason we must be very careful with our editing - proofing and proofing again - to make our words perfectly clear, not muddled. This, in itself, is the worst job of all, as far as I can see. I would pay someone else to do it, had I spare cash, but I don't.
On top of that, today we have to be terribly clever with our query letters, composing them like works of art in themselves. We need to have brilliant 'pitches', breathtaking synopses, and all typed very carefully in Copperplate Gothic, they say.
Thinking back to all the biographies or newspaper snippets I've read about famous writers of much earlier years, particularly those of the forties and fifties, it seems their publishers weren't so absolutely perfectionist about the condition of their manuscripts. Those writers, admittedly tops in their field, were famous for their sloppy pages, seemed to almost take pride in that eccentricity. I've seen some of them reproduced, their original submissions, and they were just filled with ink blots and scribbled-out words, hand-written, a lot of them, with misspellings and poor punctuation.
In those days, editors permitted this, humored their great talents, allowed them to be - let's face it - incredibly difficult reads, at least, at that stage. So the editors and proofreaders did the awful slogging, all the tweaking, with what must have been hundreds of blue-pencil marks all across the pages.
It could never happen today, could it? Unless someone like J.D. Salinger really did present that mystical new novel, all messy and awful because it's been sitting around for so many years. I guess they'd take it, whatever its condition.
Oh, how I wish it could be that way for me. And mine is so-oo clean.
Except for that little comma I missed out on page.....
Only three chapters (I think) to go. I've been avoiding it, this last part. It's as if I am getting ready to say goodbye to an old friend. Of course, it will always be with me, and certainly still be driving me crazy when it reaches the submission stage. But the completion of it, the final resting of it, I hope, in my brain, should make for more normal days. I have been obsessed with it, as I think I told you.
I wanted to comment on something that has occurred to me at numerous times since I've been doing the revisions. I belong to another writing site, where we all critique one anothers' work - although I've been shamelessly lax, being so involved in this manuscript - and I've received suggestions for improvements to the ms there, which I mostly took on board. I also read a vast quantity of blogs and writing How-To sites, and, from all this wealth of information, it came home to me just how terribly complicated the process of writing a book is, way above and beyond the actual creation of it.
It stands to reason we must be very careful with our editing - proofing and proofing again - to make our words perfectly clear, not muddled. This, in itself, is the worst job of all, as far as I can see. I would pay someone else to do it, had I spare cash, but I don't.
On top of that, today we have to be terribly clever with our query letters, composing them like works of art in themselves. We need to have brilliant 'pitches', breathtaking synopses, and all typed very carefully in Copperplate Gothic, they say.
Thinking back to all the biographies or newspaper snippets I've read about famous writers of much earlier years, particularly those of the forties and fifties, it seems their publishers weren't so absolutely perfectionist about the condition of their manuscripts. Those writers, admittedly tops in their field, were famous for their sloppy pages, seemed to almost take pride in that eccentricity. I've seen some of them reproduced, their original submissions, and they were just filled with ink blots and scribbled-out words, hand-written, a lot of them, with misspellings and poor punctuation.
In those days, editors permitted this, humored their great talents, allowed them to be - let's face it - incredibly difficult reads, at least, at that stage. So the editors and proofreaders did the awful slogging, all the tweaking, with what must have been hundreds of blue-pencil marks all across the pages.
It could never happen today, could it? Unless someone like J.D. Salinger really did present that mystical new novel, all messy and awful because it's been sitting around for so many years. I guess they'd take it, whatever its condition.
Oh, how I wish it could be that way for me. And mine is so-oo clean.
Except for that little comma I missed out on page.....
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Happy New Year!
I don't usually comment here two days in a row. But it's New Year! I wanted to get down some immediate thoughts on how I see 2009.
First, I was somewhat dejected that I hadn't finished my revisions to the Hafan Deg manuscript yesterday. It was a pact I made with myself, and one I thought I could fulfil. But those darned characters, what can I say? They will NOT behave the way I want them to. They fiddle about, hanging curtains, going on about Genius Loci's and how well the furnace is working. I just can't seem to get them to go where I want them. Today, in a mighty effort, I will, somehow, take them in hand.
I have to tell you, and it's not easy to say, that I got a rather disappointing review of the manuscript. Hafan Deg appears on two other writing sites, and this particular one, from whence appeared the critique, I had earlier tried to cancel (it didn't seem appropriate for my book, surrounded, as it was, with fantasy, vampires, and gothic horror). They politely told me they can't cancel. However, despite being a reader of that site, the reviewer appears eloquent and learned enough for me to take seriously.
In setting up this blog, I told you that I would entertain any worthwhile critiques and try to learn from them. I knew I would have to be brave. I've inserted the whole thing below. I would really appreciate it if you would comment on it. The thing is, if it's true, then I should just scrap the whole book and go back to painting. Yet I receive feedback from other sites where people are following Karen with such interest and involvement, so that this one frankly hurts. My gut feeling is that this book is just not suitable for this reader; we all read totally different kinds of books. My best friend in Oz would never pick up Hafan Deg to read if she found it at the library, I know, because she prefers Harlan Coben thrillers, but the poor girl is ploughing through it out of loyalty, not riveted attention.
So I wanted to ask the critic what he preferred to read, but felt it would be unseemly to actually follow up on a less than kind critique. I must conclude that he didn't closely read the book, perhaps a quick skim, because he didn't know that Hafan Deg was a house, and that the name is Welsh for 'safe harbor', and that all appears in the opening two or three chapters, as I recall. Anyway, it's below. PLEASE comment.
'I haven’t learned what a "hafan deg" is yet
I’m slowly working my way through "Hafan Deg," and I still don’t know what the title means. I’m assuming the story itself will tell me, so I’m not bothering to cheat and look it up. But as titles go, it’s eye-catching only because it’s so different, not because it’s informative.
Whatever it means, "Hafan Deg" is the story of Karen, as she vacations and attempts to find meaning in her life, now that her children have moved on. She’s returned to her favourite vacation spot of their childhood, a place she hasn’t been to in sixteen years. Most things are the same when she arrives, time here holds still.
Not so in the story’s narration, which (while third-person in perspective) follows Karen’s thoughts quite closely. She seems lost in time, reminiscing about children and past lovers, old memories and regrets. She’s clearly a woman looking for meaning amidst the chaos of day to day life, and hopes this place of memories will reinvent a future for her.
Perhaps it’s because I’m nowhere near middle-aged yet, or perhaps because most Web Fiction is usually more fast-paced, but I find myself yawning through most of Karen’s self-reflection. For one thing, her thoughts don’t stay in any one scene, whether of current events or memories, for me to find a sense of attachment to the moment. She skims over everything, without getting to the meat of any of the moments of her life. Perhaps that says something about her character, but it makes for dull reading, because I can’t get inside any one scene and feel its emotional heartbeat.
Without that pulse, the story really doesn’t come alive for me. I’d be much more interested in her memories or current adventures if the story showed more about them, but the constant skimming leaves me skipping from chapter to chapter to find something more to sink my teeth into. Let’s hope I find something satisfying.'
Well, leaving that bit of negativity, I have just one more extract from another blog, which I stole shamelessly, because it's funny, and fitting to the day.
"Some doctor on the TV this morning said that the way to achieve "inner peace" is to finish all the things you have started. So I looked around my house to see things I'd started and hadn't finished and, before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of shhhardonay, a bodle of Baileys, abutle of vocka, a pockage of Pringlies, tha mainder of a botl Prozic and Valumscriptins, the res of the Chesescke an a box a c hocolets.
Yu haf no idr who fikin gud I fel.
Peas sen dis orn to anyy yu fee ar in ned ov inr pece."
I'll talk to you next week...Inner Peace, everyone!
First, I was somewhat dejected that I hadn't finished my revisions to the Hafan Deg manuscript yesterday. It was a pact I made with myself, and one I thought I could fulfil. But those darned characters, what can I say? They will NOT behave the way I want them to. They fiddle about, hanging curtains, going on about Genius Loci's and how well the furnace is working. I just can't seem to get them to go where I want them. Today, in a mighty effort, I will, somehow, take them in hand.
I have to tell you, and it's not easy to say, that I got a rather disappointing review of the manuscript. Hafan Deg appears on two other writing sites, and this particular one, from whence appeared the critique, I had earlier tried to cancel (it didn't seem appropriate for my book, surrounded, as it was, with fantasy, vampires, and gothic horror). They politely told me they can't cancel. However, despite being a reader of that site, the reviewer appears eloquent and learned enough for me to take seriously.
In setting up this blog, I told you that I would entertain any worthwhile critiques and try to learn from them. I knew I would have to be brave. I've inserted the whole thing below. I would really appreciate it if you would comment on it. The thing is, if it's true, then I should just scrap the whole book and go back to painting. Yet I receive feedback from other sites where people are following Karen with such interest and involvement, so that this one frankly hurts. My gut feeling is that this book is just not suitable for this reader; we all read totally different kinds of books. My best friend in Oz would never pick up Hafan Deg to read if she found it at the library, I know, because she prefers Harlan Coben thrillers, but the poor girl is ploughing through it out of loyalty, not riveted attention.
So I wanted to ask the critic what he preferred to read, but felt it would be unseemly to actually follow up on a less than kind critique. I must conclude that he didn't closely read the book, perhaps a quick skim, because he didn't know that Hafan Deg was a house, and that the name is Welsh for 'safe harbor', and that all appears in the opening two or three chapters, as I recall. Anyway, it's below. PLEASE comment.
'I haven’t learned what a "hafan deg" is yet
I’m slowly working my way through "Hafan Deg," and I still don’t know what the title means. I’m assuming the story itself will tell me, so I’m not bothering to cheat and look it up. But as titles go, it’s eye-catching only because it’s so different, not because it’s informative.
Whatever it means, "Hafan Deg" is the story of Karen, as she vacations and attempts to find meaning in her life, now that her children have moved on. She’s returned to her favourite vacation spot of their childhood, a place she hasn’t been to in sixteen years. Most things are the same when she arrives, time here holds still.
Not so in the story’s narration, which (while third-person in perspective) follows Karen’s thoughts quite closely. She seems lost in time, reminiscing about children and past lovers, old memories and regrets. She’s clearly a woman looking for meaning amidst the chaos of day to day life, and hopes this place of memories will reinvent a future for her.
Perhaps it’s because I’m nowhere near middle-aged yet, or perhaps because most Web Fiction is usually more fast-paced, but I find myself yawning through most of Karen’s self-reflection. For one thing, her thoughts don’t stay in any one scene, whether of current events or memories, for me to find a sense of attachment to the moment. She skims over everything, without getting to the meat of any of the moments of her life. Perhaps that says something about her character, but it makes for dull reading, because I can’t get inside any one scene and feel its emotional heartbeat.
Without that pulse, the story really doesn’t come alive for me. I’d be much more interested in her memories or current adventures if the story showed more about them, but the constant skimming leaves me skipping from chapter to chapter to find something more to sink my teeth into. Let’s hope I find something satisfying.'
Well, leaving that bit of negativity, I have just one more extract from another blog, which I stole shamelessly, because it's funny, and fitting to the day.
"Some doctor on the TV this morning said that the way to achieve "inner peace" is to finish all the things you have started. So I looked around my house to see things I'd started and hadn't finished and, before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of shhhardonay, a bodle of Baileys, abutle of vocka, a pockage of Pringlies, tha mainder of a botl Prozic and Valumscriptins, the res of the Chesescke an a box a c hocolets.
Yu haf no idr who fikin gud I fel.
Peas sen dis orn to anyy yu fee ar in ned ov inr pece."
I'll talk to you next week...Inner Peace, everyone!
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Chapters Twenty-Three through Thirty Tonight
I had wanted to complete the revisions on Hafan Deg (which you all know, who have been following it, means Safe Harbor in Welsh) by this evening. Tomorrow, a brand New Year, my manuscript should have been waiting only for all those lovely agents to come back to their offices next Monday (well, I intended to give them a few days to settle back in) all refreshed and renewed, like the year, and they would all be ready for the earnest queries I intended to send them.
But I'm not quite finished...
I believe there are four, possibly five, chapters to go, and they are the trickiest of the lot, being the culmination of the story, the final resolution of the various emotional strains and stresses my poor heroine had through the previous 400 pages.
I have to admit to shedding tears during these last chapters. Silly, when you consider it's 'only fiction', but those of you who write, those of you who, as serious readers, deeply identify with a book, will know the characters are alive and well inside the writers' mind. And, if they're not, then they have no place on the written page, for what would we find moving about them? So I've gotten a bit too excited at some of the romantic couplings, and I definitely shed those darned tears during the really sad bits.
New Year has always been a far more important time to me than Christmas, since my children left home. New Year is the promise of better things, new and exciting opportunities, and I usually shed tears watching the various cities around the world as they each, in turn, celebrate. The cities can be safe - well, as safe as any city these days - or they can be war-torn, or politically at odds, recovering from floods and riots, and all the horrible things we see on our news. Yet, at New Year, the people gather with that same incredible, almost child-like, anticipation, waiting for the chance to begin again. This time it will be different. This time it really will be better.
So, watching that, seeing that lovely optimism, that adds to my weepiness. No one can ever say I'm not sentimental. It's just that I don't show it much in public, but get it down into my writing instead.
Hold on for the last few chapters of Karen's story. Nearly there.
I hope you have a wonderful, safe, and rewarding New Year.
Have to go now, because I need another tissue.
But I'm not quite finished...
I believe there are four, possibly five, chapters to go, and they are the trickiest of the lot, being the culmination of the story, the final resolution of the various emotional strains and stresses my poor heroine had through the previous 400 pages.
I have to admit to shedding tears during these last chapters. Silly, when you consider it's 'only fiction', but those of you who write, those of you who, as serious readers, deeply identify with a book, will know the characters are alive and well inside the writers' mind. And, if they're not, then they have no place on the written page, for what would we find moving about them? So I've gotten a bit too excited at some of the romantic couplings, and I definitely shed those darned tears during the really sad bits.
New Year has always been a far more important time to me than Christmas, since my children left home. New Year is the promise of better things, new and exciting opportunities, and I usually shed tears watching the various cities around the world as they each, in turn, celebrate. The cities can be safe - well, as safe as any city these days - or they can be war-torn, or politically at odds, recovering from floods and riots, and all the horrible things we see on our news. Yet, at New Year, the people gather with that same incredible, almost child-like, anticipation, waiting for the chance to begin again. This time it will be different. This time it really will be better.
So, watching that, seeing that lovely optimism, that adds to my weepiness. No one can ever say I'm not sentimental. It's just that I don't show it much in public, but get it down into my writing instead.
Hold on for the last few chapters of Karen's story. Nearly there.
I hope you have a wonderful, safe, and rewarding New Year.
Have to go now, because I need another tissue.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
The Grinch's Thought
“And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? [Christmas] came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”
—Dr. Seuss (1904-1991); writer, cartoonist
—Dr. Seuss (1904-1991); writer, cartoonist
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