Tag: fiction

Mud, mud, mud, words, words, words

annebower

Some years mud season is worse than others. This is a doozy and early too. The warm February weather has been melting snow up here in the Pomfret Hills, frost is oozing out of the ground, and our dirt roads are quite the challenge. The shifting ruts and puddles, the lumpy ridges and divots conspire to throw your vehicle this way and that. I guess this is what it feels like to ride a wild horse?

The unsettled and unsettling road echoes my writing mood these days. I’m riding the ridge of confidence one day and down in the rut of no-can-do the next. Lines of poetry slip and slide and can’t seem to find a rhythm. Paragraphs of fiction slither along and don’t really get anywhere. Now, this is not unusual. I’m sure all of you creative folks out there–whether your passion is paint or clay, dance or a musical instrument, acting or some form of writing, pen, pencil, puppetry–all of you go through this too.

I’m hoping that just as mud season will turn into spring, my writing mojo will return. Cheers to you and your energies as well.

Sometimes a book . . .

annebower

Once in a while you fall into a book that puts its spell on you–so well written, the story so compelling, that even when you get to the last page, close the covers, put it down, it stays with you. This morning I finished Stephen Kiernan’s The Glass Chateau, and oh my–it is that kind of book. Kiernan lives in Vermont which makes it even more wonderful to love his work. Earlier I’ve read his A Universe of Two and The Baker’s Secret, both of which are excellent, but this latest novel is the best yet. Every aspect of it works–the setting, characters, historical background, the technical descriptions of making stained glass, the shattered and then healing emotions of the characters, the way the story moves along with great force. Get this book! You’re in for a great reading experience.

As someone who is trying to write fiction, I will return to Kiernan’s novel and try to learn from it. But of course it’s rather daunting to read work that is so expert.

Rainy day reflections on writing a novel

annebower

Our Vermont ground is covered in snow, the air is moist with drifting drizzle, and after an hour and a half of practicing Yang Cane form, my mind is focusing back on my morning’s writing session (yes, EVERYTHING is recursive).

The novel I’m working on, “Her Last Cookbook,” currently has 18 chapters each of which has been revised a few times. Now it’s time to put them back together into a complete manuscript, adding more sensory details, clearing up the time line, making sure that the characters are consistently themselves, even as they waiver in their intentions or decisions. This process is fun but so demanding and requires such attention that I can only proceed for an hour or two and then my mind empties.

It’s difficult not to be too self-critical, but at the same time, I have to be somewhat tough on myself. “Come on, Anne,” I say, “you know that can be more vivid.” At another point the voice in my head asks, “Is that really how she’d say that” or “Wouldn’t he take offense at what she just said”?

So then it’s time to back up a little, try again, revise, and finally, end that session, trusting that the next day will bring insight and improvements. Just like tai chi–we revise, improve, alter, ask for other’s suggestions, revise, try, try again and hope that the whole thing will eventually flow together.