Blowing on a dead man's embers: the process of writing historical fiction

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I've been struggling with the third draft of The Next Novel, in part because it has been taking me so long to get these first four chapters moving. It's July already!

In off hours, I've been working on a guest blog on the definition of historical fiction, and in going through my files I discovered the first stanza from a wonderful poem by Robert Graves:

To bring the dead to life
Is no great magic.
Few are wholly dead:
Blow on a dead man's embers
And a live flame will start.

I'm blowing on the embers: blowing, blowing … .

To read the rest of "To Bring the Dead to Life," so evocative of the process of writing historical fiction: click here.

A writer at work: Agatha Christie's messy notebooks

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"The Mystery of the Messy Notebooks" in Slate Magazine is a wonderful article on Agatha Christie's notebooks: so messy! (So creative.) It gives us all hope!

I'm not so keen on the family notes, however:

Even Christie's second husband, the archeologist Sir Max Mallowan, used her notebooks. He jotted down calculations. Christie's daughter Rosalind practiced penmanship, and the whole family kept track of their bridge scores alongside notes like, "Possibilities of poison … cyanide in strawberry … coniine—in capsule?"

Personal up-date (a bit overdue): I've sent the 2nd draft to an editor I work with. Already I'm throwing notes about scene changes hither and yon (Christie-style). Going through my books, deciding which ones to take back with me to Canada — which ones I'm going to need writing Draft 3. The piles are big! Making travel arrangements for my research trip to France, which is coming up sooner than I think!

Barbara Kingsolver: Turning on the lights

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I have piles of notes from my weekend at the wonderful San Miguel Writers' Conference. Very briefly, from Barbara Kingsolver's keynote address on how The Lacuna evolved:

1. She first asked: what are the big questions? 
2. She wrote pages and pages on what the novel would be about.
3. As she was doing this, scenes begin to "pop up" and characters appeared.
4. She asked: Who will tell the story? To find the voice, she did a lot of practice-writing.
5. She started, but in bits, not chronologically.
6. Then, when she could see the shape of it, she felt ready to start a proper draft. From this point on (she made it very clear), she was in control — of the story, and of the characters.
7. During all this time she was doing research.

The first draft, she said, was like "hoeing a row of corn." It hurt, like giving birth.

Revision is "where the art happens," making everything fit, "pulling the meaning up." (Again, beautiful.)

Her husband is her first reader, then trusted others.

A problem with early drafts is failing to visualize scenes. She goes through the manuscript, "turning on the lights." (I love this image as well.)

She likes to hold a balance between mystery and revelation —but tends, she confessed, to mystery.

She quoted Chagall: "Great art begins where life leaves off."

I wanted to know more about her work at the sentence level. It is, no doubt, intense. She uses a thesaurus constantly (which interested me).

Right now, I'm reading through the second draft of The Next Novel,  editing it. With each pass, I get closer to the meaning. Soon, I'll be going through the scenes, "turning on the lights."

Charting the writing process

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I love this chart on the writing process, posted by Sarah Eve Kelly on Twitter:

Right now, I'm making the editorial changes I scribbled onto the 1st draft a few weeks ago. It's a tedious mechanical process, but it suits me right now: lots to do, lots coming up, a persistent cold (life!).

Dear Reader: a letter

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I've been organizing my computer files, and in the process found a letter I sent to the two book clubs that critiqued the "final" draft of The Last Great Dance on Earth. I was surprised to learn that I cut 100 pages from Tales of Passion, Tales of Woe after a book club critique.

That's a lot, but it seems to be what I do. I cut so much from The Last Great Dance on Earth I sent it back to my publisher in a larger type size, hoping my editor wouldn't notice. I cut quite a bit from Mistress of the Sun -- an entire chapter and then some -- at the last minute.

Here is the letter, should it be of interest. (Warning: it's long.)

Dear Readers,

First, thank you for doing this. This is the second draft of The Last Great Dance on Earth;  there will be two more before it goes to my publisher, and then it will be edited and revised yet again. What you see here will no doubt change greatly—as many as 100 pages are apt to be cut, as many likely to be added.

The manuscript has not been edited for spelling and punctuation, so expect errors. However, at this stage, the true problems are much, much bigger, and much more difficult to remedy. Let's call it a reluctance to fly, to get off the ground. Let's call it a plane without wings. With each draft, I try to get that plane up in the air more often—and to get it to stay up longer. By the final draft, I want it to be a jet that takes the reader not only to France, but to the 18th century. No crashes!

Symptoms: You look at the clock. You put the book down. You sigh and thumb to the back: how many more pages? Then oh oh, you're up in the air: it could be midnight, but you don't care! The story has swept you away. And then … woops, another crash.

Why? And where? What parts carried you along and what parts were a bit of a trudge? That's what I need to know. What breaks the momentum? Plot structure (or a lack of it)? Characters you either don't believe or don't like (or both)? No narrative drive? ("Where is this going? What's the point?") Lots of things.

Before you begin, I should warn you that I think the opening chapters are not yet right. (And much more, of course—but especially the opening.) I think most novelists spend half their time on those opening chapters and even then, few are successful. Does this opening work, for you? If it did, what did you like? If not, how could it be better? Was it confusing? Is there another place you think the story could open?

Another problem, too, is that often it lacks a sense of place: this is one of the reasons for my research trip to Europe in September. Also, I've not put a great deal of thought into the details that make a story come to life: I want to have the storyline right before I do this.

Some general questions:

Which characters failed to hold your interest? Which ones came to life for you? What actions seemed suspect, unbelievable.

When did the story fail to convince you? When did you stop believing it? And what parts did you believe? Did it make you cry? Laugh? Forget about dinner? Knowing what works is as important to me as knowing what does not.

Again, thank you VERY much.  I want this novel to be wonderful—but before that can "happen," I need to find out its strengths and, most especially, its weaknesses. Be sure to tape your conversation. If you write down your thoughts, I would very much appreciate it. If you mark up the manuscript (please do!), it would be helpful to me to see it. (I could return it to you, if you wish.)

In closing, please don't be concerned if you only have negative things to say about this book. The book club that reviewed Tales of Passion, Tales of Woe hated it. I took out 100 pages, reworked it feverishly, and as a result it was short-listed for the Trillium. Criticism at this stage helps very much. (But a little praise helps too!)

Sincerely, 

Sandra Gulland

*****
Website: http://www.sandragulland.com/
Blog: http://sandragulland.blogspot.com/
Facebook: http://tinyurl.com/3xzbgv
Twitter: http://twitter.com/Sandra_Gulland

On figuring out characters: What's Wig-Girl doing here?!

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My husband and I have been at the beach for a week. Every morning I have been reading and editing the first draft of The Next Novel. Some days I was pleased, other days the verdict was more "Hummm." The last pages, which I read yesterday, made me shed a few tears (always a good sign). All in all, I think it's a good first draft, and I'm ready to roll up my sleeves and dig in.

There is one character (Wig-Girl) who puzzles me, an invented character I haven't figured out yet. (Most of the other characters in the novel are based in history.) She popped into the story early on. I like her, but I'm not sure what she's doing there. While writing the first draft, I kept trying her out in various roles: as a maid to the dying mother, as a romantic interest of the heroine's brother. None of these really worked, and so I'll cut those scenes, but it was amusing (and surprising!) to see her pop up and then disappear, only to pop up yet again in another guise entirely. It's as if I was auditioning her, trying her out.

Today I'll have another look at my character notes, and especially at the notes I took from Christopher Vogler's wonderful book, The Writer's Journey, on the basic characters that are typically part of any story. (I've put my notes on Docs, here — or here, at: http://bit.ly/5uqIA7.)

How does Wig-Girl fit in? What's her role? I've never followed Vogler's template closely, but I do love it, and I find it helps clarify characters and their purpose, their function in the story. It's one of my favorite books on writing.

*****
Website: http://www.sandragulland.com/
Blog: http://sandragulland.blogspot.com/
Facebook: http://tinyurl.com/3xzbgv
Twitter: http://twitter.com/Sandra_Gulland

Post-finishing doubts

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Now that I have finished the first draft of The Next Novel, I'm awash with doubts. I don't think I've gotten to the heart of the story.

What about ... ?

And shouldn't she have ... ?

Etc. etc. etc.

I shouldn't actually question this: of course I haven't gotten to the heart of it!

I've read two excellent on-line accounts recently by authors who went through painfully long revision processes. The first is Junot Díaz's account of writing The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. He struggled with this novel for five years, then gave up ... gave up writing entirely. Then ...

"One night in August, unable to sleep, sickened that I was giving up, but even more frightened by the thought of having to return to the writing, I dug out the manuscript. I figured if I could find one good thing in the pages I would go back to it. Just one good thing. Like flipping a coin, I'd let the pages decide. Spent the whole night reading everything I had written, and guess what? It was still terrible."

And then five more years of revisions ... to overnight success.

The second is a wonderful blog entry by writer Gail Carson Levine on finding the right point-of-view for a story she was writing on Snow White. Three hundred pages from the POV of a dwarf. Scratch. Three hundred more from the POV of the prince. Scratch. Three hundred in omniscient. Scratch. And finally: success, from the POV of Snow White in her coma.

"The point is that POV can be hard to figure out and may not be possible to decide on in advance. You may have to try telling your story one way and another (and another and another) until you find out. There may be no shortcut for a particular book."

Point taken.

2000 words in a day (and night)

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Spurred on by the possibility that I might not be typing out the sacred words "The End" before we head south at the end of October, I've been writing over 2000 words a day. And I have to say: that takes (me) all day, and most of the evening, as well. That's eating on the run, dressing on the run, relaxing on the run.

But I did it: 2 chapters in 2 days. (My chapters are shorter than most.) I hope to finish another chapter tomorrow. My husband is away, and I'm taking advantage of the solitude. I begin to think I can do it, finish before the commotion of transition.

Lauren B. Davis's excellent essay on rewriting

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I'm keeping to my writing schedule, although I continue to feel a bit lost. Middles!

When I finished today, I puttered: rearranging my books, entering titles into my bibliography, putting articles in binders. Getting books up off the floor. (I've a long way to go on this.) I like order in my spaces — which helps explain why I've been a little frantic.

I'm also trying to organize the blogs I'd like to read, and so finally tackled setting up Google Reader. In doing so today, I read writer Lauren B. Davis's excellent blog post on rewriting: The death of my darlings. I highly recommend it.

I loved her Chekhov quote, his advice on description:

“very brief and relevant . . . one ought to seize upon the little particulars, grouping them in such a way that, in reading, when you shut your eyes, you get a picture.”

I'm reading Evening by Susan Minot. She writes beautifully spare descriptions.

A pocket recorder saves the day

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I heard literary thriller writer Andrew Pyper give a reading and talk last week, in Eganville, as part of the annual Bonnechere Authors Festival there. I could relate to a lot of what Andrew said: that with each novel he writes, he puts more time into the outline before beginning (check), that he works first thing in the morning (check), that he doesn't emerge until his daily word-quota is met (check) (except that I break for a bowl of cereal at 500 words and then go back).

All authors litter their route with note pads and pencils: there's nothing more frustrating than having an idea and no place to record it. Andrew takes it one step further: he keeps a digital recording device, so that he can dictate ideas as they come, while driving, in the shower, etc.

I love tech gadgets, and so I bought a recorder — a dictation device is the proper name — for under $40. I plan mainly to keep it in the car, where it can be dangerous to write down thoughts ... and where thoughts so often come.

The recorder's first task was an unexpected one, however. I was finishing my chapter this morning (the third this week: right on schedule) when the word processing programme froze. I could see the page I had just written, but I had no option but to reboot and I knew I was going to loose it. So I got the recorder and dictated the passage. I then restarted the computer, played back the recording, typing it in anew. All was well.

It's the type of thing that reminds me how painful it can be to have work disappear. I wouldn't have lost much: I save, back up regularly, and, with every break I take, email the MS to myself. (Yes, paranoid.) However, loosing even a paragraph is painful — vomitous writing, Colette called it — and I'm relieved to have survived this morning's crash with only a scare.

Going into seclusion

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I've been hitting my targets — although Chapter 7, which must be finished on Sunday, is proving challenging. I'm pleased the way the story and the characters are blooming.

But writing makes me dumb in the world — "walking into chairs" is how Margaret Atwood once put it — yet the stuff of life keeps piling up and must be properly attended to. For this reason, I've just now decided to have my VA answer my fan mail for me (in her name, of course). Reading and answering letters from fans is a great joy, a task I'm passing on reluctantly. It's temporary, I reassure myself, until I emerge from this "the swamp."

On rewriting: did you know ... ?

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I was surprised to learn in Cleaver's Immediate Fiction that John Fowles, author of The Collector and The French Lieutenant's Woman, rewrote The Magus ten years after it had been published to great success. There are two versions of The Magus in print, apparently: an astonishing thing. The second version was a best-seller as well.

I can well understand thinking about how a story might have been written, but can't imagine going back, not after it has been published.

101 Habits (last installment): On showing up at the office

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The most lasting "habit" I think I'll keep for myself from The 101 Habits of Highly Successful Screenwriters has to do with how I think of my work.

At some point — I can't find the spot — one of the writers said that writing is scary, and that it helps temper the fear by thinking that you're doing it for money. I think there is something in that.

The other suggestion that I'm going to keep in mind is that when I finish the first draft of The Next Novel, I could work on another project. I could go back to puzzling over the plot of my abandoned novel on La Grande Mademoiselle, or develop any number of other stories that I would love to write. It's important to put a draft aside for a long period of time, but that doesn't mean everything comes to a halt.

Another screenwriter advised thinking of your writing as a corporation: you're expected to show up and get to work. These practical thoughts have stayed with me. Lately, I've been telling myself, "I had a good day at the office today." Or, "I have to get back to the office."

So: if I'm not here, it's because I'm at the office.

101 Habits (continued): on character

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On character:

"Another reason why scripts fail is that the lead character's need, motivation, or goal is often not clear. You have to know what they want, no matter what it is or how goofy it is. And if you don't care about what they want, you won't be emotionally invested in the character." [Amy Holden Jones, page 124]

This type of question always makes me wonder: what does my character want? I think she wants out of poverty, out of the incessant struggle for survival. I think she longs frivolity and impractical gew-gaws. I just now realized this.

On raising the stakes:

You want the stakes, as the hero perceives them, to be as high as possible. ... You want your characters to be at risk and have things of great importance to them to be at stake. [Michael Schiffer, page 135]

I immediately made a change to my outline after reading this.

The 101 Habits of Highly Successful Screenwriters, part II

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I've finished reading The 101 Habits of Highly Successful Screenwriters: I got a lot out of it. I'd love to see such a book on highly successful novelists, but in spite of the differences between novelists and screenwriters, there is a lot to be learned here.

I love this quote on procrastinating:

"I know when I'm about to write when I become a neat freak and start rearranging the pens and pencils around ... " [Steven DeSouza, page 95]

There was quite a bit on outlining before writing, which supports the process I'm using now.

"I try to build the story as cleanly as I can, make sure the structure works, then I write it really badly, as fast as I can ... " [Akiva Goldsman, page 107]

This same scriptwriter also had this to say:

"Unfortunately, people believe that their first thing should be great. Writing is like anything else. You're not supposed to write a page and expect it to be good. You have to write a thousand bad pages to get to that one good page." [Akiva Goldsman, page 123]

I feel that with the first two (unpublished) novels I wrote I didn't understand that one, two or even three drafts were not enough. Often, beginning writers don't give themselves enough time.

"The reality is that in order to be good at it, it will probably take you as long as any other profession to master the craft." [Michael Schiffer, page 125]

More tomorrow ...

Writing in the Age of Distraction, by Doctorow

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A twitter link led me to an article by the SF writer Cory Doctorow, on the geekish tools he uses and has developed for his writing. I'm a fool for geekish tools, so I clicked. I was intrigued — nay, I nearly clicked "download" — until I caught myself up. I do not need more fool-around distracting tools. I have my own systems, and I'm best off sticking with them.

But a link at the bottom led me to another article by him. The title — Writing in the Age of Distraction — jumped right out at me. "Age of Distraction" indeed. I need to heed his advice about not being ceremonious. I liked his suggestion about not researching while writing, to insert a searchable "tk" instead, so that you can find and deal with those time-consuming pesky details after the draft is finished. (I use "xx".)

I like how he writes, and I'm tempted to read more of his articles — but not now, in this early morning creative time. So instead I click "Read Later," and Instapaper will hold it for me. That's my geek tool recommendation for today: "read later."

The Next Novel: the last novel?

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I made a four-year chart this morning — blocking off periods of time for drafts 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5, and then, boldly, sketching in: publish!

I've been anxious ever since.

I could well be turning 68 when The Next Novel sees the light of day. Will there be another novel after that? Will I continue to publish into my 70s? It's hard work — really hard! both in the creation and the publication — and, for the first time, I begin to see that I'm not on a path that extends into infinity.

I had an idea, once, that I would write shorter pieces as a grew older: novellas, short stories, poetry. There is wisdom in this. Perhaps The Next Novel should be titled The Last Novel ... or, at least, The Last Long Novel, for it seems, yet again, a huge subject to come to terms with, an insurmountable, impossible task.

But that feeling, I know, is Stage One. It's a mistake, I think, for a writer to look too far into the future. I know that once I begin, once I'm "on the page," all those anxious thoughts slip away and simple curiosity (and a good measure of delight) will take over.

Thowing turnips

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I keep this quote by my desk. I absolutely love it.

"I cannot tell you what work I spent upon the fugue scene! Brain work excites and exhausts me so preposterously, I prowl up and down till every limb aches fit to come off, and I cry like fifty fools, and rub my hair on end, and break or crush anything that is between my fingers for its sins — and am so found by the maid who announces callers or some other detail of sub-lunary existence! And then I feel inclined to throw turnips at my own head and ask myself — if you're played out like this over a tale the length of a halfpenny tract, whereabouts would you be with a novel?"
— Juliana Horatia Ewing, 1884

Putting the Prod in Productivity

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Unicorns and more

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I recently got a letter from a friend who had just read Mistress of the Sun, which features a white horse which is mythic in spirit, magical — rather in the way of a unicorn. She reminded me of a party I’d gone to over 35 years ago. The theme of the party was to come as your “true essence," and I’d gone as a unicorn.

I have only a vague recollection of this. People ask me, "What is the significance of the horse in the novel?" My answer has been that it’s my main character’s true self, Petite's unbridled essence. And now I begin to see how much this is about me, as well.

In St. Louis, while on tour this last June, I had the pleasure to meet Beckah Voigt, the woman who had danced the part of Josephine in an amazing one-woman production. She understood that I might be too tired to meet — and I was — but mentioned that she did "energy work." I told her I could use "energy work"; I didn't know what it was, but, as the Quakers say, "it spoke to my condition." We made a date: we would meet, and I would rest. (The ultimate in multi-tasking.)

Meeting Beckah was like discovering a sister, and after the "work" — which was meditative in the extreme — she talked of what she had sensed. She didn't know anything about Mistress of the Sun, so I was astonished when she said that she got a very strong impression of a flying white horse.

All this just to say that it seems to me that the process of creation — whether it be a novel, a poem, a painting — has deep roots in an unconscious personal mythology, and that you won't really even know this until long after the work is completed.