Heaving Lifting

My revision plans have been sort of on and off. Returning home has, of course, made things different than they were when I was chilling in Martha's Vineyard. Also, I have a house guest I hadn't counted on, and then there is just the siren song of NYC. It has been hard to focus, but I have make a little progress.

I have learned that I don't know how to work with other people around me. I am so used to living alone. Also, as a southern girl, I was raised to me extremely polite to house guests, so I have been tipping around, not wanting to wake him up, etc. As a result, I am going to set up shop in the public library and work there until my friend can get to his own place.

But that's not the point of this entry.

I am reading through the manuscript, trying to get the draft nice enough to give to my reading committee. Chapter Six is a mess. For many reasons.

For one thing, I wrote it when I was feeling very hurt about the way I have been treated by some people in my family and I can see that hurt all over it. I don't know if I was trying to use the work as a way to illustrate how poorly I had been treated, but it doesn't really work for this story. Injecting a crazy autobiographical scene is not artful. Particularly, since the character is nothing like me, so it doesn't make sense that for about five pages, she is walking around in my life.

The other thing is that I seem to have organized the entire chapter around one character, Brucetta. Well, it makes the chapter too one-note. In addition, I am bouncing around in time like a montage of Brucetta-moments. Nope. Nope. Nope.

It's time for what I call "a clean paper re-write." That's when I just start the hell over. I use the chapter I have written as sort of a reference document. And to make it even thornier, I have a feeling that this long and tentacled Chapter Six is really Chapter Six and Chapter Seven. Separating the two is going to be tricky, mainly because I am not sure about the purpose or focus of Chapter Seven.

I feel so apprehensive about what I am about to do. I feel like a doctor about to separate conjoined twins. But the truth is, I am more like an eighth grader about to dissect a frog or something.

The Revision is On

Well, the revision process has begun. I let the manuscript sit for about two weeks, I didn't mess with it at all-- unless you count the day after I finished it, and you shouldn't it. It took me about fifteen minutes to figure out that it's too soon.

Anyway, I spend two day combing through the first 100 pages. It was fast work, and also encouraging. Those pages had been vetted already. About two years ago, my agent sent them out. Rejections all around, but I am not sure why. I will admit that those rejections stopped me cold for a while. Lesson learned: don't get market feedback on something that's not finished.

But the point of that is to say that the 100 pp were in pretty spiffy condition, so it was sort of easy to work on them. The next 100 is another matter entirely. Here's my fear-- and I will have to be vague because although this is a sort of secret blog that no one reads, it's still the internet.

There are some sort of autobiographical elements that get introduced on page 101. It's just a tiny subplot, but I worry about it. Maybe it's not right to say autobiographical, maybe I should say "biographical." It's a story and an issue in my family. It's just a small plot marbling through it, but I am still a little antsy. I have never written anything (knowingly) that might rankle anyone. I guess this is something that happens to every writer at some point.

I always advise my students to write the story. Write the story and worry about people later. Writing and publishing aren't the same thing. So here I am trying to take my own advice. I have nine minutes left to sip coffee and be scared before I return to work.

I Made It To The End

I made it to the end of my novel yesterday. I am not thrilled with the last couple pages. I feel like I was sort of aiming for the last line and it feels a little jammed in there, but I feel confident that I will be able to work it out later on. I went took myself to dinner and stayed up late watching crappy TV. However, I was up bright and early-- my brain wants to work on the novel some more.

There is work to be done. Now is the time to take it through from the top. This novel is written in two voices. They don't alternate. It's more like one book, then the other. I need to spend at least two weeks combing through book one. Then two more weeks combing through book two.

I am really forcing myself not to start now. I am insane with this book. I feel like it is living inside my head.

My beloved mentor, Ron Carlson, used to say "do what you have to do in order to survive the draft." He said that because getting to the end of a novel or a short story isn't a "given." Many times they die on the vine. The way he phrases it makes it seem like YOU are the one who will have to scratch to survive, but really it's the novel.

Whenever I sit still like now and think about how challenging it was to get to this point, and I think about how many times the novel almost died, I almost cry. Even now.

It's Time To Start The Last Chapter

I really worry that I have psyched myself out. I slept so poorly last night, worrying about this chapter. I can't recall having this experience with the other books. And also, I should chill because I have ended up throwing out the last chapter in each of the the novels I have published so far. What ends up happening is that I revise from the beginning and that process helps me write a better ending. But that doesn't mean that I don't have to work as hard as I can to write this chapter I must write to day.

It would mean so much to me to leave here with a completed draft. My agent has been gently nudging me, so my inner- good-girl is all ashamed of taking so long. I am also mad at myself from being so sidetrack by miscellaneous drama queens in my life. Coming to Martha's Vineyard was my way of getting back on track and it would be do rewarding to have this draft done, I feel like it's working.

But okay, enough of me being all scared and whiny. It's time to try and write it. Today is a day for long hand writing. As my friend Mark said,
Get all Montessori with it. Write in bed while lying on your tummy. I'm still writing upright, but I am thinking about that tummy option.

Time to Get My Red Pen Out

Okay. So I have my monologues done. I think each has a clear point on view, voice, and each has a clear main idea. This is good. But I need to read over them and make hte language pop. This is the last time we are really going to hear from the characters, so they need to really say something and say it well.

Some of the monologues are better than others. Dana and her mother's are the weak links, I think. But I think I can improve them. And once I do, it's off to the last freaking chapter. OMG.

Just a Check In

I think I am in the home stretch of a nice looking draft of my novel. I am delighted. I had this idea that I would spend the penultimate chapter of the book writing monologues from all of the major characters, speaking to Chaurisse. Then the end will be Chaurisse's chapter deciding what it all means.

The monologues have been fun to write. I would have thought it would be hard getting all those different voices, but writing the spoken voice of the characters is so much easier than writing thier interior voices. I think it's because i have about 350 pages of the ways that these characters present themselves to other people. So I know what Raliegh would SAY to Chaurisse. How he explains it in his own head, I am not so sure. What details in a room he would notice, I am not so sure.

I hope these monologues make it by an editor. They are an add twist at the end of the book, but I think I can make them work.

I actually see the end of this book coming. It has been a long road.

Keep Going, T.

For some reason, I don't feel like fooling with my manuscript today. I think I am going to push on through, though. I am trying to pinpoint what it is that has gotten me feeling sort of blah. There is always the weather which has not been sunny for days and days and days. Also, I think it's because real life has been poking in. I have a phone date with my boss. Also a friend told me about someone's huge book deal. (And I don't like that someone.) There are three galleys here that need to be read and maybe blurbed. Also, my class in Provincetown is right around the corner. I told myself that I wasn't going to worry about the class until June 8, but I find myself worrying already. And then there is the matter of my blackberry which died and I had to go through all this drama to get the company to replace. So all this is stealing my buzz. And this is why I think I am going to have to push through to try and get it back. If I am going to learn skills here that will help me be more productive at home, it is going to have to learning how to push back through the chatter.

And this is corny, but when I wrote that last line, the sun came out.

Not Panicking. No siree.

I have a feeling that this week is going to be a lot slower than the last one. When I wrote the chapters and scenes last week, I was in familiar territory. This time, I am working on the very last chapters in the book, where I have to figure out what it all means. Frankly, I am not sure what it all means at all so I am just splashing around in the story, trying to swim.

Sometimes people ask me is it's easier to write a novel once you've written a novel. I usually say no, that's it's hard every time. But having written a novel before, I am not panicking at the fact that I cannot get this ending together. If I am still struggling in Novemeber, I'll panic. But not now.

But this little hiccough aside, I really like what I am doing here. I think it's going to be a good book.