Need to Get to Work

I need to get busy writing.  I've been taking a break while taking care of and driving Child 1 to school while she finishes up the school year (two weeks late) after a nasty case of mono.  No, she hasn't been kissing everyone - she bites her nails . . . used to bite them, that is.  And she shared a drink with a friend who didn't get sick - or at least didn't show symptoms.  Either way, she's just today finishing up the school year, and after today I'm closing down my driving service. 

My preschooler has two weeks off before summer camp starts.  We had big plans for fun every day.  But I'm tired (not mono) and Child 2 is even more tired (maybe mono).  So we've gotten in a lot of television, one Epic movie, and not much more. 

Today, I'm going start writing again.  I'm in that dark, brooding place that makes me want to escape to another world (no, I don't write fantasy).

I'll be back when I have some chapters done . . . could be a while.

IWSG - Realistic Speech Patterns

On the off chance you don't know it, it's time for Insecure Writer's Support Group.  I'm pretty sure it's never too late to join....


This week, I am doing what probably no one else anywhere is doing.  As part of the research for my historical novels, I'm reading a book on Appalachian speech patterns written by two linguists, one of whom is apparently a rather famous one.  How odd is it that I know the relative fame of linguists?

I find it amusing that linguists (at least the ones whose books I've read so far) don't write in a way that's particularly easy to understand.  You'd think they'd be able to pick the exact perfect words to get their point across since theoretically they know them all.  I had a similar experience when I worked with speech therapists in a former job. 

It's a difficult read, but I'm certain it will be worth it.   

I also plan to listen to the lovely collection of oral histories that the librarians at the University of Kentucky library were kind enough to send me along with the transcripts.  They have recordings of relatively recent interviews of women that lived in coal towns in Appalachia in the early 1900's.  I like listening to them much more than reading them.  In the last one I listened to, the woman's voice softened when she told about losing her babies to scarlet fever.  It brought a tear to my eye.  She was an old woman when the recording was made, but you could hear in her voice the pain she still felt. 

I've lived all my life with people that came from the hills, most of whom left to get work in the city (Cincinnati) and some of whom tried their best to wipe any traces of that past from their speech.  Others held onto their speech patterns and knew it was a part of their heritage they should be proud of - or maybe they couldn't hear they talk differently.

When I read a chapter of my historical novel to my class, the professor who came to critique it (me) said she thought Appalachians don't actually drop the final G in words like looking or talking.  I'm guessing they do - because I didn't know I was dropping my G's when I read it, and the G's were right there on the page.  She suggested I research this so I can justify my choices, and I think that's a good idea too.


What has this to do with insecurities?  Nothing except that I'm not feeling insecure.  I feel like I'm on the right path with my writing - it's just an incredibly slow one. 

I just hope to be feeling better soon so I can pick up the pace a bit. 

I think I'll be away from here for a while - maybe in and out. 

Summer Reading

Since my summer class is cancelled and my kids are recovering from sickness, we decided to have the kind of summer I love, a reading by the pool kind of summer.  We haven't been to the pool yet, but I already finished a book. 

I originally planned to alternate authors:  Toni Morrison, William Faulkner, John Steinbeck, and then a random Appalachian writers before returning to Toni Morrison.  Almost all of the books on my list are set in the time period of the historical series I'm writing.  The rest are in the location of my WIPs.  And some are just awesome books I want to read again. 

Then my daughter and I had a conversation.  The theme of her English class this year was supposed to be American Literature.  And yet they read two Shakespeare plays.  And not even one classic novel one would expect a college-bound junior to be required to read.  Not that there's anything wrong with non-classic novels, but I think someone going to college should be well-read if only to catch references when they present themselves, as they often do on Family Guy or Sponge Bob or whatever.  It's not cool when you don't get the joke.

My daughter's impression - and I really hope this isn't true - is that women writers are almost exclusively reserved for the Women Writers class - an elective.  If you want to read Emily Dickinson, Jane Austen, or Toni Morrison, you have to take that class.  WTF?  She didn't even know who Joyce Carol Oates was.  That's just wrong.

She said the only female writer she read in class (not sure if it was this year or in her entire high school experience) was one poem from one poet whose name I don't remember.  I started fuming and decided to do something to correct that - or at least find out if that's policy or a strange coincidence.  She asked me not to make a scene about it, so I haven't yet.  I'll sit on it for the summer before I ask the question.  It seems like outside of the Honors and AP English classes, the teachers have the choice of what they teach.  Last year it was all Bradbury presumably because the teacher really liked Bradbury.  I think kids should be exposed to more than Bradbury (no offense to you Bradbury fans).

By the way, they also didn't read any Transcendentalists.  No Emerson, Thoreau, Emily Dickinson.  Not even Hawthorne.  American literature with no Transcendentalists?  It makes absolutely no sense to me.

So my daughter and I looked through each of our several overstuffed bookshelves, cleared a shelf for female writers, and then filled it.  She picked out the books she wants to read first (not just the female writers).  I put my William Faulkner novel back on the shelf and picked up Toni Morrison's Beloved.

I have to say that as soon as I realized there was a paranormal aspect to it, I groaned and almost chose a different book. 

No offense if you write paranormal.  I don't believe in the paranormal - yes, I know writing those words is an invitation for a poltergeist to haunt me in my sleep.  It's very difficult for me to read paranormal fiction - it's just not believable to me. 

But in Beloved, the difference is this:  the things the slave owners did and the slaves went through were just as unbelievable - although I know that sort of thing really happened.  If we are to believe that people are capable of being that inhumane, a little ghost action seems possible too because none of what really happened makes sense, none of it is logical.

So I kept reading because I couldn't put it down.  Not because of the ghosts or because of the horror of how people were treated, but because of the way the story was told and the characters were revealed. 

I read it almost all in one day.  I read until I had three chapters left and could no longer focus my aging eyes on the words.  I woke up this morning and finished it before I finished my cup of coffee.  And I cried.

I'm debating whether to reread Sula or start Song of Solomon next.

Start of Summer Musings

In addition to all the relaxation and fun with my kids I plan to have this summer, I need to get back into the swing of writing and revising. 

I need to pick a project and knock it out before moving on to the next. 

I need one achievable goal to focus on.

I need to have set times to write. 

And I need to leave my house to do it. 

I set up a really awesome area on my deck where I can write and read and edit and relax.  But we had hail damage in our neighborhood about six weeks ago.  Everyone is getting new roofs and siding and garage doors.  So it's not relaxing outside anymore.  Maybe I need to bust out the noise-reduction headphones.  I wonder if they will drown out the sound of power tools and hammering. 

I have two weeks until the repairs on my house starts.  I'm pretty sure I won't be able to escape the sound of that.

Overall, I'm exhausted from my kids and I being sick for a whole month.  I'm tired and unmotivated.  My Muse is whimpering in a fetal position under my cluttered desk.  Maybe first I need a nap. 

On Relaxation . . .

Just a few weeks ago, my kids and I agreed to have an energetic summer. 

Instead of renting a beach house, we decided to buy kayaks.  I bought a book that details the walking paths at 60 or so parks in driving distance from our house.  We decided to start with the closest and hike at least one of them once a week.  We made a gigantic list of things to do:  putt-putt golf, amusement parks, bike rides, camping, etc.

And then one of my children got sick.  And the other is sick.  Both have different things and nothing that will likely send them to the Spirit in the Sky, but at least one of them will need lots of weeks of rest.

So we're going to have a lazy summer. 

We're going to read lots of books and relax at the pool (we will drive instead of walking).  We will play putt-putt golf but will stop at hole three for an ice cream cone and a rest.  It will be a summer of video games and lazy walks and movies. 

I will write and edit lots of words, but my kids need to come first.  If we get kayaks, they may need to be the two-man variety so the sickest child can kick her feet up and relax like a princess while the rest of us get into shape. 

I will learn to relax and slow down and live in the moment.  I may even learn how to work the PS3 (or whatever it is . . . maybe not). 

We are going to have to figure out a way to find the positive in every day, which may make it the best summer ever (except for the sickness and the worry). 

I don't plan to be here much if at all.  I hope you have the best summer ever too . . . but without the sickness and the worry.

The Bluest Eye and Revisions

My summer class was cancelled, so I decided I'm going to have a summer of reading lots of books set in the 1930s and 1940s, books about Appalachia, about minorities, about people struggling.  I put together a book list that includes Toni Morrison, William Faulkner, John Steinbeck, and a handful of Appalachian writers.

Today, I finished The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison.  I can't say how much I love Toni Morrison's writing.  The story is brilliantly written - it's simple and poetic and honest.  It made me see a perspective I've never seen before with every turn of the page.  If I could choose a writer to emulate, it would be Toni Morrison.  I love her writing.

Last week I began reading The Child of God by Cormac McCarthy. Coincidentally, the subject matter, incest and pedophilia, is similar to The Bluest Eye. 

Unlike The Bluest Eye, The Child of God was crude and explicitly unpoetic.  It was written in a way that made me feel like I needed to take a shower to wash the vileness and evil off of me.  In theory it's good writing that lets you get into the heads of people who are depraved.  Good for Cormac, I guess, but I stopped reading before I made it to the half-way point and threw the book away.  I don't think I've ever done that before, simply throw a book in the trash. 

I'm not sure which book I'll read next, but I want to revise a chapter or two first.

The revision of the first chapter of my latest WIP, my first historical novel, is done. When I read it in my class for my final project, I got a solid, "Wow!" from the professor that came to critique me and my classmates.  Yay!

But I only have one chapter done.  One.  One out of roughly forty.  2.5%. 

I completed at least 90% of the research I needed to do for the entire novel, so maybe the revisions won't be as overwhelming as I think they will be, but I switched from third person to first person, so basically every word will be rewritten, although the story is the same.

I've written four novels so far (and two halves). And I have completely finished edits on none (except that one chapter).  I have a strong urge to write the first draft of another novel and another after that.  I've done plenty of revisions, just not to the point that I would call any one of them done. 

I wish my summer class wasn't cancelled.  Apparently the intense, ulcer-producing pressure of public scrutiny works for me. 

Insecure Writer's Support Group - May, 2013

 

It's Insecure Writer's Support Group day, hosted by Alex J. Cavanaugh. 

 

 

* * * * *

I'm not feeling insecure this month.

I've been on a blogging break for the past few weeks, but not a writing break.  I needed to take the time to work on my writing for my class.  The ending project was a research paper or about ten pages of creative writing.  I chose to do an excerpt from my historical novel, which is not what I planned to do at all.  I did a ton of research on the time period and the region of my novel and on coal mining. 

I did all the work I meant to do anyway.  I read all the books I had already purchased and utilized my university's library, who will hunt down books and/or purchase them if they don't have them.  Awesome, huh? 

After logging probably over 100 hours of research, I feel secure about the historical research I've done.  When I presented my chapter, I had to answer questions to defend my choices. I knew crazy details like how much coal miners paid to rent company homes in 1932 and how they were paid (by the ton).  I feel like I can walk around the region and the time period in my mind, which is cool.

And I got positive feedback about my writing.  I know where to put a comma, which is important for a writer. :)

But the real reason I don't feel insecure is this.  My middle son was sitting across the kitchen table from me.  I asked if he wanted to read the chapter I was working on for class.  I told him what happens in my story.  The more words came out of my mouth, the more interested he looked (a rare thing for an almost teen).  He thought my story was awesome!  Seriously, what could be better than that?