A Small Dose of Nothing

Because in all things I want to be like Hightouch, I am blogging, though I have no breaking news. But, hey, even I can write a list, if the list is the thing to write. Which, apparently, it is.

1. Every day, I think, "This is it! It's all going to come crashing down!" And by "it" I mean, the end, how can we go on this way? But, apparently, we can, go on this way, I mean, so it goes on and we go with it, like a child being dragged by a very strong dog. But hey, it can't go on like this forever. CAN IT???
2. I finished a draft of one novel (regular, literary fiction); am now making chapter outline for almost finished novel (written before other novel, mystery!!). My other novel (yes, that makes three) is out with some small publishers who have been silent, so that probably means no. But I have almost three manuscripts, so that can't be bad...can it?
3. Meditating on the nature of empathy and sympathy. You don't want to hear about it, but it involves an argument with Middlebrow and the idea that some of us should just "buck up." Hey, I'm all for bucking, but sometimes isn't feeling bad justified? And can't we empathize with those who are feeling bad and even, maybe, feel bad on their behalf even if they are feeling bad about first world problems? Empathy can't be a bad thing, can it?
4. So there's the theme...can it? The rhetorical question that actually, right now, from me, requires an answer. What is one to do in such perilous times?
5. I find myself turning away from news, reading books about alternate universes, fantasizing about living in a cabin right by a lake where there is no internet service but there is a canoe. That's my mental state right now. 
6. I think the answer is NO. As in no, it can't go on forever; no, it's not bad that you have three unpublished manuscripts; no, empathy isn't bad. And no, there's nothing wrong about indulging my escape fantasies.
7. The end. 

What Children Make Possible

I have a guest blog up over at my friend Rae's blog.
You can read it here.

We Need to Talk About Kevin Review

I just finished We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver and my timing couldn't be more canny. Or is it uncanny? In any case, as I surfed the internet this weekend for news and updates about the shootings in Arizona, my fictional mind was entrenched in this story about a high school shooting and the fallout for the family. Narrated by the mother of the school shooter, Kevin, the novel is a series of letters to her husband, Franklin. The letters allow her to investigate her own role in Kevin’s crime. The novel is, from the outset, an interrogation of our culture’s tendency to blame the mother, but the novel doesn't let her off easy. She is telling the story from her own limited perspective and so she is, by definition, unreliable. But she also doesn't let herself off easy, continually questioning how she might have mothered differently.

The novel is incredibly well-written and compelling. The style is neither overwhelming nor flat. The narrator has a tendency to be strident, but her tone and language are consistent with her position in the novel. Overall, I found the novel interesting. 

Did I like it? As a writer, I admire it. Shriver embraces the ambiguity and she doesn’t let her narrator, or her readers, off the hook. Every mother will find at least one small thing to identify with in this novel, and that identification will be horrifying. As a mother, I couldn’t help but study myself and my child’s behavior a little more closely as I read this novel.

As a reader, I’m not sure I would recommend it to another reader. It is not enjoyable or pleasurable or entertaining. Reading this book was like living in the world since the shootings on Saturday. While reading this book, you can’t pretend that bad things don’t happen; in fact, you have to confront that reality. And, what’s more, you have to live the reality of bad things, without any of the good things to offer needed relief.

I can, however, recommend two other Lionel Shriver novels: The Post-Birthday World and The Female of the Species. The Post-Birthday World is the more lighthearted of the two. The novel begins on a significant birthday and takes as its departure a kiss. Two narrative paths take off from this moment: one in which the main character goes home to her boyfriend, who never knows; and a second narrative, in which she leaves her boyfriend and begins a new life with the man she kissed on her birthday.

The Female of the Species focuses on the later life of a famous anthropologist. Narrated by her longtime assistant, it follows her as she returns to the site of her first big discovery, and then as she falls in love with a much younger man.

All of Shriver’s novels are well-written. I never found her style overdone or distracting, though she is given to Britishisms, even when her characters are American. She tends to gravitate to the darker side of life, and ambiguity. The stories she creates are compelling. I plan on reading her latest novel, So Much for That, soon. But right now I need a break. Time to go watch some TV. 

Quantity vs. Quality

I'm teaching a novel writing class and we are using the No Plot? No Problem! philosophy of shooting for the word count, quality be damned. It's also a kind of variation on Anne Lamott's idea of Shitty First Drafts. Just get it down, you can fix/revise/cut it later.
However.
However, yesterday as I speed-typed my way to 20,000 words (even I, the teacher, am about 4,000 words behind), my novel took a turn for the weird. And by weird, I mean paranormal, maybe, but it could just be first-person delusion. Or, it could have been a weird coincidence. But, my question to you, oh wise and worldly readers, is: do I go with this weird turn? I'm afraid it might mean that when I reach the 50,000 word mark (the goal), that I will have to cut the last half the book and rewrite that.
Or, I could just say, okay, that's weird, but I can rewrite that little chunk later, and go on with the book as if that weird/paranormal/delusional part never happened. (Except I got a good section of description and I could go back and revise it so it's not so important in the overall plot of the book).
My normal philosophy of writing would be to go with it and see where it takes me. I'm worried, however, that this weird turn will make what I am trying to do (an artsy/noir/mystery type thing) into something else (a paranormal mystery/young adult series). Not that the something else is BAD (though it could be terrible) it's just not what I set out to do.
What to do? What to do?
Please help. For now, I'm stuck.

Teaching the Night/Novel Class

Good evening. I will now, in so many words, tell you all about the kinds of novels I hope you're NOT writing. That is, the novel about (of course!) vampires, the novel about a world that seems suspiciously like the world of Harry Potter/Stephen King/Shannon Hale/Twilight/The Lord of the Rings/all the science fiction books you've ever read.
You want to write witty banter? Hurrah! You like Kilgore Trout? Even better! Your favorite novel is Lolita? Huzzah! (Okay, yes, there are at least three readers in the class. Out of 28).
Yes, we all want to marry Mr. Darcy. But he doesn't exist. So now what?
No, that doesn't mean we move to Mars and write about unicorns. Absolutely not.
What? Your novel is about a teenage girl who kills with her mind? You are dismissed.
Please do not talk about Twilight. Or werewolves. Zombies are acceptable.
Yes, I like Luna Lovegood too.
What? You can't name a novel you like? Only a movie? I will close my eyes and make you disappear.
What? Does the novel have to be made up? You mean, fiction? Is a novel fiction? Is that really your question?
Excuse me. Class is now over.

Recent Obsessions

1. Robyn: Swedish pop star. Why? Unknown. I heard about her on Fresh Air, and then I downloaded her music for running. My favorite is "Be Mine!" She swears a lot. As in "I should have seen it comin'/ I should have F*@%in' known." But somehow it's more powerful when I'm sitting on the couch, drinking white wine, surfing the net while Son plays with the neighbors.
2. Bald Men: Is it just me getting older or are bald men getting sexier? Or is that sexy men are getting balder? Witness one Michael Chiklis, who has been sexy for awhile. Bruce Willis is sexy when bald. But isn't he just sexy? (Don't think about his politics! which may be suspect!) I know there are others, but mind has just gone blank. I'll get back to you on this one.
   
3. Wasatch Back Relay: Why the fuck am I doing this? Okay, I know why. Because one agrees to be part of a team, and then one has to. I haven't been training enough and I've been drinking too much wine and eating too much, but what the hell. I'll finish. I know I will, because I have to, and, if nothing else, I have a strong sense of obligation. And also, I have learned in the years I have been me, I'm mentally strong even if I am weak of the flesh.
   
4. My unwritten novel: I think I'll write a book called The Novel I'm Not Writing. Then at least I'd be writing. But Sleepy E is in town, and he of the hypographia gave me a bit of a pep talk (spurred on by Middlebrow). I also got some inspiration from Walter Mosley's book This Year You Write Your Novel. In general, I just need someone to tell me, with infuriating regularity, You can do it. Just do it, you stupid fuckhead. But maybe in a nicer way.
   
5. Chris Noth: this picture. Enough said.
6. Plot: I like mysteries. I want to write a lyrical novel. Who the fuck am I? And why am I swearing so much?
   
7. Other people's sex lives: Do other people have more sex than me? Probably. Do they also have house cleaners and no children or at least nannies and are they having sex with the nanny? Maybe. Are they less neurotic about their non-wage earning "work"? Definitely. Let the dust bunnies reproduce. I'm in the basement "writing."
8. Writing: is the same as number 4? Yes. See number 7 under neurotic.
   
9. Not deserving all the wonderful great fantastic awesome gifts of the universe: do I need to go to therapy again? I haven't got time! See number 7.
   
10. Summer: hiking. going to the pool. not writing. Whatever. It's summer!
    

New Story

As I was writing on the novel, which often feels like slogging through mud, I received inspiration for a new story, which I began working on.
So, I wrote very little today on The Novel, but I wrote 10 pages (4,150 words) on the new story, "Domestic Drama."
I will post a bit, the inspiration for the story, here. I feel like the inspiration was just in time, as I was beginning to feel, because of the slogging, that I am not much of a writer. But the new story was fun. Which leads me to question why the novel isn't. But I've always loved brevity, so there's that. And doing something new always has its appeal too, doesn't it?
I hope to get back to the novel later tonight, or tomorrow. And to finish this story for my writing group at the end of the month.
So here's the first paragraph, which came to me in a burst of inspiration. Thank you, to wherever it came from.

He found me in the bedroom. I had the butcher knife and I was holding it in my right hand and with my left I was looking through a pile of clean laundry I had left on the bed. I was looking for a red handkerchief which I had given him for his last birthday and which would make a good tool for wiping up blood, but that was not why I was looking for it. I was looking for it because it had just sprung to my mind as I was deboning the chops for dinner. I hadn’t seen it in months and I thought that maybe it was missing or, I thought, maybe it was in the pile of clean clothes on the bed. That was the only place it could be.

Back at It

Last week was a wash, all the way around. Monday was a holiday, Wednesday was my last day of co-oping at Son's school, and Thursday was Son's Graduation extravaganza, complete with caps and gowns, The Magic Treehouse plays (in which Son played a guard, a juggler, and, his favorite, a monkey), food madness, and awards (Son got the Future Author award, proving conclusively that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree).
So I wrote a little on Tuesday and Wednesday, but nothing on Thursday or Friday. This weekend was full of madness (doing what? who knows! oh, we did plant two plants and I took Son swimming and I did run for two hours on Sunday).
But now I'm back at it. Never fear. I got up "early" (by my standards), and drank coffee and wrote a bit. I might try to split my writing days between production on the novel and revision of the collection. I'm trying to get it ready to send out in the fall.
But I also want to take Son for a hike, possibly with Dog, and I should be on my summer running schedule, but I'm tired. Oh so tired.
And I'm trying to plan a short vacation for July. Plus Middlebrow had several illness/injuries last week and I had to nurse him back to health (with Excedrin and fudgesicles). And, as I'm sure he'll point out, buying him generic Pepto-Bismol and then going out with the girls.

Word Count total: 27, 958

My Turn with the Comic