the bell

Delaneira, Evelyn De Morgan

Decided to stay home today, but called my sister and had a nice long talk with her about how Mom is doing. She’s doing fine; she’s eating more of the food she’s allowed–nothing chewable of course. Julie told me the doctor wants to know how much Mom is eating so she’s got to keep track of every spoonful.

Julie gave Mom a bell to call her when she needed her, but Mom was having way too much fun with that bell. When, after numerous other requests that kept Julie trotting back and forth, Mom rang the bell to complain that her bed was too small and she wanted a big bed, Julie took the bell away. “That’s enough of that,” she told her.

We had a good laugh over that. Mom’s a treasure. I talked with Mom a bit–she complained about the bed to me too. I really should have driven down there today but I really wanted to stay home too, just couldn’t get in the car for a long drive. I know she’s doing okay so that’s comforting.

Worked on AloS. Yesterday I re-drew House Jancoro’s floor plan, and printed out some art that reflected certain scenes for me–all a part of my visualization efforts. Today I’ve read and re-read the most recent writings, and I’m now wondering what to write next.

Today was a gloriously hot and beautiful Sunday; now there’s a cool breeze pushing against the curtains. Last night I finally watched my dvd of the movie RAY; it was good. Jamie Foxx gave a superb performance as the musically brilliant, blind Ray Charles. I’m reading a number of books–and find myself drifting restlessly between them. I’m halfway through Naomi Novik’s Throne of Jade; well into Steven Pressfield’s excellent Gates of Fire; started a book of poet Elizabeth Bishop’s letters titled One Art; and began reading Charles Frazier’s Cold Mountain–this book has been on my shelf for nearly ten years. I dunno–I was saving it. Guess it’s going to be my “post-surgery” novel.

cracking an old acorn

A Coign of Vantage, Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema

I always found that old acorn, “Write what you know” to be not altogether helpful. I think it speaks to the emotional experiences we all have in life–and makes a good point. Fiction is all about emotion. It’s the thing that captures readers and keeps them under the story’s spell. But to write fiction is to stretch, plumb, romp through the field of one’s imagination, and that means, as television writer Lisa Klink says in this post,  write what you don’t know. I find her refreshing take on the old acorn enlightening.

I write fantasy, a great big umbrella for me that shelters my desire to write science fiction too, and I’m interested in a plethora of subjects that could inform and inspire my writing. I know nothing, and I’m attracted to whatever captures my imagination.

Lisa says, The whole point of fiction is to stretch your imagination into characters and situations you don’t know.  The trick is finding the relatable emotion within even the most extraordinary circumstances. 

Ah yes, and that brings me to the maze of thinking I wander through as I write A Lamentation of Swans. What I’ve written so far is by no means set in stone. The story is in a constant state of flux, as it should be if I am to get the compelling tale I’m aiming for. I don’t mean the kind of change that is a whole hog morphing of the basic story to something unrecognizable–ALoS remains true to its origin; its ideational heartbeat is steady. But I have a ton of story material, many ideas contained within, many threads waving about–all of which have to take form and be of pleasing shape.

So I’m open to varying approaches, and where to begin tops the list. Right now I begin with Gaius and Annasara. Seems only right since Gaius is the main character, but the story demands more than his viewpoint so certain other characters have an important role too. After much mind-changing and dithering, I restored the Prologue to the current draft–it’s only one page long and contains a single important event that sets the story in motion.

I’m looking at the story from the different angles present, other perspectives, and I’m wondering if I should begin at a certain other point before closing in on Gaius. I wouldn’t be starting over, simply adding other chapters that ought to come before Gaius. Oh dear. I’m treading perilously close to rewriting what has not been written.

It’s a beautiful day today, warm and sunny, contrary to yesterday’s weather forecast. (Hah! They don’t know Mother Nature as well as they think they do.) I couldn’t sleep last night and took two sleeping pills to bring on the comforting dream-dark. Now this morning I’m on my second cup of coffee and so lethargic I can hardly appreciate the beauty of the day. I’m going to stay in and work on ALoS. Right now my thoughts are scattered, but the story beckons.

nail points in the storyboard

In Bruges, The Minnewater, Fernand Khnopf

48,127. Paul over at A Writer’s Cosmos has another astute post on the fine art of writing, titled “patience” and he says, Don’t rewrite something that isn’t written yet. My goodness. That’s what I’ve been doing! Constantly rewriting what I’ve not yet written. Such folly. It’s what keeps this little gopher from sticking her nose out of the hole, forgetting that the back door is open and her rear is sticking out already.

I keep getting snagged on the tips of nails in the storyboard, but I’ve promised myself no more. I’ve been writing A Lamentation of Swans every day this week, focusing only on the scene at my fingertips, and ignoring all those tiny nail points. I’ve got the hammer tucked away and will bring it out in due course. But first comes the creating, and I agree with McKee–writing first, researching what’s needed and only what’s needed, and writing more suits the way I like to work. The times I’ve made the most progress are when I’ve known what I was writing about, when the story material becomes pregnant with the details I’d learned, figured out, synthesized in my mind so that I stopped stumbling about on the path of narrative; the words came and scenes shaped up. Those nail points stopped being painful pricks and did their job properly, holding things together. Patience makes the novel grow. For me, anyway.

By the way, saw 3:10 TO YUMA last weekend. Loved it. Christian Bale and Russell Crowe were fantastic–no exaggeration. Bale’s character dripped desparation; Crowe’s was magnetic. They were excellent. Tension begins at the start and continues straight through. A reviewer commented that the end was muddled. No it wasn’t. It was astounding and clear as daylight. (I may rent the original if I can find it; I think it ends differently.)

Glad the weekend is here. d:

picking up the thread

The Soul of the Rose, John Willliam Waterhouse

I’m back for now. Things with Mom are going about as well as they can go, and the wheel of time is simply spinning forward, pulling us along. 

I worked on A Lamentation of Swans this week, and decided to stop obsessing about the number of words I write and focus instead on whether or not the writing of a scene accomplishes what I need it to accomplish, and if not, work on it until it does. I’ll record the big count in my journal, but I’m not going to care about how many words per session. No daily word counts. Right now I’m at about 46,000.

This last quarter of the year is a whirling void to me; I don’t know what the coming months will be like, so I’ve decided to set aside the Isabella book, this year’s planned NANO novel, and work instead, as much as I can, on ALoS. I’ll aim for 50,000 but really it’ll be more like whatever I can get during the month of November. Maybe next year I’ll participate in NANO officially.

I was hoping to send out my short story Lost and Found, but it’s still sitting on the desk, waiting for me to do the revisions and find a market. And I’ve not written the second scene to Nyrabet and the Swordswoman yet. Can’t seem to find the words. Oh well. At least ALoS is alive again.

hiatus

Morgan Le Fay, Queen of Avalon, Anthony Sandys

Pendrifter is on hiatus for a little while. Hope to be back soon. d:

less time

Harebell, William Morris

Mommie’s condition has worsened, and the doctors have revised their optimistic projection of six months; now she’s got not much more than a week or two, and her doctor says it could be any day now. I visited her on Sunday. She’s still in the hospital, but she wants to come home, and my sister is trying to get things in order for that, but Mom has not yet been turned over to hospice care, so we’re waiting for the red tape to clear, and hoping we can get Mommie home to her own bed.

I’m getting through the days as best I can. I got very little sleep last night, and I’m going in way late to work today. I got my pre-surgery appointment for the 18th, and I hope Mommie holds on. I don’t want to not be with her in her last hours. I want to be there to hold her hand.

My heartfelt thanks to all of you who’ve extended your sympathy and compassion to me and my family during these sad days.

a pretty tall order

Marigold, William Morris

A friend sent me a lovely card that says, “I know at times like this, taking one day at a time can be a pretty tall order…” Yes, it is hard not to be overwhelmed with all sorts of unhappy thoughts. Last night, my thoughts ran up and down and around like crazed squirrels and I finally gave up trying to sleep and watched several Mission Impossible episodes to lull myself into at least napping.

Mommie is in the hospital and yesterday the doctors inserted three feeding tubes. She’ll be under hospice care when she returns home. The doctors say she has no more than six months. Her sister is flying out from Lousiana to spend time with her and help tend to her. We’re setting up her room with a proper hospital bed, oxygen, and the accoutrements needed to care for a terminally ill person. She is in good spirits.

As for me, I’ll be going in for major surgery before the end of September and will be off work for six weeks after. I’ll be visiting Mommie each Sunday until I go in, and then I won’t be able to drive for at least two weeks for sure, so I may not be able to see her again until late October.

I’m still not quite able to face what I know is coming.

mommie

Pot, William Morris

Drove out today, accompanied by my niece Whitney, to spend some time with Mom. She’s in such pain and there’s nothing I can do about it. Her doctor has not determined how to handle her case yet, and she’s so hungry and can’t eat anything. She lies in bed, pain-wracked, and imagines all her favorite meals. She gave me a running description of what she wanted to eat. “Oh, Mommie, don’t do that,” I told her. When my sister was making dinner for her girls, Mommie had to close the bedroom door the aromas were too much to deal with.

I went over her medical coverage with her, and made notes for our conference with her doctor on Tuesday. I lotioned her skin and my sister made her a fresh cup of lemon ice chips and a half mug of lukewarm vegetable broth. She couldn’t keep down the broth, but she’s able to suck on the lemon ice chips. I’m going to ask about getting some food into her somehow. She says she’s starving; the doctor will have to do something.

I’m numb thinking about what she’s going through and can hardly believe what’s happened to her. I told her not to worry about things, not to fret about the papers, and we will take care of her. I expected Mommie to live through her old age in physical peace. She’s always been healthy; she’s only 67. Of course none of us are prepared for the way the body betrays.

My refuge is the writing; otherwise, I’d sit and brood and cry. Yesterday I worked on Nyrabet and the Swordswoman and finished the first scene, 1,094 words. And I worked on a new novel, Hell’s Assassin; wrote a couple paragraphs. It’s a new project about a character that’s been on my mind for at least ten years. I’ve been thinking about looking at A Lamentation of Swans again.

Finished reading Dorothy B. Hughes’s Ride the Pink Horse. Excellent novel. Must find her other books.

I’m not sure how I’m going to spend this evening or tomorrow, i.e., whether I’m going to write or read or stare at movies; it’s nice, though, not having to do the zombie run.

My heartfelt thanks to all of you for your compassion and support.