soliloquy

 

Mom was a leap year baby, and today she’d be 68. Nearly five months have passed, and not a day goes by that I do not think of her. This weekend we’ll place fresh flowers on her grave.

*************

Going through my old manuscripts, I found this little two-pager. So I’ll let it see the light of day…
CROSSING

The traffic light flashed “Walk” before Jamal reached the curb. He ran the last few steps to the crosswalk, and slowed abruptly to a stroll, behind the old lady ahead of him. In the blush of Sunday afternoon sunshine, he ambled across, his hands in his pockets, tennis shoes scuffing against the pebbly asphalt. He should have called Calvin and made sure he was home. But he’d probably be there since his car wasn’t running anyway. That meant killing a six-pack and watching basketball on television. Perfect.

The old woman ahead of him cast a sidelong glance back. He glimpsed the turn of her sallow, veined cheek. She traveled fast, her cane not slowing her down any. She probably wanted to make it across before the “Walk” started flashing, before the two lanes of idling cars were ready to roll. Her quick stepping, the cane crunching smartly on the pavement, reminded him of the way his Grandma Vivian used to cross the road, her cane stamping along briskly like this old lady’s. Ain’t no thing, mama, he thought. They ain’t gonna run us over even if you still crossing when the light changes.

But he could see why she was hurrying. They never gave you enough time to cross these long intersections before the light began blinking. If you were old and couldn’t move too fast, there you were, trying to get across with everybody staring at you. He wasn’t hurrying. He would get to the other side when he got to the other side. That’s all there was to it.

He caught her looking back at him and looked behind himself. Nobody behind him; nothing to see. What’s up with her?

Wherever she was going, she must be running late. She ought to have somebody taking her around, but he guessed she didn’t. Otherwise she wouldn’t be out here with her cane trying to get to the store, or wherever, and home before her knees started hurting her.

Right on cue, the “Walk” light winked frantically. Jamal tsk’d, watching the old lady quicken her steps as best she could. They must know how many steps it took to get to the middle, and then they made you nervous, tried to rush you across. They ought to put a little more time on the clock for old people. He glanced at the waiting cars, didn’t hurry his walking in the sunshine pace. They’d just have to wait.

The old woman reached the curb and looked back at him. Sunshine flashed on her wire-framed glasses. Her mouth trembled, lips parted as if she were about to say something.

Did he know her? Did she know him? Was she one of the ladies who shopped at the FoodMart, who came through his line regularly? He smiled at her, but let it crumble as her look struck him like a hard flick of sand in his face. He stepped past her, staring at his shoes, away from her frightened gray eyes, away from the sharp clefts at the corner of her thin lips. The sun fell hot over him, its heat barely cut by the flat brush of breezes. He didn’t want to look back, didn’t want to care, but he felt her gaze burning the back of his neck. He turned his head, looked back anyway. Her glare slapped him like a clop of thrown mud. Calvin’s house was another block down the street. That first beer was going to taste too good to be true. He was just taking a walk, going somewhere like she was going somewhere. It didn’t mean a thing. He strode on, but her face hung in his mind, white and glaring like the sun.

under the bus

Frozen Out, George Dunlop Leslie

Busy with the Deidre/Randall novel, the day job, reading, the cats, the house, the drive, eating, sleeping, the bills, yadda yadda… the Deidre/Randall novel, the day job, reading, the cats, the house, the drive, eating, sleeping, the bills, yadda yadda…

Have to take Mac in for a repair. Luckily I’ve got Sony back from my sister.

’tis a fine tool, use it well, but sparingly

For the Nautilus is my boat in which I over the waters float. Warwick Goble, Fairies on the Seashore

4,084/60,000. No new words his morning, but many thoughts and story notes in my journal. Read another couple chapters of Jordan Rosenfeld’s Make A Scene, which is serving as a good aide for the rewrite. Read the chapter on flashbacks. The number one thing I hear about flashbacks is don’t do them, but I think a writer should use every creative tool at her disposal. Arbitrarily dismissing a tool like the flashback just because it is a flashback seems counter-productive when words are your clay and writing techniques your tools in hand. That being said, I didn’t have a good understanding of the technique until I read Rosenfeld’s chapter. Outside of a vague thought that you use it to explain the why of something in the frontstory (term borrowed from Rosenfeld; I like it.), I had no idea how to use a flashback for maximum impact in spinning the story.

Rosenfeld presents the how to use, the reasons when/why to use,  illustrates her points with examples from published novels, and discusses the fine result a writer gets when a flashback is well handled. It does wonders for the story. She also emphasized using them judiciously so the reader isn’t kicked out of the fictive dream and the pace doesn’t become the progress of a raindrop falling through eternity. All to the good for me.

I’ve got a certain scene that I think works best as a flashback–it will deepen Randall’s character and his motivation as well as have significant bearing on the frontstory. It’s written, but it’s out of place in the story right now. Once I place it where it should go, where it will have the most impact and do the most good, it’ll kick like a good flashback should. (Sorry; don’t mean to be making rhymes.)

Driving in to work yesterday morning, I was musing about anti-heroes and the moral universe–I was, really–and got an idea for an essay I’d like to write. Saturday night I’d watched Layer Cake (early Daniel Craig and a Sundance winner). The end of the film (and the alternate ending included on the dvd) set me to thinking. How come? I asked myself. Why’d the director go with the one and not the other? What did each do for the story and the main character’s actions in it? This led me thinking of other similar films. I jotted my thoughts in my journal when I got to the office ’cause I’ve a thing for anti-heroes and I don’t want this one to get away.

It’s rainy today, likely to be a wet weekend, but I’m looking forward to my writer’s meeting and lunch with Janet tomorrow. Happy writing, d

rubescent moon

The Day Dream, Dante Gabriel Rossetti

4,084/60,000. Driving home last night, traffic rolled along at a pretty good pace considering that Wednesday nights are usually ick, looked up and caught sight of the moon half-swaddled in clouds, its pale face reddened by the earth’s shadow. Loved seeing that, but had to keep my eye on the road. The sky was overcast and I hadn’t expected to see the eclipse at all, but there it was–red moon rising.

An unexpected conversation between Randall and Deidre yielded good work this morning. The more I write of this book, the more I like it. It’s not an easy story to write, but it is shaping up nicely so far.

cyclamen aka vampire’s kiss

3,286/60,000. Rainy Wednesday. The three-day weekend was wonderful, bright with sunshine, but cold. I finished my read-through and annotation of the Nano novel and Monday got started on the rewrite. During November I didn’t use chapter breaks; now I’m setting them. Chapter 1 is short, sweet, and does exactly what I want it to do.

Today I’m at Chapter 2, focusing on Randall. Most of that chapter will be about him and it’s all new material. I was at loose ends for a bit, knowing what I wanted to write, not knowing how to get it down. But I composed a scenario, gave Randall his first line, and the scene surfaced through the words. By the time I shut down and headed for the office, I was satisfied at this morning’s work. The scene’s not finished, but I can see a little ways into the fog and I’m not worried.  I’ve targeted 60,000 words for this pass, but I may increase it if I hit that mark before mid-March. I don’t know what the final word count will be, and I’m not going to set a fence.

For Valentine’s Day last week, all the women in the office received pots of blood-red cyclamen with chocolate kisses scattered among the leaves. Lovely! I’ve given mine an  alternate name–”vampire’s kiss.”

unwritten

A voice spoke out of the sky. The day was bright and cold. The sky white as bone. The voice said, and the Commander heard it clearly in his head, as clearly as the toll of a bell, “You shall be cleansed from the face of the earth. You are a cancer and a desecration among humanity. You are corrupt and evil. The Blade shall cleanse you. Your life is over. You shall be no more.”

      He stood in his tent, feeling the chill of a sharp morning wind. He wanted to walk outside, but he could not move. He was rooted to the spot, as if he’d already been transformed into a pillar of salt. Through the peeled back flap of the tent he could see his men, his soldiers. He could see the brilliant white light, sweeping down from the sky, advancing over and through the trees. It swung back and forth in great arcs, like a pendulum. He could see its edges, sharp lines against the sky, keen as the edge of a razor. It swept back and forth. It fell upon the camp, sweeping back and forth, and where it touched, when it fell upon the men in its path, they vanished in the second of its passing. They were gone in a heartbeat, in less than a heartbeat. They ran. Some screamed. Some yelled. Some fired their guns at it. Some threw grenades at it. Someone lauched a rocket that screamed and burst into red against the heartless white light. None escaped the Blade.

      The voice spoke again. “The earth shall be cleansed of the corrupt and the evil,  the malicious and the venal. The bloodthirsty and avaricious dictators and tyrants shall die. The murderous urban gangs shall die. The murderers, the rapists, the psychopaths shall die. Gone shall be pedophiles, the child molesters, the wife beaters. Gone shall be the oppressors of women, the ruiners of children, the harvesters of men.”

      The Blade swept over the Commander’s tent. It swept away. The tent stood as before. The Commander was no more.

      The Blade swept over the countries of the earth. It did no harm to trees and animals. It did no harm to the earth itself. It obliterated the evil, the malignant, the cancerous among humanity. It touched not, left alive and unharmed, the good mothers and fathers who birthed and raised their children with love and care and launched them into life on the path of goodness. It touched not the men and women who toiled with honest nature and effort, who looked forward to a bright future, who loved life, who were the compassionate and sought to maintain harmony. The Blade harmed not the innocent, the babies and children, the youth not yet fully into the world. In the wake of the Blade the voice tolled doom to those the Blade condemned. “Gone shall be the spreaders of corruption, the spillers of blood.”

      The Blade cut through. The sky remained white and cloudless, washed clean of all blue. The sun could not be seen. In the distant east, high in the heavens, a slender crescent of moon, thin as a fairy’s nail paring, hung in the snow-colored sky. A great silent cry went up from the earth as the worthless, the waste of skins, the evil met their doom. The Blade moved forth relentless and damning, sparing none who should not be spared.

      The earth became as clean as dawn. A fresh sweet wind of morning blew around the world in the wake of the cleansing Blade. Whole countries were denuded of people in some instances of the Blade’s passing.

      Then came the morning, the wind blew fresh and clean, carried the scent of distant flowers, and the sun came out and shined in a sky bright blue among puffs of cloud. The Blade had done its work. The Blade did not reappear. The earth was at peace. A great silent sigh went up from the earth. Paradise had come at last.

strike while the iron is hot

Lemons, Apples, and Tulips, Henri Fantin-Latour

Yesterday, during my phone conference with Lisa, she urged me to get in the zone–the writing zone. She said I have all I need to write my way through the Deidre/Randall novel, and she’s right. This was my 2007 Nano book. All I need to do is rewrite the rough draft. I’ve finished the outline; this morning I finished my read-through and annotation of the manuscript. This weekend I’m going to do a step outline, listing each and every scene along with its objective, point of view and motivation, and a synopsis for myself. Doing the read-through helped me see what new scenes are needed, and what needed improving in the scenes already written. The characters are great–especially Randall.

I’m thinking of this book as a dark fantasy. It’s about love, death, the lack of compassion (so endemic these days), and the wages of malice–the senseless cruelties people practice on each other. I’ve got the whole book in my head–beginning to end. I can feel it. I’m strking while the iron is hot. I’m not going to set any hard and fast deadline, but I think I can rewrite this book by the end of March. (That’s right, D; go ahead, set yourself up.) I’ve got all I need.

skip to my lou

Pandora, John William Waterhouse

13,916 (A Lamentation of Swans). This morning I finished my outline of the 2007 Nano novel, as far as I wanted to go with it–and I’m so excited! I outlined 2/3rds of the story (Parts 1 and 2); I’m not outlining Part 3 ’cause the end of the story depends on what happens in Part 2 and I want to see how it goes. I’ve got my guideposts, but novels are organic, in my view, and ‘though I’ve got the end sketched out, how it really turns out will depend on what happens in Part 2; I won’t mind surprise.

chinatown

Queen of the Night, Henri Fantin-Latour

13,916. I’m aiming to finish a new version of  A Lamentation of Swans by year end, but the novel is thematically complex; I’m wondering if I can make my goal. I’ll keep working on it steadily but I can’t let it stand in the way of other writing I want to do, other stories I want to write. This morning I took a little time away from it to work on the outline and notes for the Deidre and Randall novel, 2007’s Nano book, formerly known as Isabella but now in need of a new title.

Sunday dawned a lovely day, sunny, a tad cool in the morning, but pleasant–good day for an outing so off to Chinatown I went. Good for me and good for the Deidre/Randall story since I took the chance to scout out a useful setting. I took the Metro Blue Line in, transferred to a bus, and spent several hours strolling about, browsing through the shops. There were many, all full of eye-catching stuff–fat, gold-tasseled scarlet lanterns, barrels of dried ginseng (didn’t know there were so many varieties), bags of dried mushrooms, many, many wonderful teas (tasted a delicious sweet-tart plum tea and would’ve bought a bag but it was expensive–maybe next time), jade-handled mirrors, lovely dolls in ornate kimonos–just scads of things. I was very good. Came home with a large can of jasmine green tea, a pair of black flats embroidered with red blossoms, fragrant jasmine, rose, sandalwood, and vanilla-scented bars of Bee & Flower soaps, and a couple other goodies. Those exotic teas could break the bank–I got sticker shock–but I’m going to save my quarters and next time I go, I’m coming home with a few ounces of something wonderful.

Saturday was the Chinese New Year Golden Dragon Parade and bits of confetti, gold, red, blue, fushsia, was scattered along the street. Too bad I missed it, but I was scheduled to read at my writer’s group meeting. Maybe next year.

Saturday I read Chapter 1 (only 12 pages) of the 2006 Nano novel and my messy scribbling was well-received. I still have it set to rewrite in April, but the Deidre/Randall book is breathing down my neck already.

at the ivy gate

Potpourri, Herbert Draper

13,759. A Lamentation of Swans. Finally got the opening lines to Chapter 2 this morning. I think this is a good place to focus on Gadiel Rachor and what he’s doing. Slowly, I’m finding my way along. Meanwhile, to my surprise, I’ve partially outlined my 2007 November novel–although I’ve no plan to rewrite the story this year, I did journal my thoughts about it and found myself outlining it without much trouble. I didn’t bother to look over the manuscript, but the story seems to be blossoming out on its own. There’s sticky points, but nothing to worry over. I’ve got the  rewrite of the 2006 November novel on the calendar for April and the manuscript printed out and waiting. It may be the Isabella story takes precedence. We shall see.

A week ago I finished reading all 5 books of Lilith Saintcrow’s Dante Valentine series. Loved it; especially Japhrimel, although I must say the ending of the final book left me feeling a teeny bit unsatisfied about Dante and Japhrimel’s relationship. Oh well. On the whole, I enjoyed my time in Saintcrow’s well-rendered, post-apocalytic alternate world.