Revison Blues

I thought my novel "Roll Call by the Elephants" was publishable; I've shared it with friends who raved about it, and I've received "good" rejections, editors wanting to see more after reading the sample chapters. But there's the rub as good ol' Shakespeare would say--as I reread "Roll Call," chapter by chapter making notes, some of the chapters are quite good, but some are not--especially the one that deals with N. and B. breaking up. The story of their romance is weak, albeit realistic. Some guys do just dump you with no reason why, with little explanation--but that won't work in fiction because the nosy reader wants to know why. Why does B. just dump N.? In my original draft, N. and B. have sex and she gets pregnant and has a miscarriage, but later I decided that that just doesn't fit, so instead she keeps her virginity and wonders if that's why he breaks up with her. In addition to B.'s focus on his art, and not wanting anything to get in its way.

Now I'm wondering--should I go back to the edgier version? Which version best fits the theme--that people who meet as strangers on the job can actually become family, that friendship can help people overcome hardships. I think the recent version is best--so N. keeps her virginity for the moment and no miscarriage. But why does B. dump N.? Is it just because he's enamored with his art? Or is there something about N. he doesn't like? Or does he meet someone else?

This romance is a subplot and shouldn't take over the entire book, but I have questions to answer.

Victory!

Plot Problems

Is it OK that for my NaNoWriMo novel, "The Writing Class," I'm making my favorite library the site, and the time last fall, as election day nears, my main character an Obama supporter and campaign volunteer? The "real" writing class took place thirty years ago at a different North side library, and today there's actually a writing organization, Neighborhood Writers Alliance--wouldn't some of my writers belong to that group, not the imaginary one I'm creating? Why would there even be a class at this library when that other organization exists? Am I being lazy with my research? But there's different schools of thought on that--most agree that yes, you have to do research---but not during the first draft, now is the time to let your imagination fly. Besides--although publication is always a goal and dream, that's not what NaNo is about. NaNo is a time to stretch my wings and enjoy writing a massive amount of pages, letting my characters take over and letting reality and real-life considerations disappear, forgetting my pile of rejection letters and the well-thumbed Writer's Market and my other neglected drafts of novels. Maybe my 2009 NaNo work with be salvageable, adding to NaNoWriMo's official list of published works--or maybe only fit for the blue recycling bin out back. Either way, I have fun, grow as a writer, meet a challenge, enjoy reading forums from other eccentric writers, even go to a write-in or two. I will write as the muse directs and forget reality!

Week 1 NaNoWriMo

Shh! Don't tell anybody what I'm writing about for NaNoWriMo because I haven't told anybody yet, afraid that I'll unpop the cork too soon releasing all the fizz. But I feel the need to vent about my noveling experience--and why not vent in the blog I devised for just this purpose?

I'm not sure if I picked the best plot--and I'm not even sure I have a plot! OK, Chris Baty, I know you said no plot no problem--I just hope you're right!

I've always wanted to write about the dynamics of a writing group--the kind of characters it attracts (aren't all writers a tad bit eccentric?), the relationships that form, the secrets that get revealed. In what other kind of class do you discover who is gay and who is straight, who survived an abusive childhood, who still mourns a baby who didn't survive the maternity ward, who was betrayed by a spouse, who survived domestic violence...The list goes on. Sounds more like a group therapy session than a writing class, but there you have it--that's what makes writing groups so volatile. Once I was in a class with two people who had what might euphemistically be called a personality conflict--the guy actually wrote a story where the woman went bananas and commited suicide in an exceedingly gory fashion. OK, that's a little extreme, too strange for fiction, but you get the idea.

I also recall the nurturing environment of a class I took at a library years ago that ended when the grant ran out.

So, this is my fuel. What do I have? A cast of characters, each with his or her own stories bursting to get out, each wanting to be the next Shakespeare. I'm getting to know these people and their stories, stealing shamelessly from myself and (shh!) the people I know. But I have no idea where this NaNoWriMo novel is going!

More NaNoWriMo Musings

My son's 18th-birthday gift is done--a photo album, organized by year, with pages of highlights and memories for each year. All together, about 75 pages of text, and I included cute titles: "1992: Liter Bottles, Pop Cans, and Eating Kittens." No, no, don't call PETA--no animals were abused and I'm a vegetarian. (My son at eight months old, when his uncle brought over some kittens, started putting a kitten in his mouth--probably because it was the same size as his favorite rattle--but his vegetarian mom saved the poor little feline.)

Now--that project behind me (which took much more time and work than expected)--time to plan for NaNoWriMo. Originally I'd thought I'd transform a treatment I wrote for a screenwriting class into a novel--"Homecoming," the story of pollyanna-ish Jennifer and cynical Peter, estranged siblings, taking a road trip to their abusive dad's funeral. Lots of drama there--except I'm not sure if it grips me. Won't it be too depressing? And when I think of plot details, I feel lost in a fog. I don't drive--how can I write a road trip? Jennifer works in a day care center--I did work in a day care center, but years and years ago. Peter is a lawyer--what do I know about being a lawyer, and what kind of lawyer is he, anyway?

So while I haven't absolutely decided against "Homecoming," I'm entertaining other ideas:

- boy's diary--historical fiction
- fictionalized story of illiterate deaf-blind man I taught to sign
- online dating service romance between two very different people in their forties
- fictionalized memoir
- a writing group
- coffeeshop friendships
- coffeeshop romance
- Rachel, Benjie, and David--grown up
- an eleven-year-old who's just been evicted with her mom--but eventually ends up in nurturing neighborhood

Do any of these ideas grab me more than "Homecoming"? Alas, I'm not sure--but I'll have to decide soon, as the October clock is ticking!

NaNoWriMo Musings

What shall I write for NaNoWriMo? (For the uninitiated, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, when eccentric writers attempt to write 50,000 word novels during the 30-day month of November.) November 2004: I wrote "Set to Music," a sequel to my first novel, "Roll Call by the Elephants," but I never felt the urge to revise it--what point polishing a sequel when the original is still unpublished? Still, I enjoyed finding out what happened to Nora, Bart, Clara, and gang. November 2005: I wrote "Journeys," a love story about people who meet on the Metra. I was intrigued with an image of a guy who'd spilled coffee on me while riding the subway; he apologized profusely and said he was on the way to a job interview--as a fellow coffee addict, I said don't worry about it. He was so nervous, and I remember wishing him luck. What if that situation, fictionalized, led to a romance? I was also fascinated by how people who rode the Metra together forged connections. One deaf passenger became friendly with the conductor; they'd stand in the vestibule texting each other back and forth; the passenger invited the conductor to his wedding. I tried to write parallel story lines with different sets of characters, but I don't think it worked. 2006 and 2007: Working on my MFA. November 2008: I wrote a sequel to "Rachel and the Cousins," my middle grade MFA novel, eager to have the kids progress from 6th to 7th grade. But my revision attempts flounder--just like revision of its prequel floundered until I started the MFA program. Do I need the terror of peer critiques for motivation? Or do I just need to keep at it, as I am today, Saturday morning sitting in Delicious Cafe with my decaf Americano and my black-speckled composition book and my Neo meta-laptop?

NaNoWriMo 2009 approaches--it's October, pumpkins and fluorescent Halloween witches decorate doorways. Originally I thought I'd write "Rachel and the Cousins: 8th Grade," but Rachel is stuck in 7th grade, vying with new character Cherie for Bobby, still dealing with 9/11 (this is 2001), not sure how she feels about her dad marrying Debbie, still trying to figure out which science fair project to do...So I thought, not this year.

But I've wanted to write a novel based on the plot I devised for screen writing class. "Homecoming" features siblings Jennifer and Peter, opposite personality types who do not get along, but forced to travel together to their abusive father's funeral. But I'm not sure--won't it be incredibly gloomy? I always feel unqualified to write adult fiction anyway--have I ever really grown up? I've had few healthy romances--so how can I write about my characters' loves? Someone asked me recently why I write for children, and her tone suggested that this was curious--why would someone old as me write for kids? But I may be 54--I don't feel 54--I feel like Dena. All the Denas I've ever been are still very much alive in me--especially the little kid Dena. My almost-eighteen-year-old son has good advice--"You're not any specific age. You're not a label. You're Dena." He's had experience with labels, being biracial, always seen as Black, never as Irish American, although he's being raised by his Irish American mom. When he has to check an ethnicity box, he checks "other." He's not a label, he's T.

Can I inject the Jennifer-Peter story with some humor? Can I use my imagination to write about their romances? The Bronte sisters never married yet wrote classic romances; same goes for Jane Austen. And who knows--by imagining healthy romantic love I might attract some into my own life. I see Jennifer having a worthless boyfriend in the beginning but in the end finding a much better love; not sure about Peter yet. And of course the focus of this book is on the sibling relationship.

So, maybe I will try "The Homecoming." Maybe.

A Gift

I don't have money to give my son a car for his 18th birthday. After working in the social service field my entire life, my son is my walking savings account; all my money has gone into his Catholic school education, kindergarten through high school. (I decided to send him to Catholic school kindergarten for a very illogical reason--paying day care costs as a single parent had been impossible but I'd done it--so, hey, why not Catholic school?). So, no car--but I do want to give him something special. I'm writing him a gift--a keepsake--detailing the highlights I remember of his eighteen years. Will I end up just writing highlights that strike me and leave out ones important to my son? If my son were writing his autobiography, he'd include specifics about grade school soccer and floor hockey and basketball and baseball games, goals and free throws and home runs scored. He'd write of Bulls and White Sox games and the one Bears game we went to, and he'd remember actual scores and names of the opposing teams. Me, I remember the rainbow that splashed across the sky after a rain delay, or the man selling Mexican corn, or the black towels we waved at the momentous blackout game, the electricity palpable as we clinched our division win in 2008. Will my list of memories be standard mom memories, resulting in a book he'll put aside, that gets buried under old textbooks in his cave of a room?

How should I write this gift? At first I thought, a la 100words.com, of writing 100 words for each year of his life. But some years--especially his first year of life--can't be summed up in a mere 100 words. Or should I use bullet points with a snappy sports-like title: "Momentous highlights of the formative first 18 years of T's life?" Should I include pictures? I groan at the prospect of going through the albums stored in my son's room--not only are the albums stacked topsy-turvy in no logical order, the pictures are arranged in no less haphazard way. I remember J scolding me for not writing dates of the back of photos. J, you're up there enjoying some celestial sport, seraphim against cherubim, maybe--take a minute to enjoy an "I told you so." How am I going to look at a shot and remember if Ty was three or four or five? It's hard enough compiling memories by specific year; I've spent the last few days finding and looking through old calendars and trying to decipher my scribbles.

But research is done; I'm going to look at each year at a time. Maybe some years will work better as bullet points; maybe a 100-word essay will be fine for others. If I were a poet, I'd try my hand at an ode! Let me begin.

Writing Blues

I still feel in a writing funk, maybe from my most recent rejection. Although a long Sunday stretches before me, I feel like a puppet with two many chores and interests competing, yanking my to-do strings: reading the Sunday paper, cleaning the cat litter box, reading in "An American Tragedy," straightening up so I can invite Ms. M. over for coffee, helping T. brainstorm ideas for his Theology paper, practicing on "Red" (my violin), and of course writing and revising. Maybe my blues stem from being a Gemini--I want to be a Renaissance person skilled at a zillion things but without the necessary genius or discipline. The green monster of jealousy appears with gleaming red eyes and sharp outstretched claws whenever I read of another writer's successes--especially if they're younger than me--especially if they're related to me. I start bashing myself--"You don't work hard enough, D." or "Who ever said you were talented?"--a total waste of time that scatters any creative force that might actually be brewing inside me!

I suspect that Emerson knew this feeling: "It is the highest power of divine moments that they abolish our contritions also. I accuse myself of sloth and unprofitableness day by day; but when these waves of God flow into me I no longer reckon lost time. I no longer poorly compute my possible achievements by what remains to me of the month or the year; for these moments confer a sort of omnipresence and omnipotence which asks nothing of duration, but sees that the energy of the mind is commensurate with the work to be done, without time."

Work is the only escape ladder out of this funk and into the divine moment Emerson speaks of. So, onward! I'll finish revising Chapter 15 of "Rachel and the Cousins: 7th Grade." Here, Rachel goes apartment hunting with her dad and her dad's fiance--and Rachel decidedly does not want to move from their cozy basement apartment. I'll also work on a gift--shh!--for my son's 18th birthday. I'm collecting and organizing memories and key dates--the date and time when he first tore up something (a cable TV guide), the day he said his first sentence: "This is a sock." Of course I'll have to make some corny reference to the serendipity of this early remark, for now T. is a die-hard Sox fan!

And of course all that distracts me from my writing can paradoxically make it richer--being a mom, being a friend, reading literature and newspapers, playing an instrument. Even cleaning the cat litter box. Life is more important than literature. And as my good friend M. always said, balance is everything.

Rejection Blues

I pick up my violin for a few minutes of obligatory practice--the strings are out of tune, and I flinch, just as I did a while earlier today, glancing at the last page of the novel I thought was in great shape. "Nora's pink mouth opened..." What was I thinking? Her mouth was pink? Maybe her lips--but her mouth? And why would I even mention lips being pink? Out of tune. No wonder I'm getting rejected. Add to to-do list: Reread and revise "Roll Call by the Elephants."

I have the Rejection Blues. I worked feverishly for the last few months revising "Bestfriend," polishing it yet one more time, this time adding excerpts from letters J. wrote me. In less than a week, a mere "No thank you" email hits my inbox.

I read in "The Writer" magazine about writers half my age whose publication credits are in the double- and triple-digits. Why do I even try? It makes me feel even worse, remembering my own long-ago back-to-back publications, being a high school and college "star." Am I just fooling myself, lulling myself with past laurels? Has my talent decreased with the years?

Of course, I get too hung up on age, hating society's bias but internalizing it all the same. I had an epiphany about age the other day, though, while writing in a Starbuck's in Roscoe Village--I remembered that I had indeed lived in Roscoe Village for a couple of years in my twenties, although the area wasn't quite as trendy. But those were hardly happy years, working at nothing jobs and obsessing over hollow romantic relationships, with hardly the nurturing circle of family and friends I now have. Sure, I'd like to be young again--but I sure wouldn't want to relive my own youth. And if any skills do decrease with age--if they do--well, isn't that balanced by the gifts of experience?

In any event, talent doesn't matter--all that matters is that I'm a writer, and writers write. And hope always does surge up again despite rejection. I can tune those violin strings; I can enter the world of "Roll Call by the Elephants" once more and picture my characters again. And maybe someday I'll post a celebratory entry!

Pet Peeve: Annoying Question

"So what will you do when T. goes off to college? You'll be all alone..."

I really hate when friends and family pose this question. Are they predicting my downfall into abject loneliness, my life consumed with "those were the days memories" and worshiping T.'s baby shoes? One time a few years ago, my landlady stopped my son and me as we set out for a walk--"In a few years he'll be off at college and you'll be all alone," and she smiled. Later I thought of the kind of thing you wish you'd said although of course you'd never say it: "Uh--you're so concerned about my being alone--I guess you have an eligible bachelor ready for me to meet, right? You're a prominent church member--you wouldn't be throwing my singleness in my face, would you? That wouldn't be Christian, would it?"

Of course, I have the specter of my mother's example hanging over my head--a negative role model if there ever was one. She, with her mental illness, didn't want me to go off to college in the first place. Looking back, I should have picked a college on the opposite side of the country--instead, I lived on campus but in a school not far from my mother's apartment; she once paid me a one a.m. visit, screaming at me to come home until someone on the floor summoned the R.A. My roommates and I left the phone off the hook nights so her frequent calls wouldn't wake us. Yup, negative role model.

I want my son to go away to college--I think it's a good first step towards his independence, one he'll be able to share with his fellow college freshman--an informal support group of thousands, you could say. And I've always tried to pursue my own dreams while being a mom, last year earning my MFA in creative writing, and I submit work to agents or editors once a month, amassing an impressive collection of rejection slips. Socially, I try to nurture old friendships and make new ones. L. and I are daily email buddies, H. and I have decided to have breakfast together once a month, I just emailed neighbor D. about setting up time for coffee, D.A. and I have monthly "write-ins," A. has become like my mother and we chat on the phone everyday, I'm overdue for having Ms. M. over for coffee...All alone? Depends on your definition, I guess! Sure, I'll be living alone a year from now, but although I'd love to find a soul mate, I'm not planning to advertise for a roommate! And I want to be proud of an independent adult son making his own way in the world.

That's why the title of this blog is "Dena's Launching Pad," NOT "Preparing for Empty Nest"! The phrase "empty nest" sounds so forlorn--why go there? Do birds sit around and dwell on their collections of twigs after their offspring have flown off? Don't think so--imagine they're flying about here and there. No, I look at my home as a place to launch my son off to a fulfilling life--and where I continue to follow my dreams.

Writing Method

Do I have the best writing method? I start slowly, scribbling in my Penway Composition Book with blue gel pen. (Yeah, I know that shows my age--actually using handwriting sounds like I have a horse and buggy out back--but what can I say? Pen in hand feels comfy.) I mark my notebook with paper clips so I can find unfinished scribblings--observations or descriptions, crabby musings about myself or some other human being, novel instances, notes for my memoir about my best friend, lists of ideas--whatever. I give myself freedom to write whatever I want. Sometimes notebook-writing sparks me to jump to my computer or Neo--but not always.

Next I attack something on my to-do list, but again I let myself be flexible. I'd planned to work on Lesson 11 of "Rachel and the Cousins: 7th Grade"--but on Saturday my son and I will be visiting J.'s mom and returning J.'s letters--so it would be nice if I finished tweaking "Bestfriend." The last section of "Bestfriend" is hardest, for that's where I need to show how J.'s life has affected me. Just try summing up the meaning of your best friend to you--see what I mean?

Sometimes I post to 100words.com--a new notebook entry or an excerpt from the memoir or my novel. Does 100words.com help my writing, forcing me be more concise? Or is it a diversion, giving me less time for "real" writing projects?

How can I get myself to write better? My people seem cardboard, my descriptions from a universe where nothing can be seen, heard, felt, smelled, or tasted. From past experience, writing more and reading more are the keys. I've just started Dreiser's "American Tragedy"--I hope that helps!

Revision Blues

Again I'm rewriting "Bestfriend," a memoir of J., my best friend who died eleven years ago this November. I began working on "Bestfriend" in 2001 or 2002, started sending it out to publishers in September 2005. Nibbles but no bites. When I finished the MFA program in July 2008, I looked at "Bestfriend" once more and did some revising. Now I'm tweaking again--while visiting J's mom and looking through photo albums, I read a letter J. wrote to Cardinal B., pleading for a ramp for her church. J.'s spirit leaped off the page. Why not insert J's own words? And I could update the aftermath section to talk about the ramp that was built, albeit after J's death.

I'd love to sell "Bestfriend" and split the money with J.'s mom. But revision is grueling. I can only work on the manuscript for so long and I need a break. I mean, it's a tragedy--she dies. In my update, I mention that her brother died last year--her parents have lost three of their five kids. How the **** do you add comic relief to a scenario like that? I try to add hope--that J. is looking down on us--that life has a pattern we just don't see yet, noting the ramp she'd pushed for was finally approved, believe it or not, the day she died. And in the early sections, I did put in funny stuff--how we'd go through J.C. Penney, J. honking the bicycle bell a coworker attached to her wheelchair. How people laughed--but they were smiling, much better than the usual stares.

Still...one friend who read "Bestfriend" worried that it would be "too much" for the reader. Of course, J's death--being in a coma two and a half months before she died--was too much in real life, too. Still--I do want to sell this. May the force be with me!

Chapters

I love seeing patterns in life; I just realized that my life neatly divides into 18-year chapters. My first 18 years I spent surviving, mentally and emotionally, life in a dysfunctional home; my next 18 years I fumbled about, trying to find my purpose. Next, I spent 18 years raising my son--and grew up myself.

My son will turn eighteen in less than two months, will go off to college a year from now. My next chapter begins.

I've begun to lay groundwork, earning my MFA in creative writing last year, and networking with writers via NaNoWriMo and the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators. I've signed up at a couple of online dating sites--although I subscribe to the philosophy of the book, "Men Are Just Dessert." After my son leaves, I may join choir again, take violin lessons, attend writing conferences, enroll in more writing classes. I need to launch myself, too!

The Journey Begins

I remember loving living alone. I enjoyed the years from September 1976 to June 1978, then from September1980 to September 1986,until the fiancé who would become my ex-husband moved in. Altogether, a total of eight years, a fractional part of my 54 years. Of course, when my child was little, it sometimes felt like living alone, for he slept during the long stretch of evening hours...
Next year, in August 2010, I'll lose the "roommate" I've had for the past eighteen years as my son goes off to college, and I'll lose the job of full-time mother, changing my status to always-on-call mother. I read a cartoon once where a new mother, holding her crying baby, asks her own mother, in frustration, "When do you stop worrying about them all the time?" Her mother replies, "I'll let you know when I find out." There is that.
So my blog will detail my own personal journey as my son completes high school.
I'm also a struggling writer--key word is struggle. I do get to write for a living for a school, but it's like ghost writing, as our names are never on the final product. I've written three books--a coming-of-age novel, a short memoir about my best friend who died some years ago, and a middle-grade novel. I'm trying to find homes for them, plus work on new material, particularly a sequel to the middle-grade novel. And of course I religiously participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) every year!
So this is a launching-pad year, as I get ready to send my son forth to the world of college and work and someday his own family, and as I write and submit stuff to agents and publishers. May my son and my books do well!