Muse

I’m a visual person.

I see scenes as film before I write them.   I hear the soundtrack, see the setting, and can visualize the lighting.  I started my last novel as a screenplay, but I found the format too tedious.  That doesn’t change the fact that my writing comes from my imagination, which works like film.

One of the ways I’m able to better visualize the characters in my books is to cast them.  I get inspiration for my stories by choosing actors, printing out headshots to go with my character bio’s, and watching clips of the actors on Youtube or in movies.  The actor becomes the Muse, and the writing flows from it. Sometimes the actors change, or I can clearly see more than one actor in a part, but I can’t tell you how helpful this process is to me as a writer.   (It’s also a lot of fun.)

Below, I’ve posted links to some of the “cast” of the book I’m working on now.  Take a look, and let me know what you think. Do you cast your books?  If so, who are your characters?

Ernest Hemingway

Pauline Hemingway

Protagonist: Hemingway Housekeeper

Love Interest/WW1 Vet

Friend/ WW1 Vet

This morning, I was able to get to my favorite bookstore/coffee shop in downtown Annapolis (courtesy of my darling husband) where the Muse always seems to wait for me.  It was a crisp fall day on the bay, and after a walk around the dock,  I got to work and wrote 587 words.  I also managed to narrowly avoid a parking ticket, so I counted the morning a success.

I got home around lunch time to eat with the kids, and then work some more while they napped.  I have to confess that it’s already a sorry state of affairs in the household.  It took every ounce of self-control I had not to tidy the clutter, but I managed to plant myself in my desk chair and produce another 600 words.

Here are some examples of the deterioration of the house and general state of anarchy resulting from just four days of Mommy on NaNoWriMo:

I found oldest playing hockey, outside, in the dark.

I found this guy walking around the family room eating a messy chocolate doughnut.

But in spite of the unopened mail strewn about the kitchen, the disaster area of my desk, the unfolded laundry on unmade beds, and the frightening levels of freedom my children have found, there is something good to show for all of this.

My four day word count.

Happy NaNoWriMo!

I began NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) yesterday in the hopes of pounding out the rest of the first draft of my Hemingway book.  I’ve completed most of the research and have 150 pages written, but I like the deadlines and the pressure associated with a writing contest to push me through the rest of the book.

I am a writer who loves that perfect writer setting.  Every day I look toward 1:30 as my special writing time when I’ll put the little ones down for naps, turn on the Pandora classical mix, brew some half-caff coffee, and use those few hours of uninterrupted bliss to put the words of my masterpiece on the page.

What actually happens: I don’t get the kids down until 2:00 because we’ve been out at the park, or playing with friends, or running errands.  Then I throw in some laundry. Then I tidy up the kitchen.  Then I mess around on Twitter and Facebook.  Then I remember to brew my coffee but can’t find the filters, so I spend 5 minutes hunting through the pantry and garage for the big bag of them.  Then the phone rings, and as badly as I don’t want to answer it, my caller ID rarely works, so I must.  It might be that literary agent I’ve been chatting with these past few weeks and I don’t want to miss it.  (It’s not typically that literary agent.)  Then I sit down to write, but I find an email from my son’s teacher with a quick question, so I answer it, and we chat back and forth for a bit.

Then I start writing.

One sentence, two sentences, I start a third and my oldest son comes in the door from school.

*sigh*

NaNoWriMo is meant to keep writers (like me) on task.  It grants us permission to ignore the laundry, tidying, phone calls, (blogging ), and social networking that eat up valuable writing time.  I gave my husband and children a speech yesterday about how disorganized the house would be this month while I was working through my draft.  They just looked at me, blinked, and went on their way.  As it turns out, I’m the only one who cares about tidiness, and organization, and folded laundry.  So I gave myself permission to be a slob this month, and invest my energy into building my little, fictional world.

Wish me luck!

(And please don’t stop over, unannounced.)

I’m celebrating one year of blogging, today.

I’ve got to thank Heather Johnson and Dave Rosenthal for inspiring me start in the first place, all of you for reading the blog, and the Muse, of course.

How fitting for a writer’s blog that the traditional one year gift is paper.

For me, each season brings a very definite mood, and I indulge those moods through the music and books I choose.  For example, in music, fall and winter are David Gray months. Maybe it’s his name I associate with cloudy, November skies or the moodiness of his music, but he’s all I want to listen to right now.  I think of Babylon, “kicking through the autumn leaves, wondering where it is you might be going to,” or Mystery of Love “the city gates at twilight, and a red ship sinking, behind winter’s grey wall.”  I’m also partial to dark piano music (well, that’s all year round) but especially Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata or Chopin’s Suffocation.

Fall also awakens my desire to read poetry.  Sylvia Plath is a favorite.  I have an audio recording of her reading her poems taped before and after her divorce, and the change in her voice is chilling.  It sounds like an entirely different person. She uses the death imagery associated with rooks–in bare trees and against the sky. It makes the hair stand on my arms to see flocks of them circle my yard and roost in my trees.  I want to shoo them away.  She writes of a cold, November Graveyard: “The scene stands stubborn: skinflint trees/Hoard last year’s leaves, won’t mourn, wear sackcloth, or turn/To elegiac dryads…”  Yesterday I thought of Fever 103 all day because I was sick: “Darling, all night/I have been flickering, off, on, off, on./The sheets grow heavy as a lecher’s kiss.”  It stays with me today with this stubborn fever.  (I found both of these poems on Youtube.  Follow the links to hear the difference in her voice.)

I want to indulge in my autumn moodiness through these musicians and poets.  It feels good, now.  But in January when the holidays are over and the  trees are frozen sticks I’ll be looking forward to the warmth of my summer music, and Jason Mraz, and Carbon Leaf, and Bob Marley.

God, they’re so far off.

The subject of angels (fallen and otherwise) keeps creeping up, lately, and since I don’t know what to make of it, I’ve decided to blog about it.

Several weeks ago, I was able to attend a lecture by Elie Wiesel, author of Night.  I blogged about most of the lecture, but I left out a bit that occurred during the question and answer period because, frankly, it embarrassed me.  But now the subject keeps coming up, so I’d be interested to hear your thoughts.

Mr. Wiesel, a holocaust survivor, spoke of God often in his discussion.  In spite of his sufferings, he has never abandoned his belief in God.  He did say, though, that one thing has always haunted him about the Nazis.  Wiesel said he has long been a believer that education is the answer to the ills of society, but that the Nazi Officers were some of the most learned and cultured men in German society.  He can’t reconcile that level of learning with the level of evil of which they were capable.

Now, I’m Catholic.  I believe in angels (good and bad.)  I believe that the devil is a fallen angel, and that other angels have fallen.  I don’t talk about this much because it’s strange to talk about these kinds of things in everyday conversation, and it doesn’t dominate my life. But it’s a belief I hold, nonetheless.  So to me, it’s easy to see how cultured, learned men could become demonic fiends.  Human beings have a strong propensity to sin, and I would imagine that dark forces are happy to nurture that in any way that they can.

When it came time to ask questions it occurred to me that Mr. Wiesel never once mentioned “the devil” in his talk, so I asked him if he believed in such a being.  Several people in the audience actually laughed at me.  (Some of you may be laughing at me.) He looked like he didn’t know quite what to make of my question, at first, but he was kind enough not to laugh.  He did think for a bit and then answered that in his learning, “the devil” was always a literary figure, but not a real being.  He said that he was taught that the figure is used symbolically.   He gave me a very nice “namaste” bow at the end of the lecture, but he and the others in the audience probably thought I was a nut.

Now, last weekend I completed C S Lewis’ The Screwtape Letters for my book club.   If you aren’t familiar with the book, it’s an epistolary novella conveying the correspondence of two devils, an expert and a novice, about how to ensnare souls.  It’s a short book, though very dense and very troubling.  Though it’s fiction, much of it caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up, especially this advice from one devil to another:  ”The fact that “devils” are predominantly comic figures in the modern imagination will help you.  If any faint suspicion of your existence begins to arise in his mind, suggest to him a picture of something in red tights…”  (p. 37)  This goes back to the poet Baudelaire’s assertion in The Generous Gambler that “the devil’s best trick is to persuade you that he doesn’t exist!”   I would assert that the devil has been fairly successful in this venture.

I’ve been following author Anne Rice on Twitter and on Facebook, and her new book Angel Time is about to be released.  Rice is the author of the popular Vampire Lestat series–among others–but has had a recent return to her Catholic faith.  She wrote a book about that conversion (which was fabulous) titled Called Out of Darkness, and the popular Christ the Lord books.  If you scroll back through her Facebook questions and ponderings about the existence of devils and hell you’ll find some interesting dialogue on the subject.

So what does all this add up to?  I don’t know. But my writer-brain feels that tingling sensation that occurs when a great swirl of ideas moving formlessly through the head starts to connect, and wants to take form on the page.  I don’t know if it will lead anywhere, but I’d love your thoughts on angels, and devils, and God.  But before I go, I’ll leave you with these words of comfort and caution from the Introduction & Preface to The Screwtape Letters:

“There is no uncreated being except God.  God has no opposite.  No being could attain a “perfect badness” opposite to the perfect goodness of God…” (p 6)

“There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils.  One is to disbelieve in their existence.  The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them.” (p. 15)

“And now you come to me–women with hands and feet as soft as a queen’s, with more cooking pots than you need, so safe in childbed and so free with your tongues.  You come hungry for the story that was lost.  You crave words to fill the great silence that swallowed me, and my mothers, and my grandmothers before them.”  (p 3)

There are books so completely imagined and executed that each time you open the pages you fall into the world created there and can’t wait to return–books that open your understanding and leave you with genuine sadness at their completion.  The Red Tent, by Anita Diamant, is one of them.

Following my superstitious, multiple referral program of reading (if three or more people recommend a book to me, I read it), I picked up this book with high hopes.  I wasn’t disappointed for a moment.  I love a great epic–a book that spans generations and takes me through a character’s life from beginning to end.  This book did just that, while giving me a greater understanding of the early Jewish culture. 

Diamant did a lot of research on the culture at the time of the book, but there wasn’t much more to be found than the sparse sentences in the Bible about her characters of Jacob, Leah, Rachel, Dinah, and others.  She used her imagination to fill in the gulfs between the sentences, and what resulted was a fascinating story of complex familial relations, and the strength of women.

Another great work of biblical historical fiction I just finished was Sarah, by Marek Halter.  It is the story of the woman born Sarai of Ur, her abandonment of her father’s house, her barrenness, and her marriage to Abram.  Like The Red Tent, Sarah breathes life and feeling into a culture broadly, but not deeply, represented in the bible.  I’m glad to see that this is the first book in a trilogy.

After reading these books I feel a greater connection to the people in the bible, and have a new way of reading the material.  It has illuminated the text for me, if not factually, than emotionally.  I highly recommend both.

After a call I received yesterday afternoon, I thought of the words of Matt Kearney’s Closer to Love  : “I guess we’re all one phone call from our knees.”   I had intended a light and amusing post today on family relationships, but that call caused me to reflect on a much more serious aspect of family relations: when the relationships end in death. 

A dear family member lost her father yesterday, and I can’t imagine the depths of the grief she’ll walk once it seeps in.  It got me thinking of how thin the borders are between this life and the next, and the importance of taking care of each other and ourselves.  It also got me thinking of the middle of the night phone calls over the years that mark dots on a timeline, and separate the everyday and ordinary from the life-defining moments we build our stories and measure our lives around as we live it. 

I recall one such phone call a decade ago when we found out that my uncle was at shock trauma following a car accident.  Over the course of the day we watched his reflexes and responses slip away, one by one, until his cough was gone, and we knew that after we said our goodbyes, we could let him die.  On that day I saw my father cry for the first time.  I remember the male nurse who stayed with us hours after his shift ended and cried like he’d known my uncle for years when he finally went.  I remember the plastic bag of my uncle’s belongings they gave my grandmother when we left that said “John Doe” on the outside of it.

 When my grandmother died several years later it was different.  We knew it was coming.  She’d been suffering for a long time.  We’d had time to care for her, and tell her we loved her, and whisper our goodbyes.  A few days before she died, a Native American woman sat at her bedside and mentioned that a bird at death was a good sign.  When my grandmother died, a bird sang at her window and her beloved dog started barking.  The dog–healthy and young–died several hours later. 

It seems that there’s always a story with a death–either preceding it or following it.  It’s such a shame when the death is not peaceful or a part of the natural progression.  It’s a shame when the call brings us to our knees.

But all death should take us to our knees, at least in prayer.  Prayer for the soul of the dead and prayer for those in mourning.  And finally, prayers of gratitude for lives well lived, or the beloved living.

For my family member, my friend, my sister, I leave this.

*                    *                    *

Today I’m participating in a mass blogging! WOW! Women On Writing has gathered a group of blogging buddies to write about family relationships. Why family relationships? We’re celebrating the release of Therese Walsh’s debut novel today. The Last Will of Moira Leahy, (Random House, October 13, 2009) is about a mysterious journey that helps a woman learn more about herself and her twin, whom she lost when they were teenagers. Visit The Muffin (http://www.wow-womenonwriting.com/blog.html) to read what Therese has to say about family relationships and view the list of all my blogging buddies. And make sure you visit Therese’s website (http://www.theresewalsh.com) to find out more about the author.

 About the book:

The Last Will of Moira Leahy

By Therese Walsh

A LOST SHADOW
Moira Leahy struggled growing up in her prodigious twin’s shadow; Maeve was always more talented, more daring, more fun. In the autumn of the girls’ sixteenth year, a secret love tempted Moira, allowing her to have her own taste of adventure, but it also damaged the intimate, intuitive relationship she’d always shared with her sister. Though Moira’s adolescent struggles came to a tragic end nearly a decade ago, her brief flirtation with independence will haunt her sister for years to come.

A LONE WOMAN
When Maeve Leahy lost her twin, she left home and buried her fun-loving spirit to become a workaholic professor of languages at a small college in upstate New York. She lives a solitary life now, controlling what she can and ignoring the rest–the recurring nightmares, hallucinations about a child with red hair, the unquiet sounds in her mind, her reflection in the mirror. It doesn’t help that her mother avoids her, her best friend questions her sanity, and her not-quite boyfriend has left the country. But at least her life is ordered. Exactly how she wants it.

A SHARED PAST
Until one night at an auction when Maeve wins a keris, a Javanese dagger that reminds her of her lost youth, and happier days playing pirates with Moira in their father’s boat. Days later, a book on weaponry is nailed to her office door, followed by anonymous notes, including one that invites her to Rome to learn more about the blade and its legendary properties. Opening her heart and mind to possibility, Maeve accepts the invitation, and with it, a window into her past. Ultimately she will revisit the tragic November night that shaped her and Moira’s destinies, and learn that nothing can be taken at face value, as one sister emerges whole and the other’s score is finally settled.

——————

About the author, Therese Walsh:

Therese is the co-founder of Writer Unboxed, a blog for writers about the craft and business of genre fiction. Before turning to fiction, she was a researcher and writer for Prevention magazine, and then a freelance writer. She’s had hundreds of articles on nutrition and fitness published in consumer magazines and online.

She has a master’s degree in psychology.

Aside from writing, Therese’s favorite things include music, art, crab legs, Whose Line is it Anyway?, dark chocolate, photography, unique movies and novels, people watching, strong Irish tea, and spending time with her husband, two kids and their bouncy Jack Russell.

Therese’s website: http://theresewalsh.com
Therese’s blog: http://theresewalsh.com/blog.html
Writer Unboxed: http://www.writerunboxed.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/ThereseWalsh
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/therese.walsh

Ami Spencer is a freelance writer I met at the Maryland Writer’s Conference.  She has a great blog for writers who need ideas, advice, or tips to build platform.  She’s a talented writer, and a really nice person.

She was kind enough to interview me for her blog, Write Out Loud.  Check it out, here.

I self-published my book, Receive Me Falling, in the hopes of getting good sales, good reviews, and using that information to query agents.  I’ve gotten good sales and reviews, and I’ve queried agents.  The response has been quite favorable so far.  Specifically, two agents have read the full manuscript and have asked me if I’d be willing to make some changes and re-submit.  Others have asked for the full manuscript, but I’m waiting to hear their feedback. 

In discussing this recently with a book club, many of its members were shocked that I would agree to make changes.  I was shocked, myself, to discover that I love to make changes.  I love focused revision.  I love deadlines.  I wouldn’t make changes if I thought they undermined the integrity or message I was trying to send through the book, but embarking on these revisions has sent me in exciting new directions. 

Few of the changes are sweeping.  Most of the new scenes go a little deeper into the scenes which are already there.  I’ve played up the supernatural elements of the book, and woven the current (dismal) economic climate into the storyline.  I’ve made one major change to the mystery.

My favorite overall change is the combination of several minor characters into one major character.  I’ve taken several male slave characters and built one man more integral to the story, and more layered than he started.  It has given the narrative stronger impact since the reader can now devote more time to the understanding of one man versus many men.  I think it connects the reader more deeply to the story and the message it sends.

I often wonder if writers are ever content with their work.  At some point we must say “Enough!” but until that point, it’s exciting to see the organic growth of the book and the characters.  Self-publishing prior to traditional publishing has given me a unique opportunity to test my book on an audience.  It has been very well received, and for that I am grateful, but it will be interesting to see what those who’ve read the self-published version of the book think about the book when it’s traditionally published.  (Do you like my optimism, there, with the “when it’s published” line?)

Here are some examples of self-published authors who’ve gone to traditional publishers, and the prices their original books are selling for on AbeBooks.com.  I don’t know the extent of the revisions they made, if any.  If you have a copy of Receive Me Falling right now, hold onto it.  Perhaps it will be worth something someday.

Still Alice, Lisa Genova, $75

The Lace Reader, Brunonia Barry, $300

The Celestine Prophesy, James Redfield (signed) $2,500

Eragon, Christopher Paolini, (signed) $12,000

Lady Chatterley’s Lover, D H Lawrence $33,000

Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman $175,000