When Music Returns

November 21, 2014 / Lisa / 9 Comments

This compulsion called writing is a strange thing. The last few months working on book three has been very difficult. I was beginning to think the story had escaped me, had moved on to someone who might be able to tell it better. But I’ve been doing this long enough now to recognize that fear.

It’s not writer’s block because if I do sit down to write, the words are there; I just can’t put fingers to pen or keyboard. Maybe it’s a lack of trust in the story and the characters. Maybe it’s a lack of trust in myself. I’ve only had this problem the last six years, which makes me wonder if sometimes my brain goes back to its radiation days, moving away from the creativity. Because this feels like a weight. I wouldn’t call that weight sadness but I suppose it could be that. It’s a sense of just not having the energy to start, exhaustion.

I’ve learned however, that if I just keep pretending, if I talk like I know what I’m talking about, if I go through the motions without actually working on the story, eventually that weight goes away.

I used to try and force the story during these time periods, but then learned the only thing that came from that was throwing away a lot of words. The story knows when you’re faking or trying too hard. And that will also show up in the writing. I can read a draft and point right to the spot when the weight descended and I started trying to force the words. The voice changes, everything becomes stilted, unfamiliar. I know now instead of forcing the story, I leave it, and just pretend to others I’m still working.

So this evening, finally, the weight went away and the words came back. Why? I have no idea other than that this time, I put music back on. The familiar tunes I used to write to. Before radiation I always wrote to specific music. It gave me that restless melancholy, that ache that’s needed to write. After radiation, when I was learning to be me again, music was a distraction and I needed silence to be able to hear the characters.

Now I’m wondering if finally, finally, I’ve returned to who I was before lymphoma. Because tonight the music was there, the weight was gone, and the characters took me by the hand and showed me the story that’s been patiently waiting.

This may not be the final fix, the last cure. I’m sure that struggle will come back. Maybe it has nothing to do with the past few years. Maybe this weight is actually a waiting space I need to inhabit during each story, in order for it to grow. We’ll see. No matter how long one writes, the process is always evolving.

Or maybe it’s simply the return of music.

Book Three Protagonist

November 20, 2014 / Lisa / 5 Comments

Susan Schreyer, author of the Thea Campbell mystery series, challenged me to talk about a character in the books. I’ve chosen a new one, from the current work in progress. You know, that work in progress that might be finished before man settles Mars. Susan answered these same questions, and she can be found over at http://www.writinghorses.blogspot.com. Wander over for a visit.

1.) What is the name of your character? Harlow Grafton

2.) Is he/she fictional or a historic person? Is that a trick question? Fictional of course. Isn’t that what all writers say when they’ve actually pieced together someone from traits of those around them?

3.) When and where is the story set? Current time, in Wallace Idaho as with the other two books. Current time, but at the same time, this is a prequel to The Memory Keeper.

4.) What should we know about him/her? Six years previously, her father died in a logging accident. Most people believe Harlow had something to do with that, and the death may not have been an accident. She left shortly thereafter and at the opening of the book has just returned. No job, no money, living with her sister, the new owner of a rescued dog, and the discoverer of very old bones in the woods.

5.) What is the main conflict? What messes up his/her life? The main conflict is the discovery of bodies. Young girls, found in the same areas as old bones, and all with a connection to Harlow. Another big conflict for her is her mouth. She speaks without thinking, says what she wants, and, as she has told others, usually offends someone every time she opens her mouth. Interestingly, a lot of my husband’s expressions have made their way into Harlow.

6.) What is the personal goal of the character? To lay the ghost of her father to rest, to find peace within herself, and to find the missing girl who just might still be alive.

7.) Is there a working title for this novel, and can we read more about it? The working title is Ghost Roads. There really isn’t more to read about it as this is the most I’ve talked about the book. I have to be careful because if I talk about a story too much before it’s finished, I’ll never finish it. I’ll keep you posted on the progress here though, and it would help the first draft to have some reactions to Harlow, from the little I’ve given here. It’s not much, I know, but it would be interesting to see if she’s piqued your curiosity.

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Princesses, Pigs, and Stories

November 4, 2014 / Lisa / 12 Comments

This evening I sat with an ice pack on my shoulder following physical therapy, listening. There were conversations all around me between patients and their therapists. It was a struggle to not join in. I’d hear one subject and realize I had a story about that, or an opinion on something else, or a desire to laugh – one guy told a hilarious story about how his darling princess daughter tackled a pig. I restrained myself because those were not my conversations, didn’t involve me, and comments from a stranger probably wouldn’t be appreciated. But when I am included in a conversation, it’s very easy to talk. About anything, to anyone, anywhere.

The thing is, it wasn’t always that way. All throughout school I talked only to my small group of friends. I’m sure most kids didn’t know I was in the room. Except when called upon by the teacher, when I would flame brightly into existence, the blush putting me right on everyone’s teasing radar.

I used to think the ability to be comfortable talking to people, or being in front of a crowd came about because I took on a job in the 70s that required my having to talk. But now I’m not so sure.

One thing that seems to make a difference is having something to talk about. I now have life experiences. I’ve been through many things that allow me to relate to those around me, which creates a sharing environment. At eighteen my life was still very sheltered. What was there to talk about? Heck, at age 30 my life was still sheltered but that’s another story.

Lots of talking here: You did WHAT? You swam WHERE? Are you INSANE? I had no problem finding words…

A teacher tried helping one time as I stood, shaking, contemplating an oral report. He said, ‘pick something you know’. It didn’t help then, but now I see the wisdom of that. If there are things you know well, that inspire you, then it’s going to be easier to talk to someone. Might even be hard to get you to stop talking. So I think that helps some, too.

And then there’s the simple blossoming of a storyteller. As we’ve talked about here before, there is a story behind everything. From a simple trip to the grocery store to the spider in the bathroom, to the latest headlines. We all have tales to tell that connect us to one another.

Of course not everyone wants to talk or tell a story. My husband, for one, would be very happy if, when out in public, he didn’t have to interact with anyone. Which works out great because I fill that silent void. Give me an excuse to tell a story and I’m off and running.

Well, okay, the husband can hold forth occasionally…

Posted just because I’ve always liked this photo

Like the princess and the pig: the little five-year-old girl dressed up for dance class, and dad stops at a friend’s for a quick visit. The little girl got charged by a pig and before the dad could react she grabbed the pig, bit its ear, yelled ‘take that!’ and sent the pig running, squealing.

That little girl is going to go far in life. And I bet she’ll be talking the whole way.