377 days, Blog #122 or how I end the November of writing
And it is November 29th. Did I stick with my writing goals for the
month? Absolutely not. Did I make an effort? Yes.
Strong at the beginning. Weak at
the end. And yet… maybe that’s
okay. Maybe sometimes the journey of
writing is about the missteps and stumbles and obstacles thrown into one’s
path.
I started this month determined to revive and revamp a
fantasy story from years ago. My
determination was to tap into something that is always popular in literature
and television and movies. Because, yes,
I confess, I would like to figure out how to turn this writing into some sort
of income. I figured I have a life where
I can go up the stairs from my office and look at suits of armor and imagine a
world where they were necessary. I
bought soundtracks. I reread pages from
twenty years ago. I was in the
mode. I was ready to go… and then… I
wasn’t.
It seems so long ago.
I can’t even remember what distracted me. Theater stuff. Work stuff.
Life stuff. The world of castles
and knights seemed irrelevant when I found myself reading headlines about the
election and immigration debates and poverty.
I just couldn’t put myself in that world again.
Then driving home one night I had a scene pop into my
head. A scene became a whole world and a
whole story… but I fear it lost steam pretty quickly after a few days. I had bigger ambitions for writing than this
would grant me. And then… there was theater
stuff. Life stuff. Holiday stuff. Friends.
Dinner parties. November was a
busy month. Oh – and we had some snow
this week.
Then there was a real life story that consumed much of my
thinking and feeling power. And now, on
a bleary November Saturday when I should have been wrapping up my 50,000 words
or whatever, I realize I need to go back to the novel I ‘completed’ when I
started this 377 days routine.
I told myself I was waiting for feedback from readers… but
none of my readers have given me any or even started the manuscript. So, firstly I do need to find some more beta
readers. But more importantly, I need to
use the perspective of three and a half months and go back to it. It is an important story – at least for me –
to tell.
It is a love story.
Several in fact. It is a story of
family. It is a mystery of some
sort. But the underlying theme is
race. Not explicitly. I tried to make it realistic… like life. Race is an issue, but isn’t part of our every
breathing moment with a blinking sign over our head. Okay, I can say that because I’m white. But with my characters, who live across the
20th into 21st century, they all have moments of varying
degrees where racism impacts their lives.
Some minor and insidious. Some pretty
volatile.
And that last one… the fallout of the plot that is a twist
hidden in plain sight – is something with which I struggle. As in is it a proper thing to write? Is it not bad in some way, buying into a
forgiveness of white privilege (I really need to find a better way to describe
that)? Over the past few days I realized
my character Helen is representative of a lot of us – or how I perceive
it. That she has to go so far into denial
and fear of telling or owning the truth that she actually loses a large piece
of herself. But she doesn’t have the
language for that truth… so she just lives life without claiming it.
Okay those last few sentences were mostly for my
benefit. But hopefully a few more of you
will be able to read her soon. Because I
have to finish this book and put it out into the world. It may be totally wrong. It may piss off people. It may be overlooked for touching on a touchy
issue… but I need to write it and provoke a conversation.
Like right now.
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