Preparing for the new season

I've been watching reruns of the first season of Downton Abbey in anticipation of watching the second season, which begins airing on PBS next week.

Now I remember why I enjoyed this series so much the first time I saw it. It's a perfect mix of story and characters – an involving plot and characters to love/hate.

The British period sagas are all superbly made, and an education for anyone writing about the past.

– Cat

Famous Last Words?

As the year draws to a close I want to say I haven't been idle, I'm working on my books. [That's the plural – I have high hopes and ambitions that the year 2012 will be my year.

Something new, something different, all to come...

––Cat

And here I am, five months later. Still writing that great big romance. Well, actually there are five of them swimming around in my mind. I do have timelines for all of them. I have rough outlines for all of them. I have opening chapters, a list of plot points, and a desired ending for all of them. Now I have to choose one to complete.

I might have to do eeny, meeny, miny, mo--

Or I could be sensible and finish the one that only needs a few touch-ups.

It's hard to be sensible when so many stories are whining for attention.

To be continued. . .

Quote:
Never discourage anyone...who continually makes progress, no matter how slow.
Plato (427 BC - 347 BC)

--Cat

Things never change --

I see this poem as an ageless warning to be prepared (well-edited) before sending our beloved kids, er, sagas into the world.

Written some 350 years ago

The Author to her Book

by Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672)

Thou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble brain,
Who after birth did'st by my side remain,
Till snatcht from thence by friends, less wise than true,
Who thee abroad expos'd to public view,
Made thee in rags, halting to th' press to trudge,
Where errors were not lessened (all may judge).
At thy return my blushing was not small,
My rambling brat (in print) should mother call.
I cast thee by as one unfit for light,
Thy Visage was so irksome in my sight,
Yet being mine own, at length affection would
Thy blemishes amend, if so I could.
I wash'd thy face, but more defects I saw,
And rubbing off a spot, still made a flaw.
I stretcht thy joints to make thee even feet,
Yet still thou run'st more hobbling than is meet.
In better dress to trim thee was my mind,
But nought save home-spun Cloth, i' th' house I find.
In this array, 'mongst Vulgars mayst thou roam.
In Critics' hands, beware thou dost not come,
And take thy way where yet thou art not known.
If for thy Father askt, say, thou hadst none;
And for thy Mother, she alas is poor,
Which caus'd her thus to send thee out of door.


~I'm off to do more editing--wash the kid's grubby hands and change her socks.

--Cat

Opening Paragraphs

These are the opening paragraphs of a historical romance I'm nurturing.

Not ready yet for "prime time." I'm watering and fertilizing, picking out weeds, and praying for sun.

~ ~ ~
Where the hell was that woman? Why hadn’t she replied to his messages? Maybe this prolonged silence was her subtle reply--I don't answer to you.

Connor St. Clare tossed the customs documents he’d been studying onto the desk and strode to a window facing the back garden. Her garden.

A drift of dusky blue forget-me-nots sought sunlight from beneath untamed rhododendrons; scruffy daffodils stems, their blooms spent, lay across the path. A rampant mess, untended, unloved these past months, an accurate reflection of what his life had become. Tomorrow he'd send the gardener to prune back the overgrowth and rip out the weeds.

Pity a gardener couldn't chop through the welter of memories that sprang up inside him too easily and too often.
~ ~ ~

It's a start. I have much of the first draft finished. Ending scenes are done. I find I write endings soon after I write beginnings. Gives me a goal to work toward.

Endings, like beginnings, are subject to change.

--Cat

This and That

~In the midst of editing some work I got an idea for another novel. I sketched it out in my head. Saved my work file. Closed one folder. Created a new folder. Started a new file. Entered my inspiring idea. Saved the file, etc. etc. I do not minimize my writing files any longer. Ever.


~I'm reading a novel. No, I'm plodding through it, rewriting as I read, because I feel distanced from the characters and can't sink into their story.

Nice characters, if bland. A generic plot, with a few fresh twists. Not enough, though, to keep me reading in an eager manner. 150 pages in, I'm waiting for something to happen. I skim through endless conversations among peripheral characters, some lengthy descriptions that remind me of the, "I did all this research, so you're going to learn it as well," variety.

250 pages in and the story--at last!--comes to life. I'm almost beyond caring, but I will read to the end and continue making mental notes about why this story didn't work for me.


~Quote

Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.
--E.L. Doctorow

--Cat

new year, new insights

I watched figure skating recently and noticed the best skaters bring more than skill to their performances.

They bring emotional depth. They connect with the audience. They resonate in a way that's long remembered.

How does this relate to writing?

I remember best those novels that made the emotional connection. I was a kid staying up all night to read To Kill A Mockingbird. And some years later did the same with Gone With The Wind. I devoured works by Mary Stewart, Helen MacInnes, Frank Yerby, Sidney Sheldon, Harold Robbins, Taylor Caldwell, on and on . . .

I traveled the world in paperback books, relived history from the age of dinosaurs through wars and beyond, leaped into a future limited only by the writer's imagination. Much excitement, yes, but none of these books would be memorable to me if I hadn't felt an emotional connection to the characters.

How many novels did I read with pounding heart and fear that characters X and Y might not make it? [I wouldn't allow myself to check the last page.] And before it became a given that Romance novels ended happily-ever-after, I sweated through that black moment of despair along with X and Y.

I don't often relive those breathtaking moments; age has jaded me. Yet there are books I close and think, "Whew, what a read," or, more rarely, "I loved it."

I've read many books in which the characters walk through without leaving an impression. I'm not sorry I spent money on those books, I'm sorry the authors toiled for months or years on the novel and failed.

Failed with me, anyway.

Writer's quotes:

If you will practice being fictional for a while, you will understand that fictional characters are sometimes more real than people with bodies and heartbeats.
--Richard Bach

I have found it easier to identify with the characters who verge upon hysteria, who were frightened of life, who were desperate to reach out to another person. But these seemingly fragile people are the strong people really.
--Tennessee Williams

--Cat