A World Outside the Novel.
March 18, 2009
Sometimes it’s hard to remember that there are other things I need to do as well as working on As Morning Shows the Day — like post here, for example, or, generally, look up from my computer screen every once in a while and notice the world outside my window, the world outside the novel.
Such symptoms are always a good sign, of course. I’m 12,000 words in and everything is pretty much as last reported. Having everything outlined in such detail, I’m not constantly worrying about how to fit it all together, what I need to do next etc. All I have to concentrate on is keeping it going the way it is now. And I think I can manage that.
Today, however, I’m taking some time off. With a long project it’s always wise to pace one’s self. As I’m fond of saying, a novel is a marathon not a sprint.
On an unrelated note, can I just remind everyone that whilst I may not be posting as often here as I usually do, I do post regularly on Twitter. (I’ve just checked my stats and, apparently, I update Twitter on average thirty-four times a day… not in the least bit addicted, then!) It is proving a really handy way of keeping in touch in short, economic bursts. Not simply time wasting fun, though it can be that, too, but a very useful tool. Not a replacement to my blog, of course, merely another way of interacting.
Until next time, keep looking up from the screen!
Back from 1974.
March 13, 2009
This week has been highly productive, although my blog, it must be said, has suffered somewhat. Chapter Two has now claimed my attention fully, my characters coming to life in ways that I could have only hoped for — holding me in those, as it sometimes seems, long ago times of Fuzzy Felts and Mariner 10 space probes. The words and the tone they create are coming quite easily and, with 10,000 words behind me, I’m starting to feel comfortable… settling into the thematic landscape, exploring it and looking forward to the inevitable surprises.
That isn’t to say that it’s all been plain sailing, of course. Chapter Two of any novel can often be difficult. The energy and excitement built up for Chapter One dips a little and, even though the quality of the work may not visibly suffer, self-doubt can (and all too frequently does!) raise its ugly head. This, as I’d half-expected, happened to me this week. It was quite fleeting, and had everything to do with my mood — the inevitable tiredness I was feeling — but I always find it wise to at least try to turn such self-doubt to my advantage.
I did this with the last novel I started (and abandoned) last year. The self-doubt set in and I had to ask myself if it was mood related or if there was something genuinely not right with the work itself. With that novel, there were major problems — not least that I simply found it too bleak and depressing to write well. So I did with that one what I always do with projects that simply aren’t working; I moved away from it and focused on something new. I outlined in more detail and started this current project… knowing that it would inevitably face the same tests, but hoping that better planning and a story that I really felt passionate about would make it capable of withstanding the various trials ahead.
So how did As Morning Shows the Day fair? So far so good. The prose is clean and sparse, none of the heavy-handed exposition I can be prone to when things aren’t going well. The characters seem alive to me, the story hooks in place and the period… yes, it feels like 1974 but I probably need to work on that just a little bit more. More than anything, I look forward to returning there each morning. Yes, it’s work — and, yes, it’s probably going to cause me even more sleepless nights over the next ten months or so. But that’s par for the course. That’s what I expect.
When a novel gives the writer more than it takes — even if it never makes it publication — it’s a success. As Morning Shows the Day so far falls into this category.
I’m enjoying writing every word. Even the ones to keep trying to get away from me.
Where Monday Finds Me.
March 2, 2009
Today has been a fairly good day — a very good day, in fact.
Yesterday, the outline finished over a week ago, I finally started writing As Morning Shows the Day. I got the first thousand words in place by Sunday lunchtime and today saw me nail the second thousand words in place.
After the false starts of last year, the constant feeling around for something different, something I’d never done before, Morning… well, it’s really too early to say. I don’t really want to tempt fate. But I do strongly feel that returning to my earlier way of working is paying off. I’m comfortable with the form (a literary family saga that probably most closely resembles John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany — at least in its structure, it’s actually a very different novel… one I feel only I could write, which is always a good sign) and I know exactly where it’s going, leaving me free to concentrate on the language and the voice.
A good start and, more to the point, a novel I find myself looking forward to writing when I’m away from it.
Forbidden.
February 17, 2009
I very rarely write poetry, not really feeling I have a propensity for it. Every once in a while, however, a novel requires that one of my characters does so and I find myself stepping into their skin and doing the job for them. It’s always a fascinating experience — another way of understanding a character.
And sometimes — just occasionally — I find myself wondering if, perhaps, I should write verse more often. I enjoy the discipline, but whether that’s because it’s always something of a novelty, I don’t know. I’m not even sure how effective the pieces themselves are.
With this in mind, I thought I’d share something I wrote — quite quickly — for the novel I’ll soon be starting, As Morning Shows the Day. It’s a short piece entitled Forbidden and it’s written from the perspective of a girl in her late teens. I won’t tell you anything more about it (it gives away something pretty vital to the novel.)
Let me know what you think of it if you have time.
They touch me in unknown places,
caressing and ashamed.
Secret dreams and longing –
forever driven, forever bereft.
Watching, loving,
counting the times that never can be.
Forbidden.
His eyes upon me
all I can ever know.
Hotel by a Railroad.
February 14, 2009
I occasionally like to reference paintings and other pieces of artwork in my writing. I like the idea of the reader going away from the novel (temporarily, I hope), finding a copy of the picture online or in a book and studying it, nodding as they think of the scene within the book, hopefully picking up on the emotions I feel it evokes.
Quite often I will describe the painting in detail, from the way the light falls to the thickness of oil on canvas. But sometimes it’s nice just to keep it vague — to entice the reader into taking that extra step and, if they aren’t already familiar with the work, Googling it or picking up a book from the library. I’m not sure how successfully I do this, but it’s nice to imagine that the reader is so involved that he/she feels the need to find and study the piece in question.
Whilst outlining my next novel, I found I needed a way to express a husband’s longing and his distance from his wife. Naturally, I have the usual tools in my toolbox. Words. Human behaviour. The simple mannerism that say so much. On top of all this, though, I wanted something more — something that would frame it in a way that another character within the novel, a child, could more easily grasp, on an emotional if not intellectual level.
My first port of call — and, in fact, my only port of call — was my favourite artist, Edward Hopper.
I’ve never exactly been what you might call an art aficionado. I’m by no means an expert. Yes, I can tell a da Vinci from a Dali, and I like to think I can appreciate and understand each equally. But, as the old cliche goes, I do know what I like.
And I like Hopper. I like his use of light. I like the simplicity of his compositions. I like the cinematic quality. But, more than anything, I like the emotions that he manages to evoke — the sense of longing and isolation, boredom, regret, alienation… it’s all there in such dependably understated treatments.
So which painting have I chosen to add a little thematic texture to the novel I’m about to write? Well, there were a number that touched upon the emotions I wanted to communicate, but none quite so successfully as Hotel by a Railroad.
All text © 2009 Gary William Murning
Penis Fencing — a Valentine’s Day Special.
February 14, 2009
Courtesy of Wired, a fascinating video revealing the violent hermaphroditic flatworm courting ritual of “penis fencing”.
If your partner initiates foreplay by saying “en garde”, be afraid — be very afraid.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
All text © 2009 Gary William Murning
Reaching the End in Time for the Beginning.
February 9, 2009
I realise I haven’t blogged much about my new almost-secret project recently, determined to post little more than the occasional tweet on the outline progress. As I’ve already mentioned, I really don’t want to go into too much detail at this stage — given that a number of projects have, as is often quite normal for me, lost their attraction/impetus of late — but I do want to share a little of where I am, writing-wise, with you.
The outline is very nearly complete and… well, let’s just say “so far so good” and leave it at that. With this one — As Morning Shows the Day — I’ve very deliberately returned to familiar themes and ways of working. I felt that over the past six months or so I’d lost my way a little, trying too many different things in a rather desperate attempt at finding the next big thing. Predictably, it didn’t work, and so I took a considered look at my “back catalogue” of unpublished material.
I’ve been writing for a long time and it was interesting to revisit those characters and places, the themes I played with “back then” — and the overwhelming impression I got was that there was a number of pretty good ideas that, because I was still very rough around the edges as a writer, were applied with varying degrees of success. One story in particular — no, two, now that I think about it, The Golden Kingdom of Because and Closing Doors, but we’ll deal with the latter another time! — really made me sit up and take notice.
The Golden Kingdom of Because had a lot about it that I really liked. It was a story of childhood, and promise, of lies and family secrets, and it was fascinating to see my characters still there. (I should add at this point that I didn’t actually look at the written material itself; I didn’t need to — it was all still very much alive, filed away in memory in all the detail I needed.) The early part of this novel was pretty strong but I knew the minute I started thinking about it that it needed restructuring and the ending… well, it needed an ending. As it stood, it didn’t really have one. I could have got the original novel down from the loft (with a little help!), and started a rewrite — but that, I realised, wasn’t what I wanted to do.
And so I decided to treat it — much as I did with Children of the Resolution — as a completely new project.
The Golden Kingdom of Because has now become the outline for As Morning Shows the Day. And this time I have (almost — the outline isn’t quite complete, yet) an ending that I am more than happy with.
Next comes the easy bit. Writing it.
Writing in a Recession.
January 29, 2009
Contrary to what some might lead you to believe, the publishing world is already reacting to the recessionary times we are currently experiencing by — how shall I put it? — approaching the prospect of a new writer with even more caution than they previously did. I know because I’ve already started receiving rejections that talk about the “current publishing climate” etc.
But that was expected, really. Anyone with any sense has to realise that — generally speaking — anyone in any kind of business is going to be far less willing to take chances. To do so would not do anyone any favours.
So where does this leave the struggling/aspiring/perspiring novelist? Or, more to the point, where does it leave me?
I’m no Pollyanna. Yes, wherever possible, I will try to make a positive out of a negative — but however good manure may be for the roses, it’s still shit, it smells bad and I wouldn’t want it trailing through the house. So let’s make no bones about it, from the point of view of the aspiring novelist (and for many other people, of course), a recession is pure, unadulterated, steaming-in-the-sun shit. There’s just no getting away from the fact.
But this doesn’t mean that there aren’t associated opportunities. Granted, they take some finding, but if you look hard enough…
I’m at the beginning of a project. As Morning Shows the Day. So far, I have twenty-five pages of outline — not as detailed as you might expect, simply packed with incident — and I expect to have another ten to fifteen before it’s completed. Had I already written the novel, I very much doubt that, in the “current publishing climate”, anyone would take a chance on it. But a year down the line? Eighteen months from now? Well, naturally, there are still no guarantees but I would certainly expect the climate to be heading back towards more favourable conditions by then.
And this is where I see the associated opportunity I’ve already mentioned. As Morning Shows the Day is clearly going to be a long project — a project that would normally take me somewhere in the region of eight to ten months. But producing a novel that quickly right now is fairly pointless. The earliest I want to think about submitting is 2010 and so I plan on taking my time, on allowing the novel to be everything it wants to be no matter how long it takes. I’m always fairly meticulous but this time I’m going to wallow in detail, listen repeatedly to every word and sentence until it sounds exactly the way I want to.
I’m going to allow myself the space I never have in the past… and submit only when the time is right.
Up, Down and Touch.
January 25, 2009
The after-effects of my bout of flu have been rather more difficult to shake than I originally envisaged. I’ve been luckier than a lot of people I know, but still I’ve found myself extremely lethargic — with the aches and pains returning at times, even.
Nevertheless, I now think I’m almost ready to start back with the outlines for As Morning Shows the Day. I’m feeling more consistently “myself” and, frankly, I’m itching to do something creative.
In other news, I’ve been treating myself to — as some of you are no doubt already sick of hearing — a new toy. The HTC Touch HD smartphone pictured below.
I have to say, I’m over the moon with it. A great little device that does everything I ask of it. I might write a more detailed review of it when I have more time.
As Morning Shows the Day.
January 3, 2009
You may have noticed that I’ve been especially quiet of late — even allowing for the holiday period. There are a couple of reasons for this, one — the obvious one — being that I haven’t exactly been in the mood for blogging, my satirical faculties a little desensitised by the sheer banality of Christmas!
The second reason, however, is that I have — as this post may have foretold — been somewhat busy.
Gripped by a renewed sense of purpose, unexpectedly comfortable with my abandonment of Tomorrow Will Come, I have found and pursued a new direction… a new literary direction that is actually an old direction rethought. I have finally settled on what I think (hope!) is the right novel.
There have been so many false starts over the past six months or so, but this feels much more comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that I’ve managed outline fourteen chapters in about a week or so. At this rate, the whole novels should be outlined within a fortnight (I’m not over-outlining, but nor am I prepared to fly by the seat of my pants as I attempted with Tomorrow Will Come… I’ve found a middle ground that feels about right for what I need.)
At this stage I really don’t want to tempt fate by sharing anything more about it, other than to say that it’s called As Morning Shows the Day. At the same time, however, I’m excited about returning to the kind of writing I know I’m best at… so the temptation to rabbit on about it is pretty strong.
But I won’t… I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.
Or maybe I will. Just not yet.
