Family Trees and Coffee Beans

Hello again! *waves*

Look at this! Two entries in the same week! I do believe I've gotten my writing spirit back! I've even picked up the story I've been working on for nearly a year, and have written the ending. That's not to say that I've finished it, because there is quite a bit in the middle that isn't written yet. Most of the middle, really. But the beginning is there and a few middle bits and the ending, so I feel that I'm moving in the right direction.

Wait. Hold up. I don't think I've mentioned this story yet...except to Mom, when I first started writing it and the ideas were coming on too fast for my fingers to type them. And I type fast.

I won't tell you much about it, except to say that it was sparked by a single idea that popped into my head one day, which then hung about in the dampness of my brain growing little, furry, green things which turned out to be characters and a plot. I started writing.

Now, as Ashley will attest, I have always written. In my youth (wow, that made me sound old...I shall never use that phrase again) I was constantly in the middle of some story idea or another, but I never managed to finish any of them. Well, that's not entirely true. I have finished some short stories, but a few of those were actually homework assignments. Fear of failure is a good motivator. But have I finished any of the novel-long stories that I started back then? No. And it wasn't from lack of trying. Some of those beginnings are quite long. I look back at them now and find that I've written 31 pages of at least one of them. The others range from 1-19 pages. And there are a lot of them. Furthermore, many of them have pages of notes that go with them. Things like character names and ages and favorite colors. Histories of the various towns or countries where the stories are set. Some even have an entire summary of the plot.

But this story, the one I began writing in earnest at the beginning of last summer, is different. For one thing, it refuses to leave me. The trouble with the other stories is that I would suddenly be struck by a new idea for a story and would leave my current work in favor of beginning the new one. I like writing beginnings. I think it's that whole "right now the story is wide open and able to go in any direction because I haven't written myself into a corner yet" thing. And the characters. I love creating characters. I take great care to search out a name that would suit them, something fraught with meaning, like naming a pacifist Irene Pax. I can get very pretentious about my names.

But, again, this story is different. I have taken a new approach. My favorite author, Robin McKinley, has said that she puts down all the parts of a story that she knows. Even if that means that it is a horribly jumbled mess, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Then, slowly, she puts the pieces together and fills in the gaps, never forcing it, just letting the pieces come to her and writing them down and hoping that eventually it will turn into a picture of kittens or something. As I've said, I have taken that to heart.

In the past, I would get stuck at some part of the story and not be able to get past it, so I would simply stop writing. But, the thing is, there was always something to write. I always knew more about the story than had been put down on paper, but I insisted on writing linearly. Naturally, I would get frustrated at not being able to write anything more, and would just move on to a different story. But now, when I get stuck, I just jump to a part I know and write that, and eventually, the block at the other end lifts, and I can return to it. The key is, I'm still engaged in the story, still immersed in it, so I don't walk away.

And, when I absolutely can't write anything at all, I take notes on the world I'm creating. For instance, I have begun making family trees of all the characters, going back seven generations for each of them. And I know stuff about their ancestors, weird as that may sound, and whether or not it will ever factor into the story. (Also, I've stopped being pretentious about my names. I used to spend hours poring over name books, checking meanings, trying to be clever about it. Now, I just listen to my characters, and they tell me their names. Sometimes it's a name I recognize, like John or Nora, and sometimes it's a name I've never heard of, like Kelarie or Melchen. I'm serious, by the way. About the characters telling me their names. It is so very like that, that there really is no other way to describe it. And, since the characters are all a part of me, it makes sense, though it can be frustrating at times, when they simply won't speak up. Also, if a character has been misnamed, he/she lets me know. For instance, one of my main characters was named Alethea (Thea for short) for a very long time. I was having a hard time with her, and couldn't figure out why until I suddenly realized that I had been calling her the wrong name. See, Alethea was something I chose out of a book because it meant "truth" and I thought that was an important insight into the character. I have since changed her name to Teri, which suits her better, though I still think I might not be hearing it right. Still, I will leave it for now.)

Anyway...where was I? Right, family trees. It is strange to suddenly find that you know a whole bunch about a character who has, so far, been mentioned but never actually appeared in the story. It is at those moments that I think of JK Rowling, and the numerous boxes of notebooks she has, that are positively brimming with information on the Wizarding World which never made it into the books.

Not to compare myself to JKR. I'm definitely NOT at her level. (I'm not at Robin McKinley's level either, but it's easier to aspire to her level than JKR's.)

I'm not sure where I was going with this. Except to say that I woke up at 9am (my alarm always goes off at 9, but this is the first time in a while that I've actually obeyed it's summons. It helped that my bladder was ready to burst, and once I was upstairs, I thought I might as well make myself some coffee.) and felt inspired to write. Of course, now I've wasted all my time writing this blog entry...still, any writing is good writing.

Sigh, and here I was planning on telling you about my call-back. But my stomach is making increasingly louder protestations ("You've fed me four cups of coffee, and now I want FOOD!") to which I really must attend, so it will have to wait. The call-back isn't until the end of February, so there will be plenty of time for me to tell you the story of how I got it, before I go on it.

TTFN,
Jules

PS- BLAST! I was going to answer some comments too...I swear to you that I do read your comments. In fact, I love reading them, and I always think "I should answer those" and then never get 'round to it. Next time. I promise.