Premeditating Writer

As my husband and I are planning a full schedule of hiking in the pristine wilderness of Yellowstone, Teton and Rocky National Parks in September, I am struck by the idea of traveling to a natural environment and nurturing my appreciation of the non-human world.  

Over the ages painters, writers, and photographers, whose work became widely appreciated, vividly illustrated beauty of wilderness. These works invited visitors to experience these settings personally and intimately.

Hiking is a passion of mine. My husband and I have hiked in several national parks. Though I enjoy and appreciate nature, I abhor seeing buses and hordes of people where unsullied wilderness should reign. Which brings me to the next point, there is an essential tension created between nature and human. The idea of fusing them together means a crowdedness of sorts. Therein lies the battle of territory and survival. But I am not the only one who appreciates and enjoys nature.

 The reason is obvious: to prove that we can, that we can ride this kind of roller coaster. To exert a remarkable control over the images which our eyes look at day after day and we find a way to write what we see. We write it in all five senses and in colors. We rummage in our heads for words to describe all of it. The possibilities are endless.

Ah, but the act of writing and then presenting the story to the world is a very peculiar sort of challenge, indeed. This kind of world building becomes the reader’s property with which to form all sorts of interpretations and analysis. In short, your work may be subject to scrutiny -- public lynching or praise. But you’re willing to take the chance.

Right?

I am on my second and third novel now.

The first one was an experiment. I’m in love with the story, with the characters. I know them well. The pacing and building is off, though.

Second novel is better. Spent five years working on it. I’m in love with the story, with the characters. I know them well. The pacing is better. The blueprint is a tad short of perfect. Tried for a few months to get the manuscript published. No bites. Decided to shelf it for one year and went on to novel number three with some more knowledge and a better understanding of story building.

One hundred pages into novel number three, I got stuck. So I went back to BLOW FORWARD, novel number two and spent six more months on perfecting it. Tell you…I think it’s going to be a winner.

Writing is challenging. Thank goodness I love the whole journey. I love to take sentences rearrange them, then take paragraph and reorder them as well. Cleaning and moving furniture around. See what makes sense. It doesn’t get better than that.

I have been writing daily for seven years. I know…a drop in the bucket. A couple of my friends  have been at it for twenty years.

For me, writing is the easy part.

The difficult part is taking my writing career to the next level. And that means having to extend myself beyond my comfort level. I’m willing to do that. But that’s another step in the growing process: learning the business, learning how to write queries, synopsis, go to conferences and pitch.

I could do without all that, if you ask me. I could just be happy in front of my computer all by myself.

 

No! On second thought, I’m lying. I’m driven. I AM a hard worker and I would like to reap some reward for my efforts.

For the last six years, my husband and I have made ourselves a promise to usher in the New Year in a comedy club, laughing. This year we decided to change things a bit and begin the year singing along with our favorite Jazz singer at a restaurant in Kent, Connecticut.

We drive from our apartment in Manhattan to the country home in Massachusetts with stars in our eyes and empty stomachs, anticipating a huge meal later. We get to the house at about 7:30 PM. I have one hour to get ready for a 9:30 reservation, which is almost an hour from our house. We drive dark windy roads...

My nerves are shot by the time we reach our destination.

We get seated at the furthest corner of the crowded bar, by the door...thirteen degrees outside, cold air rushing in each time the door opens...bodies pressed against our table. My husband and I make a quick decision and we leave. 

It is now 9:45. Tired and hungry, we drive the same dark, windy road back to our town. Nothing in the house to eat, we’re on a quest to find a restaurant or even a pizza place in a town where everything shuts down at 10:00 o’clock. Sharp. But for some reason we neglected to remember that. Still, we keep our good spirits up and eventually we end up at a liquor store seven minutes before closing. We stock up on crackers and cheese and salami and cookies, a dietary consumption that goes entirely against everything I believe I should be putting in my body. I choose not to be choosy.

We end up back home, in front of the TV, eating junk food and watching the ball drop.

It’s not my style to make New Year’s resolutions, but I’m changing the  pattern this one time.

And that is…

Next year we’ll be walking the three blocks to our favorite comedy club in Manhattan – and begin the year laughing.

Happy New Year

2015