Echoes in a Hollow Space

Today I only managed 432 words on my novel, Venus In Transit. But seeing as how I've only managed 1590 new words since Christmas, I'm actually pleased with that—in a Please-Universe-Don't-Hit-Me-Again kind of way.

Only tomorrow knows if I can sustain this blistering pace, but I'll be happy if I can sustain any ol' pace at all, thank you very much. It's been a rough winter, writing-wise, but when I look around me at the truly rough times other people have been going through, artistic whining didn't seem particularly relevant or important. In the larger scheme of things, it truly isn't.

But writing is my thing that I must do. And so I must do it. Whining is optional and extremely unproductive, so I'll try to keep that to a minimum.

Random quote of the day:


"Writing is so difficult that I feel that writers, having had their hell on earth, will escape all punishment hereafter."

—Jessamyn West, To See the Dream






( Illustrated aversion. )

I've got nothing to complain about. I live a privileged life, all told, and so far my health is holding up. I have a roof over my head, more than sufficient to eat, a job to pay the bills, a second job that I mostly love except when novels refuse to finish themselves without my assistance.

I even managed to write 1000 words this morning. It fought me every step of the way (or I fought it, hard to say which). It was, in fact, a fight scene and I'm bloody sick of writing fight scenes—but it's written now. From this point on it's just writing the heart of the book, the thing that I've been aiming at for 484 pages. The thing that makes the entire enterprise stand or fall. (Mommy!)

I don't know why I should be nervous about that, especially not after the disaster of Night Warrior/The Making Blood. No, I'm sure that failure to stick a clean landing isn't playing any part in this refusal to take that final jump and finish the course. Nope, nope, couldn't be that.

I'm going to go to the post office and do some other errands, then maybe I'll come back home and try to write some more.

Spread the lolbook:

http://jimhines.livejournal.com/tag/lol

(courtesy nikwdhmos)

My friend is back in the hospital. He had to go in yesterday for an emergency repair job on the last surgery. Or rather, another section of the same part of his body started to fail so that needed to be repaired in addition to the last repair. Then somewhere down the line—maybe as long as six months from now, depending on how things go with him—he'll have to have yet another surgery to remove the stents (or whatever they're called) holding him together until his body repairs. (Artificial connecting valve thingamajigs.)

This last crisis was not life threatening, the doctor said, and the exception rather than the rule in these cases, but this sort of thing does happen. Still, a demoralizing setback. He'd been doing so well and he and his wife had started to relax a bit. We all had! I guess the moral here is: never relax.

Prayers and good vibes welcomed gratefully.


Random quote of the day:

"Dreams are real. Especially when they are sacrificed."

—J. Robert King, Lancelot du Lethe

Frustration of the day: Netscape won't let me access my flist page. I can access it all right if I use Safari, but none of the click throughs work on Netscape. Which makes no kind of sense! I can click on the individual friend, I've checked all the settings, but I can't click through to the flist page from the entry page or my blog page or the UserInfo page.

Oh, and on Safari, I can get into the flist page, but it's not displaying correctly. And although it says I'm logged in at the top, I still have to log in every time I leave a comment.

Grrr. (This is me looking like that demon-ugly dog.)

Interesting thing of the day: They featured the Magic Castle on one of the local TV programs, an exclusive membership club in Hollywood. I hope to go there for my birthday in September. One of the people I work with is a professional magician and a member there and can get us free passes. But that's some months down the road...

Most ungrammatical news story of the day: On a "Netscape News With CNN" article about Stonehenge: "From where did those bluestones comes?"

Writerly question of the day: Why rewrite The Little Mermaid (Andersen version, not Disney version) when you've covered no new territory, brought no new insights to the table, haven't changed the structure in any way? In fact, the only new element seems to be that this writer set the story in his imaginary, contemporary North American city that he's set so many stories in. I finished the story and thought, "What was the point of that?"

Of course, the whole "covering new territory" issue is one that I run up against quite a bit in my own writing.

Or at least in my current WIP and the last novel that is currently in an editorial holding pattern. I'm told over and over that it's next to impossible to write anything new about vampires; many refuse to read my stuff because they can't believe they'll find anything there for themselves. Yet when people actually do read my stuff they're often surprised, often say, "This is different." Many won't give it a chance, though.

My favorite crit along these lines was: "If I liked vampire books, I'd probably be delighted to read more."

The way I look at it is this: either a book is good or it isn't; either you enjoy reading it or you don't. Even if it's not your usual "type" of book, if you pick it up and enjoy it, why stop reading because it isn't what you usually read? It's impossible to answer that—readers do what they do; people think the way they think.

I've been guilty of it myself, but often when I violate my own reading rules, I find wonderful surprises. The loveliest surprise I've had in recent years is James Hetley's The Summer Country. When I read the blurb some years back I thought, "Not another urban retelling of Celtic myth! Blech." I'd read quite a lot of that and had a prejudice that it would be paint-by-numbers fiction. Then I read a review of the sequel, The Winter Oak, and that made me believe that perhaps there was something different going on with these books. So I bought The Summer Country and I absolutely fell in love with it. Gobbled up The Winter Oak soon after. They were both lovely surprises and now I'll read anything James Hetley puts out, even if it seems like a retelling—because even if some of the elements are familiar territory, he brings a new character gravitas to the table; he makes me see the familiar in a new way.

There's a difference in spirit between a retelling just because you can get away with it and a retelling because your writer's heart has found new value in the material. I think the reader can tell the difference, even if they can't quite put their finger on why one thing works and another doesn't. I hope I'm writing because I've found new value in the material, but I obviously don't have the perspective to judge.

The thing is, I've never perceived my stuff as vampire fiction. My stories are about people trying to cope with a disease that leaves them alienated from the human society that they crave, the love that they need, and with tough moral dilemmas that they try hard to reconcile. They are human beings, not supernatural creatures. They have values (some of them even family values!) and ethics, and try to stay on the side of morality, to show compassion, to weed out the vampires who don't. They are fallible, though, and sometimes fall from grace.

I guess that's been done before, too. But my writer's heart insists there's still value to be had there.

It's frustrating and I wish sometimes the muse hadn't insisted on taking this particular path. I've created other worlds that don't tread such familiar roads, that are not viewed with the same disdain as vampires. But for the moment, this is where my passion lies. To write a novel, I think you've got to have at least some fire in the belly for an idea. At least it's that way for me. It's such a long process that something more than "Gosh, I need to write a novel" has to push me forward. And right now, these characters are providing that burning engine. Other characters and other worlds may catch fire down the line, but for right now, this is what I have to do.

And yes, I'm whining. I'll get over myself soon.