Multiple Mania!

By Julie

I'm taking a crash course in my latest manuscript. I'm writing not only from different points of view, but in different settings and times in history. I've written from at least two points of view in each long manuscript I've written or dabbled in, but the multiple setting and time periods thing is new and certainly a challenge.

For research, I've been checking out relevant online articles and studying the books I'm reading carefully to see how the authors handled similar challenges. I thought I'd share a few of my favorite resources so far with our What Women Write readers.

As Joan mentioned in her personal blog the other day, Donald Maass posted a series recently on Writer Unboxed. Like Joan, the series couldn't have come at a better time for me, especially Part III, posted just last week.* In this installment, Maass discusses how using multiple points of view can enhance your story. He says, ". . . readers respond powerfully to a sense of vastness, a depth and sweep, being transported, journeying far and yet feeling at home. It may be easier to evoke all that with multiple points of view."

That was enough to reassure me my current process is worth the effort. But Maass went on to say that just having multiple points of view is not enough, that "To create a true sense of scale, every characters' storyline must be equally absorbing."

And he could have just left it at that, but he doesn't. He provides a series of questions I've copied and pasted at the bottom of my current manuscript. Each time I contemplate them, I make notes and dig a little deeper into the multiple points of view I'm attempting to write. In Maass's words, I'm building scale into the story. I hope.

Then, last week, I happened upon a link posted by my friend Lisa on her Facebook page. On the surface, this article, Strategies for Writing About Loss (by Robin Black, author of IF I LOVED YOU, I WOULD TELL YOU THIS, guest posting on Beyond the Margins), sounded like a good resource almost any way you look at it. Most of us choose to write about loss in some form or fashion. Black's focus in the article is on how to write about loss in such a way that makes it unique and different. But the deeper I dug into the article, the more I realized how much it spoke to me about my multiple POV/setting/time period challenge. She suggests:

"There are also strategies for defamiliarizing stories that might sound, in summary, like a million others stories that have come before. . . . One possibility to consider is an intertwining, secondary plot line that both contrasts and resonates with the central one."

Aha! and Oh, yeaaaaah! I thought as I read those sentences. That's why I began writing my modern day point-of-view character to begin with in ALL THE THINGS YOU ARE, my current manuscript! I just needed a little reminding when things started to feel a little confused and overwhelming. And that whole article is packed full of some good stuff.

Finally, I recently polled my Facebook friends, asking what books they'd read that used multiple points of view in different time periods and preferably different settings. Joan was spot on again with her recommendation of THE FORGOTTEN GARDEN, by Kate Morton. I gobbled up this hefty novel last week and came away from it thinking, well, if she can do it and make it work, so can I. She juggled even more POVs and time periods than I'm attempting, all to good effect. She talks about the process here on her fascinating website.

With a little help from my friends, some excellent articles, and the best research for writing fiction ever – READING – I feel like I'm well on my way to wrapping my head around this challenge.

What about you? Any additional words of wisdom or resources or just feel like commiserating because you're attempting something similar? We'd love to hear from you.

* Any writer at any stage could benefit from reading all three installments of Maass's excellent series, The Elements of Awe -- Part I here; Part II here; Part III here.
Photo credit: Daniela Vladimirova's Flickr photostream by Creative Commons License

Wild dogs and Longhorn cattle couldn't drag me away

By Julie

Here's hoping our readers don't tire of hearing about our retreat for one or two more blog posts. It made for some good material.

I left home Thursday afternoon, frustrated because I'd spent the better part of two days preparing for the retreat instead of writing, but excited because three glorious days stretched ahead of me when I could catch up.

Well, catching up didn't happen.

See, at home, I have my routine. I settle into the same spot on the same sofa around the same time of day, do a little wandering on the Internet, read email, then get to work. Some days are more productive than others, but most days while drafting, I can spit out a goodly number of new words. Often, my night owl muse kicks in again -- or sometimes for the first time that day -- around 11 p.m., when everyone else has gone to sleep and the house is quiet again.

The everyday solitude I enjoy while my kids are at school and my husband is at work is my ideal environment for producing high word count when I need to.

I needed that reminder.

When I arrived at the gorgeous house we lucked into, the others were wrapping up lunch and settling into a quiet time for writing. I crammed down a sandwich and went out to explore the wraparound porch. It took me two tries, but I finally got comfortable in a rocking chair with a small table to kick my feet up, my headphones plugged in and my browser pointed to Pandora, my hand lotion and soft drink nearby.

For two hours or so, I felt at home in my body and environment and wrote a lot. But that was probably the last real dent I made in my 50K NaNoWriMo goal all weekend.

But word count isn't everything, even during NaNoWriMo. (Yes! Gasp! It's true!)

And the other things that did transpire in the next few days were not nothing.

In one read-and-critique session, I learned my NaNo project seems to have merit. I received good feedback on my topic and encouraging words about one point-of-view voice I'm developing. It seems my classes this year with Margie Lawson have impacted my writing positively, and several in the group wanted information about her.

In another session, I nearly put myself to sleep reading a scene from my previous manuscript out loud. Yes, the one I'm querying. I was humbled stumbling over the words, realizing I'd failed miserably at editing the scene.

Susan and I both stayed up until nearly 3 a.m., sitting at the dining room table, putting our metaphorical work gloves on and working through our scenes. Pausing to chat and giggle deliriously on occasion. We hoped we weren't keep anyone else awake, but apparently, a dog howling at something did if we didn't (the moon? Coyotes? Will we ever know?). The reworked scene pleased me, and I'm on alert for more of the former kind in my manuscript.

The mental work I accomplished while sitting and thinking and plotting allowed me to jump right back into my writing on Monday and sufficiently catch up to the point where I know I can meet a November goal (though perhaps revised downward from 50K).

Other valuable experiences nourished my much neglected Girls in the Basement.

A mid-afternoon chat with the house's owner, an amazingly talented and productive woman, reminded me how seldom I get out in the real world and talk with new folks. A mistake for a writer.

Looking up from my lunch and out the front window one day to see a small herd of Texas Longhorns crossing the front yard reminded me the world we live in is just plain funny.

A solo photo trek at dusk reminded me how much I love wandering in a beautiful natural environment, shooting the same subjects over and over until I get them right.

Hushed conversations with my cohorts reminded me how lovely it is to talk at length with the members of my tribe – they are the ones who "get" me.

(Well, for the most part. Though we all got along fabulously, there were a few moments when I just had to say my new favorite phrase out loud: "We are not alike." And that was a reminder how unique each of us is, too.)

I left early to attend a concert with my family. Creeping alone in my car, in the dark, down the gravel-covered road from our hilly perch on Saturday evening, I felt strangely melancholy to leave this place and these people behind.

I was happy to return to my family and my routine, and happy to get back to producing the rough draft that I hope eventually leads to a coherent new story.

But I'd also be happy to return to this weekend and do it all over again.

Back where I began (Sort of)

By Julie

Last week, for the first time in more than 20 years, I visited Denver, the closest thing I have to a hometown.

The main purpose for my stay was a three-day Immersion Master Class taught by Margie Lawson out of her beautiful log home above Denver in Coal Creek Canyon.

The class was a great opportunity to dig deep, one final time, into my current manuscript, to take it apart, bit by bit, and put it back together shinier than it's ever been. I'm still applying what I learned, but hope to be querying again soon.

My visit was also an opportunity to reminisce -- to see some of the neighborhoods I roamed when I was developing my love of reading and writing, and to catch up with not only old friends who influenced the person I am while I lived there, but new friends I've made in recent years via the Internet.

It was bittersweet at times. My years in Colorado were not the easiest ones of my life, but there were also good memories made there, and I recognize that my writing is largely a product of that time.

Driving through Cherry Creek, the neighborhood where I lived while attending high school, was a true test of my memory. Most of the businesses from those years are gone, replaced by trendy shops, offices, and lofts.

Developers had bulldozed the odd little house where I lived with my mother and brother, together with the house next door, the lots covered now by a small, but beautiful condominium complex.

The sign for the one of the original Village Inn Pancake Houses, which appeared in the first novel I attempted to write, still hangs outside the building, but the windows are dark. Perhaps the owners found more opportunity in their suburban locations, but I remember a time when a trip to the Cherry Creek Village Inn was a special treat.

The original Cherry Creek locations of the famous Tattered Cover bookstore serve other purposes now, just as the new store on Colfax formerly housed the Helen Bonfils Theater. I attended plays there as a student on field trips. It was bizarre, but fun to see the comfortable reading nook created from the former orchestra pit. (photo, left)

My hostess for my visit, a friend and fellow writer I met through an online writing class more than three years ago, lives in a neighborhood that used to be an Air Force base. "Back in the day," we had to drive miles out of the way to get to anything on the other side – now you can drive straight through while admiring the modern, multi-use community.

A visit to Boulder, where I spent my late elementary school years, brought an emotional "aha" moment. We parked in a city lot to spend an hour or so at a coffee shop in the Pearl Street Mall for one-on-ones with Margie, then eat dinner at the Boulder Dushanbe Tea House.

My throat thickened when I recognized the Boulder Public Library at the end of the lot -- my safe haven during a time when I'd moved from one part of the country to another and struggled to fit in, which seemed to become my theme, more or less, during my years in Colorado. (photo, right)

The librarians watched me arrive each week, nearly collapsing under the maximum number of books I could check out. They'd ask if I really read all those books, mock disbelief on their faces, but I knew they were delighted I was there. I suspect this influenced my decision to obtain my master's of library science degree eventually.

Strangely, I have no memory of the mountain that forms the backdrop for the building. As one of my classmates said that night, it was probably just wallpaper at the time. It took me completely by surprise.

I could go on, but it might take all night and a day besides to take you on the whole sentimental journey. Instead, let me ask you: What visits have you made to places years later, when they were hardly recognizable to you, yet as familiar as ever? Have these places appeared in your writing? Did you find, as I did, that not only have the physical locales shown up, but also the emotions you experienced during those times? Leave a comment and share if you'd like.

An advertisement for Margie – she teaches various classes online and in person. They're worth the hard work and money invested. I do believe the woman has more energy than anyone I've ever met.

If you take one of her Immersion classes, you might just get to see this view (which I used this week to make a new header for the blog!) on a quick hike to clear your brain from all the hard work you're doing.

Check out her website: www.margielawson.com

RiverWrite

Earlier today, I floated down the Oconoluftee River in an inner tube, the North Carolina sky grey and blue overhead, the clouds plump with fat drops that fell once or twice as I lay back and let the river take me. Mostly the water flowed evenly, a soft bob propelling me forward for a few hours of bliss. But there were rapids as well, accelerating my ride, thrusting the tube fast along the river, rushing me over ancient rocks, past verdant foliage lining either bank. It was a good ride, exhilarating and peaceful, and one I'll repeat in a few days' time.

It's also sort of how I write. The actual writing, the first draft pours forth like those rapids, a burst of fluid energy that zips along leaving me laughing and breathless. I usually find fifteen hundred words or so slapped onto the page in under an hour, finishing with the same kind of smooth landing the calm water beyond the rapids offers over and over again. The steady flow of most of the river is how the fine tuning works for me, a long warm stretch toward my destination, time never wasted as I get closer and closer to the take-out.

I know some writers are more steady, and it's even something I wish for myself. Two thousand words a day, every day, would be wonderful. For now, though, I'm like the river: short bursts, not quite as long as I'd wish, but never regretted, with good warning just like the rising trickle then splash then thrum of the water as the tube nears the rapid. I'm flowing like the water, ideas and words rising and falling from my pen as does the tube on the river. And then a calm, in which I relax and enjoy, maybe not the most exciting part of the journey, but the most satisfying. It's in those moments of quiet floating that I remember to see the mountains and the sky, to glance down under the dark skin of water for fish and otters and mossy stones, fallen leaves skimming the water, the details and beauty missed while the thrill of the river spins the tube over the whitecaps.

On Saturday I'll be on another river, this time in a raft, paddle in hand, all about the rapids. Maybe it will remind me of writing, and give me inspiration to take those fast furious moments of frenzied creation, and show me how to stretch them from fifteen hundred words to a quick repeat of more, and all of them as fresh and breathtaking as the river itself. There will be slow moments too, on the Tuckaseegee, even a spot to climb a rock that Cherokee Indians no doubt scaled a thousand years ago, and jump into the cold still depths waiting patiently below. I'll lie back there and rest, eyes on the mountains surrounding me, sniff the trees and memorize the world. I'll edit my day, plan my second draft before plunging back into the storm of the river.

I hope I never get true writer's block. If I do, I'm afraid my only recourse might be going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. A fast fall, dropping endlessly--surely a hot eighty thousand words will spring from my pen at the bottom. If my arm isn't broken, that is.