Lazy Creek Homeschool

Art and Photo Blog | Unschooling Portfolio | Country Life | This Mom Writes

wild (but not uncultivated) musings of a Canadian unschool mom

Home | Archives | contact

Writing in the Rough

3:03 PM - Jan. 20, 2007 - Wild Thoughts {0} - Add to the Wildness

I had the pleasure of attending a Word Guild writers' conference back in November, and of course when you go to these things, there's so much that you just take notes like crazy and know you'll never remember it all. In fact, you'll be lucky if you remember any of it.

I have a sticky spot in my brain for principles rather than techniques, so one things that has stuck with me was something said by Canadian author N.J. (Nancy) Lindquist, who was the keynote speaker. She was talking about rewriting. She said that for her latest novel, she went through 17 drafts altogether. "First drafts are good, but they're the clay you work with."

I realized then why techniques such as Randy Ingermanson's snowflake don't work for me. I don't make clay from molecules the way that physicist/author does. I go out and sift through the riverbank to gather it from nature. He calls it the long way. I call it a trail of discovery. While some prefer to analyze and pick out their character and plot, I suffer from a pervasive need to not think about it. Or, perhaps I should say, to be combining the physical and mental activity of writing the elements while I analyze them.

I use things like the snowflake, character sheets, and plot maps when I hit a block, just to get me started again. I also use them if I feel I'm spending too much time on small details. But, like with unschooling and using set curricula, those aids are more of a booster shot than a consistent process.

Currently, I find myself writing backstory. This is the stuff that's happened before you actually get into the main story. There were details that I wanted to make decisions about, and I would rather write a series of short stories, first draft only, than make a list of plot events and character interactions. By roughing it out in story form, I also get to see how the characters react to the details, and what changes have happened in them in the past. To me, story is the more efficient process because it multi-tasks a whole bunch of elements. And when it's something like backstory, it doesn't have to be shiny. It just has to tell what I need it to.

I have a series of very focussed, short scenes that take the characters back to a frightening situation in 1998, although the main story is set in about 2001. What I'm trying to determine is the most plausible, comfortable way for two very alien, out-of-place characters to flow into the main story.
How do they get there?
Who do they know or not know, and how well?
What hidden coincidences or themes are there which may stretch further back in the characters' lives than the main story shows?
How do these things affect the development of the main story?

At times when I prefer to hold back the flow of thoughts and save it for the main story, I might just make a timeline and a web of who knows who and how. Part of the way I work is that I don't intentionally choose themes. I've tried that, and find it comes out stilted. I have to have my clay to work with first. Once it's there, I scrape away at the things I don't like, and remold and enhance the things I do.

It has to do with how I'm motivated. When life gets to me, or when things happen that I can't/shouldn't talk about for whatever reason, that's when I'll sit down and write. Afterwards, I'll sit back and go, "Oh. So that's where that came from." And I'll consider it a convergence between my life and the story's. But that convergence doesn't hold sway over the story's direction. It's just a moment on the riverbank to gather clay.

There can be times when the story diverges too much from my internal motivations for writing it. That's when it stalls. It loses its purpose. Therefore, it's easy for me to lose my purpose in writing when I begin to question my life, or my abilities, or even whether I really know God's plan and purpose. Writer's block for me can be a technical issue (can't figure out how to make it do what I want) or a spiritual one.

Oddly, my non-Christian parents have been much more enthusiastic supporters than my husband when it comes to writing. He has long admitted a certain jealousy towards my time and the fact that it's a world he doesn't click into easily. I, for one, have already been through the headaches he's describing, because I had to make those same adaptations to him a long time ago. So I can quickly get resentful.

I don't think he yet realizes that writing is something I can't do without him. He once expressed this to me: "I guess I've just been waiting for you to find something more interesting than me."

It's hardly an either/or. In some way, I've ended settling on taking this time just to learn the craft and work at some small publication opportunities. I can't see myself going forward unless I do it with him. I also can't see myself suddenly shutting up for all time, so I'll pause at this point in my life until he and the story no longer diverge.

-----------------------

Footnotes:
N.J. Lindquist has a great post up at her blog right now about the pressure to be what you're not.
The Word Guild maintains a blog at Canadian Authors Who Are Christian.

Easy Homeschooling

12:22 AM - Jul. 3, 2006 - Wild Thoughts {0} - Add to the Wildness

Since Lorraine Curry has given me a bunch of different kinds of free exposure, it seems only appropriate to mention all she's done for me in the last week or two.

It all began with a response to a request for writers. I thought I'd ask. Much to my surprise, Lorraine graciously took me seriously. :~) We emailed a bit about her current project, Easy Homeschooling Techniques Secular Edition, and she offered me the chance to write a chapter on critical thinking. She's also accepted a short section on teaching music if you can't carry a tune in a bucket.

In addition, Lorraine's asked me to write an article for her website about how I came to faith in Christ. Ironically, it was the critical thinking skills my adamantly secular family gave me that caused me to conclude Christianity was the only reasonable system of belief I'd come across. If you're curious now, don't worry. I'm sure I'll have a link in one of my FunBoxz on the sidebar as soon as the article's up.

As an interesting sidenote, a little research into self-publishing and being an independent author quickly showed me that there are a lot more books and writers than there are well-networked publishers out there. I'm still intellectually starved on the marketing end of things, but it led me to conclude that I'd like to learn more about editing. I'll get a chance to do that as an editorial assistant for the Easy Homeschooling project.

Am I doing all this stuff for free? Um, nope. You see, Proverbs says to "Buy wisdom, and do not sell it." And that wisdom is far more valuable than money. Right now, what I need in order to move forward in writing is to get feedback on how and what I write. Having someone edit my work is just the cat's meow to me.

I also am well aware that I can write my heart out, but at this point, few people can even find me. The comparative value of exposure versus cash is like a balance beam as a person goes on in their endeavours. Right now, exposure wins hands down.

Anyhow, thanks, Lorraine, for giving a recently de-closeted writer all this opportunity to learn and develop. The fit is exactly what I'd asked God about. Glad to have found you.

Sample Story, Chapter 2

10:00 PM - Jun. 24, 2006 - Wild Thoughts {0} - Add to the Wildness

I'll be back again on Thursday or so. Here's my last "filler entry." See y'all then.

Chapter Two

   Amy wondered if she'd ever hear from her best friend again. That was the trouble with falling for your best friend’s older brother and then making the whole family mad at you. She saw Gwen Turner at a distance every Sunday, but if their eyes ever met, it was only for a lonely second.
   Fall had come and gone, and was now buried under a white blanket. Amy had brought Marlita home for Christmas holidays, having seen Allie onto a bus back to Ontario. Marlita had made it clear she had no interest in catching up with her mother for two weeks.
    "She's got a new boyfriend. She thought I'd be happy for her." Marlita's eyes had flickered heavenward as she plunged her hands into the sink full of suds and dishes.
    Amy had taken a second to adjust to that statement. She'd assumed Marlita’s background couldn’t be too much different from her own, after all, they got along so well – and then Amy was left wondering just why exactly she'd made such an assumption.
    "You're not happy for her?"
    "Give it six months or a year. Things'll be different, and she'll be whining at me."
    "Why?"
    Marlita shrugged. "Right now it's a honeymoon. After awhile, reality strikes."
    "Tell me about it," Amy said under her breath. She'd gone to pull her ring off yet again before starting the dishes, catching herself when she felt bare skin under her fingertips.
    "How's that?" Marlita's expression was quietly compassionate.
    "Oh, well..." Amy waved it off. "I always thought I'd marry my childhood sweetheart, but it didn't turn out that way. I waited for five years for him to make up his mind, then I finally realized he was never raised to be capable of making up his own mind about anything."
    "Five years? Honey, you're not that old."
    "Like I said, it was a childhood thing. He was my best friend's brother. I always saw him as sort of gentle and quiet, but it matured into unthinking spinelessness."
   Marlita was inwardly amused at Amy’s gentle, matter-of-fact tone, in contrast to her blunt words. "Ooh. Sounds like a rough breakup."
    "He let his father tell him what to do and what to think about everything, even after he should have left home. And they wanted me to do the same. It's probably better I got out of there while the getting was good."
    "Why didn't you go to school first?"
    "I was waiting for him to ask me to marry him. You probably think that’s stupid."
Marlita tilted her head, studying Amy. "Well, it"s not on my to-do list, but it's got to be on somebody's, or else where would we all be?"
    "Don't get me wrong, I’m not like Allie. I'm not at college just to meet someone. I want to go out and do something, instead of waiting anymore for life to come to me, or getting led along by someone else."
    "Good for you. My mother has yet to figure that one out."

    And so now they stood in Amy's parents' yard, looking up at the two-and-a-half-storey house with its mansard roof and crisp, sky-blue siding. Marlita stopped and stared around her at the yard fenced by towering spruce, then turned and gazed beyond the gate at the corrals, where horses mingled.
    "You didn't tell me you were rich."
    "We do okay. My dad's in PMU, mainly."
    "In what?"
    Amy chuckled. "I'll explain it later."
    "This is going to be fun."
    "You better believe it. Come on, let's get our stuff inside."
    "Amy!" The girl was swamped in the people greeting her as soon as she stepped in the door. Tall, short, even how many was difficult to tell for a minute. Marlita watched bemusedly until they let her friend go. Two pre-teen girls hopped up and down beside her, holding onto her arms. There also seemed to be two mothers in the house.
    "Marlita, this is my mom, Kate, and this is Aunt Mary," Amy said from somewhere in the middle of the smiling group.
    Marlita greeted both of them, trying to think how she would keep them sorted out in her mind. Oh, forget it. She wasn’t even sure who was meant by each name. She'd sort it out later, and in the meantime just nod and smile.
    "And these are my sisters, Carly and Kathleen." They each responded to their name, and one was measurably taller than the other, so they would be easier to keep straight.
    "I always wanted a sister." Marlita smiled at them.
    "You don’t have any?" Carly asked.
    "Or brothers. Just me."
    The girls looked at her a little strangely, as if this were a difficult thing to consider.
    "You never had to share your room?" Kathleen asked, eyes wide.
    "Nope." Marlita didn’t see any point mentioning that she'd lost 'her' room to eviction notices twice before she moved out on her own.
    "Wow.... I'd never have to find your hairy hairbrush on my dresser!" Carly whispered at her sister.
    "You couldn't hide it on me either!" Their voices were subdued even though their eyes sparked at each other.
    "Girls. Go upstairs and check the spare room for me," said Kate firmly, and the two chased each other up the stairs.
    "They’re cute." Marlita smiled after them.
    "Just don’t let them hear you say it," Amy replied with a grin. "They think they’re practically grown up. Come on, I bet there's cookies in the kitchen."
    Marlita had never seen so much food. There was always something around to be snacked on. And more was in the making for that night. Amy told her they'd go over the next mile to Uncle John's house for the first part of the evening, and probably on to her cousin's later on with their closest friends.
    "Come along, or head home and hit the hay, do whatever you want. Just so you know, act like family and don't feel obligated to follow us around if you don’t want to," Amy said.
    Marlita just smiled her quiet smile.
    There was something surreal about the comfort level here. It took her most of the day to even begin to adjust to it. Everything was just so... alright. Happy mother, cooking up a storm in the kitchen, cleaning up everyone's incidental messes. Happy daughters, pitching in and working alongside. Big, beautiful old house with polished oak floors and richly refurbished antique furniture. Miles of country all around, pastures rolling in untouched calm under the wind's gentle breath and the snow's unblemished blanket.
    Did perfect places like this really exist? It was almost eerie.
    Halfway through the afternoon, Amy's father drove in with her twin brothers in tow. James and Andy were seventeen, and, as Amy's mother put it, full of beans.
Marlita smiled to herself the first time she caught them stealing a look at her, evidently in awe of college-aged girls. Oh, the difference one year could make in a person's mind. Their parents might consider them troublemakers, but there was an innocence about them that made them seem like young kids. They’d clearly never ventured far outside the boundaries of this peaceful little world.
    "Come on, Amy, let’s go for a ride," James demanded, planting his hands firmly on the table in front of his sister.
    Amy looked up at Marlita. "Have you spent any time around horses?"
    "Once, at summer camp. I got a scholarship to go. Loved it, but it's not like I know much."
    "Come on," James said, including her in the invitation. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he glanced at his twin.
    "Yeah, come on, we can't just sit here all day," Andy insisted.
    "You two," Amy said grimly, "Are going to find out just how much of a licking I can still give you if you don't watch yourselves. Do I have your solemn oath that you'll be on your best behaviour?"
    "Sure," they said with perfect timing.
    "Okay. I'm going to call Peter to meet us out there."
   Half an hour later, after getting accustomed to the saddle while Amy led a docile horse by a rope, Marlita found herself headed out across the fields with the reins in her hands. Amy rode slowly beside her, giving her instructions as they went.
    James and Andy had taken off at a gallop over the thin, light snow on the pasture as soon as they were past the gate. Marlita's horse had pricked its ears up at the disturbance, then clearly lost interest, while Amy had had to check her mount.
    "Dad's not going to be impressed with them." Amy shook her head, frowning.
    The girls had turned left, heading down a gentle slope, when the twins abruptly came charging down behind them, whooping like drunken cowboys. Marlita felt her old gelding startle, but he was too even-tempered to do more than trot four steps before resuming his slow amble, thankfully. Amy spun her horse in place, letting it work out its tension in a tight circle before snapping at her brothers.
    "This is why I didn’t want to come out with you! Do you have to be such idiots? Use a little common sense!"
    "Sorry." They both grinned, and Marlita had a good idea there wasn't a lot of contrition in the apology.
    "Come on, Amy! Race you!"
    "How many kinds of stupid are you?" she retorted. "The snow’s deep ahead."
    "Aw, it's fine. We ride out here every day."
    "I don't," she retorted.
    They fell in alongside the girls, but the sudden meekness seemed utterly out of place.
    "Hey, Marlita, you can go faster than that," Andy goaded.
    She gave him a flat stare. "But I won't."
   "But you can." James came up on the other side, cutting between her and Amy, leaving her suddenly feeling nervous and out of her element. With both feet flat on the ground, she could more than handle this pair of teenage idiots, but in this foreign situation–
   "But she won’t," said a firm baritone from behind them. Marlita heard two sharp slaps, like something striking hide, and the boys' horses leapt forward, making them shout in protest.
    "How's things, Amy?" Another rider took Andy's place, putting Marlita back in the middle again. She looked up into bright, smiling blue eyes in a strongly-shaped face.
    "I'm Peter. You must be the roommate." The stranger reached out to shake her hand across the gap between them, his leather glove remaining in his other hand for the moment.
   "Marlita Maderas," she said, rolling her r's and unconsciously reverting to a more Spanish pronunciation than she usually used as she returned the brief grip.
   "Nice to meet you, and sorry about them. 'Scuse me," he said, nodding as the twins turned their mounts and headed back towards them, calling complaints at him.
    Marlita watched the tall young man in the battered western hat and old jean jacket trot his horse forward and discipline his younger cousins with a few short, sharp words that didn’t carry on the breeze – but for their tone.
    "Yeesh. Wouldn't want to see his bad side," she murmured under her breath.
    Amy laughed. "Peter doesn’t have a bad side! I can't imagine what it would look like if he did. He's about the most easygoing guy I know."
   Marlita said nothing.
   Everybody had a bad side. Sometimes it was just a matter of how they expressed it.

Last Page Next Page