I have lately been experiencing the above conundrum in two of my current works, and it's difficult to work my way out of these states.
First, Knowledge.
I like to research. I am that nerdy girl at school who practically clapped when a research paper was announced. I do super in-depth dramaturgical work when I'm in a play... sometimes for every character or situation presented. Sometimes, my research goes horribly awry, like when I was collecting facts for my 2009 NaNo novel, Remembrance. I sent it away to be edited by a friend, and when it came back, she had noted that most of my research was incorrect. All of my hard work was for nothing, and now I had a very mistaken point of view of English history. Other times, I simply know too much-I research to the point where what I know about the subject can't possibly be worked into the manuscript, especially in a natural, non-info barf-y way. This is an issue I came across recently, when I decided to write my analytical essay for class on my favorite play and its film adaptation, which I also love. I re-read the play, watched the film, collected sources, and wrote ten pages of notes. The essay was only allowed to be 2,500 words wrong and by about 2,000, I had only talked about three of my points and hadn't needed to use a single source because I had so much to say on the subject in the first place.
This latter problem is what is going on for one piece, in a way. When I began writing my Peter Pan play, I waffled about whether to send my main character, Mary, to an insane asylum. As I started doing more research in about February of last year, I came to learn that in Victorian England, seeing things and talking too much about things that people don't want to hear merits you a one-way ticket to a nice padded cell.
I worried that this might be too dramatic and waffled for about six months as to whether to put it in or not. In the end, I decided that she would be sent to the asylum but skipped over the actual asylum part. leaving off when she found out she was being sent away and picking up when he returns. When I presented my semi-finished script to my playwrighting class around November of last year, my teacher specifically requested that I write a scene in the mental institution.
All through this, I had been thinking of doing so, if only for myself, and had been doing research. I learned a lot. A lot, a lot. My entire perception of the medical world in the Victorian era was changed because of the methods they used to cure women of the disease my character was thought to be suffering from (hysteria, the catch-all diagnosis for all inconvenient behavior in the 19th century.) I wrote the scene. I turned it in. I was happy with it.
Then I came to England and started a class called Madness and Medicine in Modern Britain. The class specialised in the examination of asylums in the Victorian era, with a unit devoted to hysteria. I read a dozen articles on it, covering them in highlighter. I took detailed notes during class. I gave my own presentation on hysteria. Then I went back to my script, armed with my new knowledge. Then I realised something.
I knew too much. There was no possible way I could go deep enough into the subject in two or three scenes without making it unnatural and/or confusing a potential audience. I needed to, not dumb it down, but keep it simple, on the surface. Let the audience know what the disease was and the milder ways it was treated (some of the more serious treatments not only shocked me and would be hard for me to write about, but there's no way my fourteen year old character would have been subjected to that... I hope.) However, it's been difficult for me to pull back and see just how much is too much to be dumping on the audience.
Then there's the problem at the other end of the spectrum: too little knowledge. This problem came in when I was working on my NaNo '10 novel, which I've been editing since December.
See, in the novel, my character has a boyfriend. The first time they get together in a romantic way, they kiss pretty seriously to the point where my main character gets uncomfortable and leaves. However, she does let herself get carried away before realising what she's doing.
Yeah... like I know what that's like. Besides not being great at writing kissing scenes- I've only ever written one, and it was more of a very chaste kissing moment- I have little personal experience with the act myself. I've never gotten to the point that Lyddie does in that scene.
I wrote it early in the process and when I shared it nearly a year later, people seemed to think it was realistic. But reading it over this week, I realised that it wasn't serious enough. While the reader knew that she was getting uncomfortable... there were really no details and so they just had to take my word for it, and I don't think that would satisfy many people. That's the problem with this being a novel and not a screenplay. I've written screenplay/play kisses and it looks like this:
(They kiss.)
I can do that (unless I'm the actor carrying out the direction, which I have been. Then I'm just as inept.)
In a novel, especially one being told in first person present like mine... you need more than "he kisses me" (well, at least for this scene. I do in fact have a few more, no-details-given kisses in the book.)
I wanted to add more but what? I didn't know what would go on in a situation like that. So I spent some time on the romance boards of NaNoWriMo.org, consulted my favorite book series, and added a bit to the scene.
I'm happy with how it stands right now, but I honestly don't know if it's realistic, and unless I find a lovely English boy who will love and care about me, I don't anticipate getting any real-life experience in the near future that would help me confirm it.
*sigh*
Showing posts with label remembrance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label remembrance. Show all posts
Friday, March 4, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
In Which I Recognize That I Am a Baby
I mentioned a few blog posts back that I got some great, helpful feedback from my playwrighting professor on my adaptation. I am excited to apply them... but I am also being a complete baby about it. I enjoy editing, and I feel very accomplished when I've completed a lot of little changes. For example, in my fiction, I have the tendency to just use "says" and "asks" rather than more vivid verbs. This was one of my frend's biggest comments on Remembrance. So I went through The Other Side of Light and highlighted every single one, then took a few days to go back and "vivify" them. It took a long time, but I know my novel's better for it.
But the changes that need to be made on Straight on 'Til Morning are not small. It's almost like an overall rewrite is due- my scenes and dialogue are fine, but it's so all-talk, no-action that I pretty much need to rework every scene in some little way, as well as add one or two more that are more swashbuckling.
When I bring up my document and face the title page, however, my brain just throws a tantrum. I'm not quite sure how to make a lot of these changes, as all-talk, no-action is my weakness in all writing... and possibly my life :p I want to make them because this play will not sit in my desk drawer for the rest of my life... but it's definitely going to be hard.
This weekend's a writing weekend, though- I have to finish up three shorter papers and then I'll turn my attention to the scritpt. We'll see how this goes.
In non-whiny, cool news, the First Novels Club is holding an awesome contest! Check it out!
But the changes that need to be made on Straight on 'Til Morning are not small. It's almost like an overall rewrite is due- my scenes and dialogue are fine, but it's so all-talk, no-action that I pretty much need to rework every scene in some little way, as well as add one or two more that are more swashbuckling.
When I bring up my document and face the title page, however, my brain just throws a tantrum. I'm not quite sure how to make a lot of these changes, as all-talk, no-action is my weakness in all writing... and possibly my life :p I want to make them because this play will not sit in my desk drawer for the rest of my life... but it's definitely going to be hard.
This weekend's a writing weekend, though- I have to finish up three shorter papers and then I'll turn my attention to the scritpt. We'll see how this goes.
In non-whiny, cool news, the First Novels Club is holding an awesome contest! Check it out!
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Realizing
So my friend finished reading Remembrance last week. He promised he would have it to me before I left for England and it appeared in my mailbox at ten a.m. on the day I left. I am very grateful to him for doing this. Or maybe I'm just grateful for him for doing it and not judging me. Because I was worried. Really worried. I gave this book to him in July and I didin't stop fretting until... wait, have I stopped?
Besides the dark scenes that scared me when I wrote them, I also read through the book while he was still revising and realised that I don't write like that anymore. That's technically a good thing, since it means I've grown as a writer, but I was afraid of what my friend would think of me. I wanted to snatch my novel back and give him something newer, something more up-to-date with my current style.
I didn't though, and I'm glad I let him finish. Well, sort of- I still feel ashamed of some parts that I wrote. But his editing job was good- he noted not only what he liked but what he thought was terrible... and he used those words, too. Nothing like getting it told straight out :p I think the edits will definitely help me being Remembrance up to the next level, whatever that level may be (though I know that this is not a novel I will seek to publish.)
In other Remembrance news, three things happened to me today involving it. First of all, one of my friend's comments during the darkest scene of the book was, "Getting a little like V for Vendetta are we?" Though I love that movie, I haven't watched it in about two years, so I wasn't really sure how close I was to the film. Extremely, as it turns out- I just finished watching it. It's nothing that needs to be changed, thankfully, but it's funny how some things stay with you.
I was walking through Kensington, London today and made my friends stop for a second while I took a picture of a street because one of my characters, Gloria, lived there (or at least, she would have before it was bombed in the Blitz.)
And then about an hour ago, in a fit of writery-actory-ness, I decided I needed to better figure out why my main character and her two best friends are so uncomfortable in one another's presence at the end of the book. I mean, of course there's already a reason, but I wanted to know each girl's specific feelings on it. I took a bit to write down these reasons, and then I started crying. Because what I realised is that the three girls represent three different sides of me. I know people always say that you always write a version of yourself into each character in some way, but it was still a shock to me. I always considered myself most like my main character... but I still considered her to be very different from me, and I knew I wasn't anything like her friends- until today. And yes, this discovery made me weep.
Anyway, getting off that dramatic subject and onto an unrelated one, if you're not already, you should check out/follow my London blog, where I write about all the adventures I'm having in jolly old England!
Besides the dark scenes that scared me when I wrote them, I also read through the book while he was still revising and realised that I don't write like that anymore. That's technically a good thing, since it means I've grown as a writer, but I was afraid of what my friend would think of me. I wanted to snatch my novel back and give him something newer, something more up-to-date with my current style.
I didn't though, and I'm glad I let him finish. Well, sort of- I still feel ashamed of some parts that I wrote. But his editing job was good- he noted not only what he liked but what he thought was terrible... and he used those words, too. Nothing like getting it told straight out :p I think the edits will definitely help me being Remembrance up to the next level, whatever that level may be (though I know that this is not a novel I will seek to publish.)
In other Remembrance news, three things happened to me today involving it. First of all, one of my friend's comments during the darkest scene of the book was, "Getting a little like V for Vendetta are we?" Though I love that movie, I haven't watched it in about two years, so I wasn't really sure how close I was to the film. Extremely, as it turns out- I just finished watching it. It's nothing that needs to be changed, thankfully, but it's funny how some things stay with you.
I was walking through Kensington, London today and made my friends stop for a second while I took a picture of a street because one of my characters, Gloria, lived there (or at least, she would have before it was bombed in the Blitz.)
And then about an hour ago, in a fit of writery-actory-ness, I decided I needed to better figure out why my main character and her two best friends are so uncomfortable in one another's presence at the end of the book. I mean, of course there's already a reason, but I wanted to know each girl's specific feelings on it. I took a bit to write down these reasons, and then I started crying. Because what I realised is that the three girls represent three different sides of me. I know people always say that you always write a version of yourself into each character in some way, but it was still a shock to me. I always considered myself most like my main character... but I still considered her to be very different from me, and I knew I wasn't anything like her friends- until today. And yes, this discovery made me weep.
Anyway, getting off that dramatic subject and onto an unrelated one, if you're not already, you should check out/follow my London blog, where I write about all the adventures I'm having in jolly old England!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Those Things You Don't Want (But Need) To Hear
My friend and I met to discuss what he had read of my novel. When we sat down to talk, he opened with the following:
"There's one really big problem."
Not exactly what I wanted to hear. But I knew he was right before he even started elaborating.
Basically, I have a lot of work to do. A LOT of work to do. And if I wanted, I could ignore all of his comments and just leave my novel as it is- I have no ambition of publishing this one. But the thing is, though I don't really need to see this one on the shelves of Borders, I want to make it the best it can be. I want to make it up to publishing quality, even if I never send it off.
Here's a look at one of the pages after his editing:
It's going to be a long, hard journey, but I think in the end, it's all going to be worth it. Right now, though, I've got a LOT of work to do.
"There's one really big problem."
Not exactly what I wanted to hear. But I knew he was right before he even started elaborating.
Basically, I have a lot of work to do. A LOT of work to do. And if I wanted, I could ignore all of his comments and just leave my novel as it is- I have no ambition of publishing this one. But the thing is, though I don't really need to see this one on the shelves of Borders, I want to make it the best it can be. I want to make it up to publishing quality, even if I never send it off.
Here's a look at one of the pages after his editing:
It's going to be a long, hard journey, but I think in the end, it's all going to be worth it. Right now, though, I've got a LOT of work to do.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
WIP Wednesday
Oh... it's Wednesday... My mind has been all over the place lately, what with closing one show the other day and opening another next week. Eek! But that has nothing to do with the promise I made to you guys and to myself that I would post something every Wednesday. So, here you go. Some more Remembrance.
“Get up! Ruthie! Noah! Get up right now!”
Ruthie opened her eyes to find her nose a fraction of an inch away from the cinder block wall. Noah had sprawled out while he slept, claiming most of the bed as his own and forcing Ruthie to huddle close to the wall. She sat up to see her mother at the foot of her bed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Her mother was already folding the blanket Noah had dragged along with him the night before. “You need to get up and get dressed now. We didn’t bring a clock down with us and you will be late for school if you don’t hurry. Noah! Get up!” Mrs. Halpert pulled the blanket off of Ruthie’s bed and Ruthie felt the cold of the shelter steal over her. Noah must have too because he curled into a tighter ball in the middle of the bed, either still asleep or doing a very good job of ignoring their mother. She nudged him as she climbed over him and stepped onto the cold cement floor. Standing in the middle of the shelter, Ruthie realised that she didn’t know what to do next.
“Mum, can I go to my room to get some clothes?”
“No time,” her mother said hurriedly. “Your father and I took some things from your rooms last week in case this happened. Look in one of the boxes under the beds.”
Ruthie knelt down and peered under her bed. There were two boxes there. The first one was full of torches, tools, and other items they might need. She pushed that one back and pulled out the second one, which was full of clothes. She removed a set for Noah and tossed them on the bed as she searched for her own clothes. Her heart sank as she saw the frocks lying on the bottom of the box.
“Mum!” she cried, seeing the old worn fabric. “I can’t wear any of these!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ruthie,” her mother scolded. “I got them from your room.”
“Did you get them from the bottom drawer of my wardrobe?”
Mrs. Halpert was busy looking for something on one of the shelves. “Yes, I did. Why?”
“Those were to go to Annabel!” Ruthie said, naming her thirteen year old cousin. “They don’t fit me anymore!”
“Ruthie, we don’t have time for you to go up to your room to change,” her mother said impatiently. “Annabel’s not that much smaller than you, I’m sure they’ll be fine. Now please, get changed. Noah! Up now!”
As her little brother finally started to rise, Ruthie selected the biggest blouse and skirt she could find. She pulled them on and tried to adjust them as best she could. The skirt was a tad too short and the blouse pulled a little at her chest, but it was the best she could get at the moment.
“All right, your father’s got your school books,” Mrs. Halpert said when Noah was finally up and dressed. “Now hurry, or you really will be late. Go on, go.”
Ruthie and her brother each took their books from their father and exited the shelter, heading in the direction of school. As the pair made their way down the street, Ruthie continued to tug at the hem of her skirt – this was going to be a bother all day, she knew.
School was ten blocks away and Ruthie knew they were running very, very late. They would be lucky to arrive before the bell. She hurried a still – sleepy Noah down the street as fast as she could.
When they arrived at the school, the first thing Ruthie noticed was the energy in the air. While people were clustered in their usual groups, the conversations were hushed and the air seemed thick with anxiety. The air raid had put everyone on tenterhooks. Every now and then, a student would glance up at the sky nervously as though expecting a bomb to fall at any moment.
Ruthie looked around for her two best friends and spotted them standing by the entrance. After making sure Noah was headed in the direction of the lower school, Ruthie rushed over to them.
“You’re late,” Nora Savidge pointed out as Ruthie took her place next to her friends.
“We haven’t got a clock in our shelter yet,” Ruthie said. “We got up so late that I had to wear this old uniform that my mum had brought down – and she got it out of a box to hand down to my cousin!”
Annie Payson giggled as she straightened her own blazer. “I thought it looked a bit different today. Look, the patch still has the old crest on it. Make sure to avoid Mrs. Zaeler today – she’ll give you a demerit if she sees that.”
Ruthie groaned. “It isn’t even my fault!” Deciding she would worry about that later, she looked around at her fellow students, all talking intently. “Is everyone talking about the air raid last night?”
“Of course,” said Annie. “It was the scariest thing that’s ever happened! I didn’t sleep a wink all night; I thought our shelter would be hit any minute.”
“I was worried that a bomb would go off twenty streets over and the resulting wind would blow our shelter over,” Nora remarked wryly. “I think my dad just propped two pieces of metal against each other and put a door in front of them.”
“Your dad is a teacher,” Ruthie pointed out. “It’s not like he has ever had to do it before.”
Nora opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, the bell rang and the students began to rush into the building, still chattering about what had happened the night before.
As Ruthie took her seat in the classroom, she noticed that the seat beside hers was empty. At first, she didn’t think much of it- it was not unusual for its occupant, Jimmy Henderson, to be too busy plying a prank to make it to class on time. But his seat was still empty when her teacher, Miss Whittaker, called the class to order.
“Class,” Miss Whittaker said, standing in front of her desk as her students took their seats again. “Miss Burns has an announcement she would like to make. Please give her your full attention.” Ruthie’s teacher stepped aside to give the school’s wide – girthed deputy headmistress the floor. The form rose and waited. Miss Burns was silent for a moment as she surveyed the students, her lips pursed and her stern eyebrows pinched together.
“You may be seated,” she said distractedly. “I am afraid I have some bad news, children,” she began. “As you must all be aware, we have been having air raid drills here at school for the past few months in case the building is attacked. Last night’s air raid gave you a taste of what could happen during school hours, and I do not doubt that many of you were frightened. In any emergency situation, some unfortunate things can come about, and I regret to inform you that such a thing happened during last night’s raid.”
The class was confused. While many of them had been anxious during the air raid, it was over now. What after effects could have a part in their lives?
“Several buildings were destroyed by the bombs that fell, one of them being the flats on Wannamaker Street. The Henderson family was a resident of this building.”
There were a few soft gasps as the class turned as one to stare at Jimmy’s empty desk. A heaviness seemed to fall over the room as the principal’s words sunk in.
“What happened to them, Miss Burns?” a girl named Evelyn asked softly. It was a mark of the seriousness of the situation that Miss Burns did not reprimand Evelyn for neglecting to raise her hand.
“I regret to say that, though Mr. and Mrs. Henderson and their youngest child were found unharmed, the authorities were unable to located James and his brother Arthur.”
“But they’re just… I don’t know, lost or something, right?” said a boy named Roger. “Maybe they ran to get help and couldn’t find their way home in the dark.”
Miss Burns’ mouth grew tight. “We can only hope that is the case, Mr. Jennings. There are people looking for the boys as well as a few others that have also gone missing, and you can be sure that if they are indeed still alive, they will be found.” With that, Miss Burns nodded to Miss Whittaker and left the room. But she did not take with her the grim silence that had fallen over the students as soon as she said the words “still alive”. Ruthie glanced again at Jimmy’s empty seat. She couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around the idea that someone she knew might really be gone forever. Could it be that this boy, this noisy, wise – cracking fourteen year old, had already reached the end of his life the night before? Was his body lying in wait of the search party? Or might he be gone completely, never to be found by anyone at all?
Ruthie shook her head, trying to rid it of these thoughts. Jimmy could take care of himself, she was sure of that. They would find him. By next week, she told herself, he’d be sitting next to her again, folding up paper airplanes in his lap and grinning that sideways smile of his. He would be, because Ruthie couldn’t accept anything else.
“Get up! Ruthie! Noah! Get up right now!”
Ruthie opened her eyes to find her nose a fraction of an inch away from the cinder block wall. Noah had sprawled out while he slept, claiming most of the bed as his own and forcing Ruthie to huddle close to the wall. She sat up to see her mother at the foot of her bed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Her mother was already folding the blanket Noah had dragged along with him the night before. “You need to get up and get dressed now. We didn’t bring a clock down with us and you will be late for school if you don’t hurry. Noah! Get up!” Mrs. Halpert pulled the blanket off of Ruthie’s bed and Ruthie felt the cold of the shelter steal over her. Noah must have too because he curled into a tighter ball in the middle of the bed, either still asleep or doing a very good job of ignoring their mother. She nudged him as she climbed over him and stepped onto the cold cement floor. Standing in the middle of the shelter, Ruthie realised that she didn’t know what to do next.
“Mum, can I go to my room to get some clothes?”
“No time,” her mother said hurriedly. “Your father and I took some things from your rooms last week in case this happened. Look in one of the boxes under the beds.”
Ruthie knelt down and peered under her bed. There were two boxes there. The first one was full of torches, tools, and other items they might need. She pushed that one back and pulled out the second one, which was full of clothes. She removed a set for Noah and tossed them on the bed as she searched for her own clothes. Her heart sank as she saw the frocks lying on the bottom of the box.
“Mum!” she cried, seeing the old worn fabric. “I can’t wear any of these!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ruthie,” her mother scolded. “I got them from your room.”
“Did you get them from the bottom drawer of my wardrobe?”
Mrs. Halpert was busy looking for something on one of the shelves. “Yes, I did. Why?”
“Those were to go to Annabel!” Ruthie said, naming her thirteen year old cousin. “They don’t fit me anymore!”
“Ruthie, we don’t have time for you to go up to your room to change,” her mother said impatiently. “Annabel’s not that much smaller than you, I’m sure they’ll be fine. Now please, get changed. Noah! Up now!”
As her little brother finally started to rise, Ruthie selected the biggest blouse and skirt she could find. She pulled them on and tried to adjust them as best she could. The skirt was a tad too short and the blouse pulled a little at her chest, but it was the best she could get at the moment.
“All right, your father’s got your school books,” Mrs. Halpert said when Noah was finally up and dressed. “Now hurry, or you really will be late. Go on, go.”
Ruthie and her brother each took their books from their father and exited the shelter, heading in the direction of school. As the pair made their way down the street, Ruthie continued to tug at the hem of her skirt – this was going to be a bother all day, she knew.
School was ten blocks away and Ruthie knew they were running very, very late. They would be lucky to arrive before the bell. She hurried a still – sleepy Noah down the street as fast as she could.
When they arrived at the school, the first thing Ruthie noticed was the energy in the air. While people were clustered in their usual groups, the conversations were hushed and the air seemed thick with anxiety. The air raid had put everyone on tenterhooks. Every now and then, a student would glance up at the sky nervously as though expecting a bomb to fall at any moment.
Ruthie looked around for her two best friends and spotted them standing by the entrance. After making sure Noah was headed in the direction of the lower school, Ruthie rushed over to them.
“You’re late,” Nora Savidge pointed out as Ruthie took her place next to her friends.
“We haven’t got a clock in our shelter yet,” Ruthie said. “We got up so late that I had to wear this old uniform that my mum had brought down – and she got it out of a box to hand down to my cousin!”
Annie Payson giggled as she straightened her own blazer. “I thought it looked a bit different today. Look, the patch still has the old crest on it. Make sure to avoid Mrs. Zaeler today – she’ll give you a demerit if she sees that.”
Ruthie groaned. “It isn’t even my fault!” Deciding she would worry about that later, she looked around at her fellow students, all talking intently. “Is everyone talking about the air raid last night?”
“Of course,” said Annie. “It was the scariest thing that’s ever happened! I didn’t sleep a wink all night; I thought our shelter would be hit any minute.”
“I was worried that a bomb would go off twenty streets over and the resulting wind would blow our shelter over,” Nora remarked wryly. “I think my dad just propped two pieces of metal against each other and put a door in front of them.”
“Your dad is a teacher,” Ruthie pointed out. “It’s not like he has ever had to do it before.”
Nora opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, the bell rang and the students began to rush into the building, still chattering about what had happened the night before.
As Ruthie took her seat in the classroom, she noticed that the seat beside hers was empty. At first, she didn’t think much of it- it was not unusual for its occupant, Jimmy Henderson, to be too busy plying a prank to make it to class on time. But his seat was still empty when her teacher, Miss Whittaker, called the class to order.
“Class,” Miss Whittaker said, standing in front of her desk as her students took their seats again. “Miss Burns has an announcement she would like to make. Please give her your full attention.” Ruthie’s teacher stepped aside to give the school’s wide – girthed deputy headmistress the floor. The form rose and waited. Miss Burns was silent for a moment as she surveyed the students, her lips pursed and her stern eyebrows pinched together.
“You may be seated,” she said distractedly. “I am afraid I have some bad news, children,” she began. “As you must all be aware, we have been having air raid drills here at school for the past few months in case the building is attacked. Last night’s air raid gave you a taste of what could happen during school hours, and I do not doubt that many of you were frightened. In any emergency situation, some unfortunate things can come about, and I regret to inform you that such a thing happened during last night’s raid.”
The class was confused. While many of them had been anxious during the air raid, it was over now. What after effects could have a part in their lives?
“Several buildings were destroyed by the bombs that fell, one of them being the flats on Wannamaker Street. The Henderson family was a resident of this building.”
There were a few soft gasps as the class turned as one to stare at Jimmy’s empty desk. A heaviness seemed to fall over the room as the principal’s words sunk in.
“What happened to them, Miss Burns?” a girl named Evelyn asked softly. It was a mark of the seriousness of the situation that Miss Burns did not reprimand Evelyn for neglecting to raise her hand.
“I regret to say that, though Mr. and Mrs. Henderson and their youngest child were found unharmed, the authorities were unable to located James and his brother Arthur.”
“But they’re just… I don’t know, lost or something, right?” said a boy named Roger. “Maybe they ran to get help and couldn’t find their way home in the dark.”
Miss Burns’ mouth grew tight. “We can only hope that is the case, Mr. Jennings. There are people looking for the boys as well as a few others that have also gone missing, and you can be sure that if they are indeed still alive, they will be found.” With that, Miss Burns nodded to Miss Whittaker and left the room. But she did not take with her the grim silence that had fallen over the students as soon as she said the words “still alive”. Ruthie glanced again at Jimmy’s empty seat. She couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around the idea that someone she knew might really be gone forever. Could it be that this boy, this noisy, wise – cracking fourteen year old, had already reached the end of his life the night before? Was his body lying in wait of the search party? Or might he be gone completely, never to be found by anyone at all?
Ruthie shook her head, trying to rid it of these thoughts. Jimmy could take care of himself, she was sure of that. They would find him. By next week, she told herself, he’d be sitting next to her again, folding up paper airplanes in his lap and grinning that sideways smile of his. He would be, because Ruthie couldn’t accept anything else.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Trying It Out
Remember about a month ago I was talking about how much I wanted to make an outline wall like Maureen Johnson's? One like this?
Well...
And since making this about two and a half weeks ago, I discovered something: this doesn't work for me. I thought it just hadn't worked because I'd never actually started and finished one before, but... this has been up on my wall since I made it and seriously, I've used it once, that time that I stared so long at my novel that it turned to one blurry mess and I needed to be reminded what the plot was. But before or since then? Not a glance.
*sigh*
Guess I'll have to go back to my own ways...
(P.S. I am still thinking constantly about the fact that my friend is reading over my book. It makes me incredibly nervous every time.)
Well...
And since making this about two and a half weeks ago, I discovered something: this doesn't work for me. I thought it just hadn't worked because I'd never actually started and finished one before, but... this has been up on my wall since I made it and seriously, I've used it once, that time that I stared so long at my novel that it turned to one blurry mess and I needed to be reminded what the plot was. But before or since then? Not a glance.
*sigh*
Guess I'll have to go back to my own ways...
(P.S. I am still thinking constantly about the fact that my friend is reading over my book. It makes me incredibly nervous every time.)
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
WIP Wednesday
I'm going to do something today that I don't think I've ever really done on this blog before- give you my current "final" copy of something. Though there is still a lot of work to be done on the following snippet, it's part of draft three of Remembrance, which, as of yesterday afternoon is the final product until I get my edits back.
Speaking of edits, since sending out my current draft of the novel to my friend, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I'm nervous. Really, really nervous. Because I know that he'll tell me whether it's good or not. And while I want that- ahhhh!
So anyway, enough of my rambling. Here's today WIP.
For two weeks, life went on as usual, which struck Ruthie as absurd. How could they all manage to forget what had begun just days before? How could they forget that every second, their lives were at risk?
She wondered, and yet she did it, too. She talked and laughed with Nora and Annie. She teased her brother. She complained about small things like homework and chores when people were making much greater sacrifices not so far away. And when she swore she saw Jimmy in the library and the soda shop and grocer’s, she told herself that it was just her imagination and looked in the other direction.
As much as everyone managed to return to their normal lives, however, there were reminders of the losses that had already been suffered all over the city. The buildings that had been hit were still in shambles. Ruthie overheard someone on the street say it could take months to clean up the wreckage, and that was only if no other buildings fell victim to the Germans. The air raid drills were constant and could happen at any moment. People were now using the underground as a make - shift shelter and sometimes, the people waiting down there had to sleep in the station overnight. Each time she walked home or to school or to the store or the cinema, Ruthie prayed that she would not have to run down to the tube station and take cover.
There were also the posters. Since the bombing, missing persons posters had gone up all over the city, tied to telephone poles and tree trunks, pinned to bulletin boards. Some had even been shoved through the Halperts’ mail slot so that when one of the family entered, they would see someone’s black and white photograph staring up at them from the floor. Ruthie always studied these blurry pictures closely. If she saw one of these people on the streets, she wanted to be able to recognize them. She did not know what she would do if this did happen one day – certainly shouting, “I found you!” or chasing after them would do no one any good. But this was a dilemma she had not yet faced. Though she tried to look at every face she passed, none of them matched those lost people in the pictures. She looked especially hard for Jimmy and Arthur Henderson. Her heart hurt every time she passed one of their flyers, with “HAVE YOU SEEN THESE CHILDREN?” written in large letters above the brothers’ smiling school photographs.
It was the pictures themselves that made the posters so upsetting. While the word ‘missing’ reminded one that that person was no longer at school or at work or sitting at the dinner table with their family, Ruthie was haunted by the grins, smirks, and shy smiles that looked out at her from the paper. When she looked at those faces, she remembered that these were past events – this person, this parent, child, brother, aunt, might not be smiling like that anymore. Whenever these thoughts came over Ruthie, she could not help picturing those people with scared expressions. What must they be feeling now? Or were they not feeling at all?
Speaking of edits, since sending out my current draft of the novel to my friend, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I'm nervous. Really, really nervous. Because I know that he'll tell me whether it's good or not. And while I want that- ahhhh!
So anyway, enough of my rambling. Here's today WIP.
For two weeks, life went on as usual, which struck Ruthie as absurd. How could they all manage to forget what had begun just days before? How could they forget that every second, their lives were at risk?
She wondered, and yet she did it, too. She talked and laughed with Nora and Annie. She teased her brother. She complained about small things like homework and chores when people were making much greater sacrifices not so far away. And when she swore she saw Jimmy in the library and the soda shop and grocer’s, she told herself that it was just her imagination and looked in the other direction.
As much as everyone managed to return to their normal lives, however, there were reminders of the losses that had already been suffered all over the city. The buildings that had been hit were still in shambles. Ruthie overheard someone on the street say it could take months to clean up the wreckage, and that was only if no other buildings fell victim to the Germans. The air raid drills were constant and could happen at any moment. People were now using the underground as a make - shift shelter and sometimes, the people waiting down there had to sleep in the station overnight. Each time she walked home or to school or to the store or the cinema, Ruthie prayed that she would not have to run down to the tube station and take cover.
There were also the posters. Since the bombing, missing persons posters had gone up all over the city, tied to telephone poles and tree trunks, pinned to bulletin boards. Some had even been shoved through the Halperts’ mail slot so that when one of the family entered, they would see someone’s black and white photograph staring up at them from the floor. Ruthie always studied these blurry pictures closely. If she saw one of these people on the streets, she wanted to be able to recognize them. She did not know what she would do if this did happen one day – certainly shouting, “I found you!” or chasing after them would do no one any good. But this was a dilemma she had not yet faced. Though she tried to look at every face she passed, none of them matched those lost people in the pictures. She looked especially hard for Jimmy and Arthur Henderson. Her heart hurt every time she passed one of their flyers, with “HAVE YOU SEEN THESE CHILDREN?” written in large letters above the brothers’ smiling school photographs.
It was the pictures themselves that made the posters so upsetting. While the word ‘missing’ reminded one that that person was no longer at school or at work or sitting at the dinner table with their family, Ruthie was haunted by the grins, smirks, and shy smiles that looked out at her from the paper. When she looked at those faces, she remembered that these were past events – this person, this parent, child, brother, aunt, might not be smiling like that anymore. Whenever these thoughts came over Ruthie, she could not help picturing those people with scared expressions. What must they be feeling now? Or were they not feeling at all?
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
The End of the Road... Or Rather, Stopping At a Corner
As of 12 pm this afternoon, I finished editing my novel.
I couldn't believe it. It felt like the end of something.
Of course, as my entry title states, it's less the end of a road than reaching a corner and stopping for a bit of a rest. There is a LOT more left to do with this novel, and I'm equal parts scared and excited about it. I still love the story, and I guess that's a good thing.
As for statistics of what changed since draft one of Remembrance:
-1 more-minor major character was deleted, since she turned out to be not-so-major.
-2 minor characters were added.
-3 huge scene were deleted.
-5 more (about) were added.
-3,000 words (about) were deleted.
-10,000 words were added.
-What seemed like 1,000,000 small changes were made.
Hooray!
I sent it off to my friend for another round of editing. I'm terrified, mostly because he knows me very well and this novel is... not always what people think of me. We'll see.
I couldn't believe it. It felt like the end of something.
Of course, as my entry title states, it's less the end of a road than reaching a corner and stopping for a bit of a rest. There is a LOT more left to do with this novel, and I'm equal parts scared and excited about it. I still love the story, and I guess that's a good thing.
As for statistics of what changed since draft one of Remembrance:
-1 more-minor major character was deleted, since she turned out to be not-so-major.
-2 minor characters were added.
-3 huge scene were deleted.
-5 more (about) were added.
-3,000 words (about) were deleted.
-10,000 words were added.
-What seemed like 1,000,000 small changes were made.
Hooray!
I sent it off to my friend for another round of editing. I'm terrified, mostly because he knows me very well and this novel is... not always what people think of me. We'll see.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Doing What You Love
This has become sort of my motto for the past few years. A few of my friends are or hav been waffling on their majors at their respective schools and when I get questions from them like, "Should I stick with pre-law or change to music?" I always tell them to do what they love.
Of course, my advice probably isn't the best- I'm a priveleged twenty year old who, honestly, has still never dealt with the real world on her own for an extended period of time, who thought it would be a good idea to add a writing minor to her acting major. Stability is sooo overrated :p
But despite all of those facts, it's still what I heartily believe. I can't imagine going through life not doing something I love. How do people get through their day like that? I know the reality of my chosen profession(s) is that most likely, I'll have to do something else in order to do afford doing what I love, but still... can't I love those backup jobs, too? My mom and I were driving somewhere the other day and she said, "I think this summer has turned out pretty much the way you wanted it to, hasn't it?" And I had just been thinking that. I had applied for a pretty awesome job as a counselor at a professional theatre camp... and didn't get it. But then I got my job at the caverns which, while not related to acting, I still enjoy. And taking that job allowed me to audition for and accept the role of Portia, not to mention the role I just got last week at a different theatre. Sometimes things just work out- no, I'm not getting paid to act, but I am getting paid to tell stories and work on my projection and THEN get out early enough from said job to do what I really want to do. So this is a good thing.
Ha... this entry didn't have much to do with writing (except that I love writing also.) I will tell you, however, that I've jumped back into my novel revisions, and they are kicking my butt. In a good way- I'm getting a lot of stuff done on it. Previously, I've been too scared to go through the novel in order; I'd just tackle pieces that had been brought to my attention. But then I realised that, well, a novel is a complete story and only working on bits here and there would not really improve it overall. So I took a deep breath, scrolled up to page one, and started there. And actually, it's not as bad as I thought and it is helping me see things from an... in-order perspective :p I'm almost halfway through now and hopefully I'll be on time with sending it off for another editing spree by the end of the month.
Of course, my advice probably isn't the best- I'm a priveleged twenty year old who, honestly, has still never dealt with the real world on her own for an extended period of time, who thought it would be a good idea to add a writing minor to her acting major. Stability is sooo overrated :p
But despite all of those facts, it's still what I heartily believe. I can't imagine going through life not doing something I love. How do people get through their day like that? I know the reality of my chosen profession(s) is that most likely, I'll have to do something else in order to do afford doing what I love, but still... can't I love those backup jobs, too? My mom and I were driving somewhere the other day and she said, "I think this summer has turned out pretty much the way you wanted it to, hasn't it?" And I had just been thinking that. I had applied for a pretty awesome job as a counselor at a professional theatre camp... and didn't get it. But then I got my job at the caverns which, while not related to acting, I still enjoy. And taking that job allowed me to audition for and accept the role of Portia, not to mention the role I just got last week at a different theatre. Sometimes things just work out- no, I'm not getting paid to act, but I am getting paid to tell stories and work on my projection and THEN get out early enough from said job to do what I really want to do. So this is a good thing.
Ha... this entry didn't have much to do with writing (except that I love writing also.) I will tell you, however, that I've jumped back into my novel revisions, and they are kicking my butt. In a good way- I'm getting a lot of stuff done on it. Previously, I've been too scared to go through the novel in order; I'd just tackle pieces that had been brought to my attention. But then I realised that, well, a novel is a complete story and only working on bits here and there would not really improve it overall. So I took a deep breath, scrolled up to page one, and started there. And actually, it's not as bad as I thought and it is helping me see things from an... in-order perspective :p I'm almost halfway through now and hopefully I'll be on time with sending it off for another editing spree by the end of the month.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Taking a Step Back
I've written in previous entries how well my revision has been going, and I've gotten a lot more done since then- a few more new scenes, more conventional changes, more realistic dialogue rather than some of the "I-am-seriously-reaching-for-a-higher-wordcount-here" conversations.
But yesterday, I hit a rough patch. It wasn't a wall, or even really writer's block. But I felt like he entire novel was blurring before my eyes, not allowing me to see what needed to be changed or fixed anymore.
Another thing is that I'm still learning as a writer is how to throw things away. I hold on to what I've written so tightly that I'm often unwilling to cut it out or edit it too drastically. I've gotten much better with this novel, perhaps because I know how much work it needs and/or because I had an outside editor. In yesterday's case, I wanted to add a scene I had written a few weeks ago, that I had really begun to like- there was some logic in it that was missing from the novel thus far and I liked the ideas it exercised. When I first wrote it, I wasn't sure where to put it and so kept it in a separate document and worked on the rest of the novel. These past few writing days have been spent working on the suggestions given to me by my "editor", to the point where I went to go put that separately written scene in... and it didn't fit anymore. I was quite disappointed, but there doesn't seem to be a way to include the scene that I've grown to love. *sigh* Sometimes you have to kill your babies, as we used to say at school.
So since my novel was giving me some trouble, I gave a bit longer and then decided to take a step away from it for a bit. I didn't stop writing, though- I finally returned to my Peter Pan inspiration and wrote part of a scene as well as a partial scene breakdown. I am beginning to fall back in love with this idea, which I've missed working on since May. I really do love writing :)
But yesterday, I hit a rough patch. It wasn't a wall, or even really writer's block. But I felt like he entire novel was blurring before my eyes, not allowing me to see what needed to be changed or fixed anymore.
Another thing is that I'm still learning as a writer is how to throw things away. I hold on to what I've written so tightly that I'm often unwilling to cut it out or edit it too drastically. I've gotten much better with this novel, perhaps because I know how much work it needs and/or because I had an outside editor. In yesterday's case, I wanted to add a scene I had written a few weeks ago, that I had really begun to like- there was some logic in it that was missing from the novel thus far and I liked the ideas it exercised. When I first wrote it, I wasn't sure where to put it and so kept it in a separate document and worked on the rest of the novel. These past few writing days have been spent working on the suggestions given to me by my "editor", to the point where I went to go put that separately written scene in... and it didn't fit anymore. I was quite disappointed, but there doesn't seem to be a way to include the scene that I've grown to love. *sigh* Sometimes you have to kill your babies, as we used to say at school.
So since my novel was giving me some trouble, I gave a bit longer and then decided to take a step away from it for a bit. I didn't stop writing, though- I finally returned to my Peter Pan inspiration and wrote part of a scene as well as a partial scene breakdown. I am beginning to fall back in love with this idea, which I've missed working on since May. I really do love writing :)
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Clicking
Things have really been clicking for me with my novel revisions. This past week, I had two completely free days- no work, no rehearsal, no voice lessons, nothing. And while I love those things (well, mostly the latter two, LOL), it was wonderful to have two summery days. I decided to use those days to really dig into my novel revisions. First, though, I finished reading my friends' novel- read and edited abuot 150 pages in twelve hours- and I think that got me into the mode, because as soon as I started on my own revisions, things just started to work.
I had already made notations from my "editor" in my document, but she had enclosed a letter with the edits that covered some bigger plot points that needed to be looked at. So I wrote these down on a list and as I started to apply them, rather than being frustrated by them, as I had been previously, they made sense. Of COURSE she would have that extra interview... and I really liked the scene that came out of it. And I'd always thought the girls needed to meet up again... out of that came a scene that was sadder than I wanted, but also showed the way some friendships just go after a shocking event.
I used my time wisely- I spent most of both days writing and got a lot done. I feel accomplished. I'm still feeling revision-y and have been trying to write as much as possible. My free time, however, it diminishing- today I had rehearsal and went right to an audition from there, and tomorrow I have work and then go right to voice lessons, and Merchant tech is coming up (eep!) Thankfully though, I have a couple of free days this week that I plan to utilise well.
I think I've also been more successful because I'm feeling a lot of support in my corner, from my friends, my parents, and my teachers. And that really does help.
I had already made notations from my "editor" in my document, but she had enclosed a letter with the edits that covered some bigger plot points that needed to be looked at. So I wrote these down on a list and as I started to apply them, rather than being frustrated by them, as I had been previously, they made sense. Of COURSE she would have that extra interview... and I really liked the scene that came out of it. And I'd always thought the girls needed to meet up again... out of that came a scene that was sadder than I wanted, but also showed the way some friendships just go after a shocking event.
I used my time wisely- I spent most of both days writing and got a lot done. I feel accomplished. I'm still feeling revision-y and have been trying to write as much as possible. My free time, however, it diminishing- today I had rehearsal and went right to an audition from there, and tomorrow I have work and then go right to voice lessons, and Merchant tech is coming up (eep!) Thankfully though, I have a couple of free days this week that I plan to utilise well.
I think I've also been more successful because I'm feeling a lot of support in my corner, from my friends, my parents, and my teachers. And that really does help.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
WIP Wednesday
So today I took some time to do some true summer chilling- I watched three movies (Bend it Like Beckham, The Lizzie McGuire Movie [hey, stop laughing! It's cute!], and Dead Again), the last of which just blew me away. I love Emma Thompson and Kenneth Branagh.
I also got a ton of novel work done. Not only did I read about 130 pages of (and therefore finish reading) my friend's novel, but I also edited it as I went along and sent it off to him. It was really cool to see his growth, since the first time I read parts of this novel was years ago.
For my own novel, I did a plot storyboard kind of thing- I'm hoping this will help me see where holes are and where things can be expanded. I thought I would have maybe enough cards to fill my medium-sized bulletin board in my room. What I ended up with was 26 notecards with two or three (sometimes five) bigger plot points on them. This made me happy. I also wrote a good amount of new scenes, as well as making many conventional changes.
So anyway, enough chatter. Have some more Remembrance. This takes place while Ruthie and one of her best friends, Annie, are looking for their other friend, Nora, in London.
She left the shop and rushed over to Annie. “It sounds like the man in there saw her.” She told Annie all of the details she had just learned and Annie looked confused.
“But… why would Nora have gone with the woman?”
“I know, I can’t figure that out either. If Nora was taken by the woman, she would have fought back, I know it.” Ruthie shook her head. “But that’s the only thing that doesn’t match up. We need to try and figure out who the woman is. There’s a chance she might still be with her.”
This was a fine plan, but without the woman’s name, the girls had no place to start looking. With nothing to go on, Ruthie and Annie wandered the city all day, asking this person or that person if they had seen an older woman and a teenage girl walking together on the day Nora had disappeared. Their questions turned up nothing, and the girls tried to make their way back to the place they had started from. Within ten minutes, they were completely lost. They were standing on the corner, discussing their options, when they heard a sneering voice behind them.
“Well, well. Wot do have ‘ere?”
Both girls spun around the see a group of kids making their way toward them. They all looked to be between the ages of eleven and seventeen, wearing old, dirty clothes and smug expressions. One girl, close to Ruthie and Annie’s age, stepped forward.
“Look at the little schoolgirls, with their sweet little skirts and white blouses. Come slumming, schoolgirls?”
Ruthie willed her mind to unfreeze so she could think of what to do. While the kids didn’t look particularly threatening, she and Annie were outnumbered three to one. She decided a passive approach would be best. “Hello,” she ventured, offering a nervous smile that was not returned. The kids surrounded the girls, their eyes narrowed.
“This is our corner of the city,” a small boy proclaimed. Though he was shorter than Ruthie by a head and was all skin and bones, Ruthie was quite sure that if she crossed him, she’d be sorry.
“We didn’t mean to intrude,” Annie said, her voice very small. “We’re just lost -”
“Aww,” a girl with braided hair jeered. “They’re lost. Poor little girls.” She looked at the oldest boy in the group. “Do we help lost little girls, Sidney?”
“I dunno, Kit,” the boy said, matching her tone. “I suppose we do, in our way, don’t we?”
Another girl, about thirteen with pale hair, grinned delightedly. “Yeah! How nice of us to lighten their pockets for them. We’re regular Robin Hoods.”
Through all of this, the kids had been circling Ruthie and Annie, making sure they couldn’t get away easily. Now, they moved in a little closer until one of the older girls was only a foot or two away from Ruthie. “So just what are you doin’ in our territory, schoolgirl?”
Ruthie, too, stepped closer. “We need some information. We thought you might be able to help us.”
“And why,” the girl asked, “Would I want to help you?”
Ruthie could not think of a reason why the girl should aid them, but she had a feeling that these kids might know something. Then she got an idea. She dug around in her pocket for the money she had left over from her ticket – not much, but it might work.
She held out the coins. She could see that the older boy was tempted, but he didn’t reach for it right away.
“What d’you want?” he asked.
“We just have a few questions,” Ruthie said, still offering the money.
The boy looked suspicious, as though wondering if the girls were mocking him. “Like what?”
“We’re trying to find our friend,” said Annie. “She’s missing, and we thought you might have seen her.”
“She a little rich girl like you?” the plaited girl asked snidely.
“She’s our friend,” Ruthie snapped. “Either you let us ask our questions, or we take our money and go.” She didn’t think it would be wise to mention that she and Annie had nowhere to go.
The older boy eyed the coins in Ruthie’s palm a second longer, then snatched them and tucked them in his pocket. “All right, rich girl. Ask away.”
Ruthie and Annie quickly explained how Nora had gone missing.
“After we got out of the cellar, we found each other,” Ruthie finished, “But we couldn’t find Nora anywhere. We looked for hours, but there was no sign of her. Then a shopkeeper saw Nora with an old woman soon after she disappeared.”
“They put out a description on the radio,” Annie added. “Have you heard it?”
Kit looked at her scornfully. “An’ just how would we have done that? The Blitzers don’t got a radio, do we?”
“Blitzers?” Annie repeated.
“That’s us, half-wit.”
“All right,” Ruthie said quickly. “We can just tell you what she looks like.” She described Nora and all of the kids shook their heads. Her heart sank to her feet.
I also got a ton of novel work done. Not only did I read about 130 pages of (and therefore finish reading) my friend's novel, but I also edited it as I went along and sent it off to him. It was really cool to see his growth, since the first time I read parts of this novel was years ago.
For my own novel, I did a plot storyboard kind of thing- I'm hoping this will help me see where holes are and where things can be expanded. I thought I would have maybe enough cards to fill my medium-sized bulletin board in my room. What I ended up with was 26 notecards with two or three (sometimes five) bigger plot points on them. This made me happy. I also wrote a good amount of new scenes, as well as making many conventional changes.
So anyway, enough chatter. Have some more Remembrance. This takes place while Ruthie and one of her best friends, Annie, are looking for their other friend, Nora, in London.
She left the shop and rushed over to Annie. “It sounds like the man in there saw her.” She told Annie all of the details she had just learned and Annie looked confused.
“But… why would Nora have gone with the woman?”
“I know, I can’t figure that out either. If Nora was taken by the woman, she would have fought back, I know it.” Ruthie shook her head. “But that’s the only thing that doesn’t match up. We need to try and figure out who the woman is. There’s a chance she might still be with her.”
This was a fine plan, but without the woman’s name, the girls had no place to start looking. With nothing to go on, Ruthie and Annie wandered the city all day, asking this person or that person if they had seen an older woman and a teenage girl walking together on the day Nora had disappeared. Their questions turned up nothing, and the girls tried to make their way back to the place they had started from. Within ten minutes, they were completely lost. They were standing on the corner, discussing their options, when they heard a sneering voice behind them.
“Well, well. Wot do have ‘ere?”
Both girls spun around the see a group of kids making their way toward them. They all looked to be between the ages of eleven and seventeen, wearing old, dirty clothes and smug expressions. One girl, close to Ruthie and Annie’s age, stepped forward.
“Look at the little schoolgirls, with their sweet little skirts and white blouses. Come slumming, schoolgirls?”
Ruthie willed her mind to unfreeze so she could think of what to do. While the kids didn’t look particularly threatening, she and Annie were outnumbered three to one. She decided a passive approach would be best. “Hello,” she ventured, offering a nervous smile that was not returned. The kids surrounded the girls, their eyes narrowed.
“This is our corner of the city,” a small boy proclaimed. Though he was shorter than Ruthie by a head and was all skin and bones, Ruthie was quite sure that if she crossed him, she’d be sorry.
“We didn’t mean to intrude,” Annie said, her voice very small. “We’re just lost -”
“Aww,” a girl with braided hair jeered. “They’re lost. Poor little girls.” She looked at the oldest boy in the group. “Do we help lost little girls, Sidney?”
“I dunno, Kit,” the boy said, matching her tone. “I suppose we do, in our way, don’t we?”
Another girl, about thirteen with pale hair, grinned delightedly. “Yeah! How nice of us to lighten their pockets for them. We’re regular Robin Hoods.”
Through all of this, the kids had been circling Ruthie and Annie, making sure they couldn’t get away easily. Now, they moved in a little closer until one of the older girls was only a foot or two away from Ruthie. “So just what are you doin’ in our territory, schoolgirl?”
Ruthie, too, stepped closer. “We need some information. We thought you might be able to help us.”
“And why,” the girl asked, “Would I want to help you?”
Ruthie could not think of a reason why the girl should aid them, but she had a feeling that these kids might know something. Then she got an idea. She dug around in her pocket for the money she had left over from her ticket – not much, but it might work.
She held out the coins. She could see that the older boy was tempted, but he didn’t reach for it right away.
“What d’you want?” he asked.
“We just have a few questions,” Ruthie said, still offering the money.
The boy looked suspicious, as though wondering if the girls were mocking him. “Like what?”
“We’re trying to find our friend,” said Annie. “She’s missing, and we thought you might have seen her.”
“She a little rich girl like you?” the plaited girl asked snidely.
“She’s our friend,” Ruthie snapped. “Either you let us ask our questions, or we take our money and go.” She didn’t think it would be wise to mention that she and Annie had nowhere to go.
The older boy eyed the coins in Ruthie’s palm a second longer, then snatched them and tucked them in his pocket. “All right, rich girl. Ask away.”
Ruthie and Annie quickly explained how Nora had gone missing.
“After we got out of the cellar, we found each other,” Ruthie finished, “But we couldn’t find Nora anywhere. We looked for hours, but there was no sign of her. Then a shopkeeper saw Nora with an old woman soon after she disappeared.”
“They put out a description on the radio,” Annie added. “Have you heard it?”
Kit looked at her scornfully. “An’ just how would we have done that? The Blitzers don’t got a radio, do we?”
“Blitzers?” Annie repeated.
“That’s us, half-wit.”
“All right,” Ruthie said quickly. “We can just tell you what she looks like.” She described Nora and all of the kids shook their heads. Her heart sank to her feet.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
WIP Wednesday
Some more Remembrance for you!
Fifteen minutes later, Ruthie and Annie stood alone in front of the cinema. A quick check inside told them that Nora was most definitely not there.
“Maybe she went home,” Annie proposed. “She might have thought we left and did the same.”
“Yes, you could be right,” Ruthie said, even though she didn’t believe it. Nora would not have left if she didn’t know her friends were safe. Where could she be?
Annie was keeping a remarkably cool head, given the situation. “Why don’t we go to her house and check? Then we can make sure she’s not waiting at one of our houses.”
Ruthie agreed and they set off. The cinema was not far from Annie and Nora’s street and soon they were knocking on the Savidge’s front door. Nora’s mother answered, opening the door to let the girls step into the foyer.
“Ruthie, Annie, what a nice surprise. Nora’s not here, I’m afraid. Wasn’t she meeting you two at the pictures?”
Ruthie’s heart sank at Mrs. Savidge’s light tone. Obviously she didn’t know what was going on – how could she?
“Are you girls all right? You look worried. Your families are all right aren’t they?”
They rushed to assure her that their families were well, but then both hesitated. Finally, Annie spoke up. “So… Nora hasn’t come back here during the last hour?”
Mrs. Savidge looked between her daughter’s friends. “No, she said the film wouldn’t be over until about half past five and that you girls might get a fizzy drink afterwards.” She saw the girls exchange glances. “Why? Did she leave the cinema and not come back?”
“No,” Ruthie said. “We had an air raid drill in the middle of the film and we all got separated. When we came up from the basement, we couldn’t find Nora.”
Mrs. Savidge had begun to look panicked. “Philip?” she called behind her. “Philip!”
Nora’s fourteen year old brother appeared at the top of the stairs. “What’s wrong, Mum?”
“Have you seen your sister since this morning?” Her voice was begging her son to say yes.
But Philip shook his head. “Sorry, Mum. I haven’t seen her since I left for practice this morning.”
“Oh, God…” Mrs. Savidge cried. “Where could she be?”
Ruthie tried to reassure her. “We haven’t checked our houses yet – she could still be at one of ours. We’ll ring you as soon as we know. Promise.”
Five minutes later, Ruthie hurried up the steps to her own house. “Nora!” she shouted as soon as she got in the door.
Her mother poked her head out of the front room. “Ruthie! Why are you shouting in the house?”
“I’m looking for Nora. Is she here? Please tell me she’s here,” Ruthie said without stopping for a breath, looking around and hoping that her friend would appear.
“No, she’s not here. What is the matter?” Mrs. Halpert now came fully out into the foyer, looking concerned.
“We had – there was an air raid drill at the cinema and we couldn’t find Nora afterwards. I have to call Annie. No, I have to call Mrs. Savidge. Phone – where is the phone?”
“It hasn’t moved from the kitchen, Ruthie. Now, sit down and calmly tell me -”
But Ruthie wasn’t feeling calm at all and she certainly was not going to sit down. She dashed to the phone in the kitchen and snatched up the receiver. For a second, she could not remember the Savidge’s number and her fingers fluttered nervously over the dial. Finally, she recalled it and spun it in. With each whir of the disk, she whispered, “Please... please… please…”
Mrs. Savidge picked up before the first ring had finished. “Ruthie?”
“It’s me, Mrs. Savidge. Have you heard from Annie?”
“Yes.” The woman’s voice grew tighter. “Nora wasn’t there. Is she – is she at your house?”
She didn’t want to say it. Her word was the final one and she didn’t want to give it. But she had to. “No, Mrs. Savidge,” she said, her heart heavy. “She’s not here.”
Nora’s mother let out a little moan on the other end of the line. “Where could she be?”
“Is there anywhere she might have gone?” Ruthie asked. “Could she have forgotten something at school yesterday and gone back to get it?”
“I don’t – I don’t think she did,” Mrs. Savidge said, and Ruthie could tell she was on the verge of tears “I – I have to go now, Ruthie. Thank you for your help.” She hurriedly hung up the phone.
Ruthie stood in the kitchen with the receiver pressed to her ear for a full minute after Mrs. Savidge had hung up, as if she were hoping she could change what she had just said. Only when Mrs. Halpert entered the room and gently took the receiver from her daughter’s hand did Ruthie sit down in one of the chairs at the table.
Mrs. Halpert pulled out the chair next to it and sat down as well. “Ruthie, what’s going on? Tell me.”
It took a moment for Ruthie to find her words. “Nora is… she’s missing.”
Mrs. Halpert was silent as she took this in. Then she said, “Are you sure?” Ruthie gestured toward the telephone, indicating that was what the call had been about.
“Oh, Ruthie,” Mrs. Halpert said, and stood from her chair to embrace her daughter. But Ruthie stood up, too, fending her off.
“I need to find her.”
“Ruthie…” her mother warned.
“No, I have to,” Ruthie said, pacing around in tight circles. “This is not just any missing person, Mum, this is Nora. How can you not understand that?”
“I do understand it, Ruthie, believe me, I do. But I will not having you putting yourself in danger to find her. If Nora has been taken by someone, do you think they will spare you if you get in their way? They won’t, and I will not allow you to put yourself in that situation.”
“Mum -”
“No! And if you try to do anything of the sort, I will make sure you can’t. Your father or I will escort you to school and back and you will not be allowed out of the house. Do you understand me? I am completely serious.” Ruthie was silent. “Ruth Ann, answer me!”
She did not answer her. Instead, she turned on her heel and ran upstairs to her room, slamming the door behind her in frustration. It was not her mother she was angry with, really – she knew that she had a reason for telling her what she had. She was not even frustrated with herself, for if she could search this very instant, she would. It was aggravation with the situation that was making her feel like this – trapped, desperate, short of breath. The trouble was that there was nothing she could do. She had no idea where to go or what to do even if she were allowed to search. She didn’t know if Nora was close or far away – by now, it could be either one. Had she been taken in by someone kind enough to help a girl alone, or was she even now fighting for her life? It was driving her mad not to know what was happening. She wished it were her instead of Nora that had been taken – then, at least she would know what was going on.
Fifteen minutes later, Ruthie and Annie stood alone in front of the cinema. A quick check inside told them that Nora was most definitely not there.
“Maybe she went home,” Annie proposed. “She might have thought we left and did the same.”
“Yes, you could be right,” Ruthie said, even though she didn’t believe it. Nora would not have left if she didn’t know her friends were safe. Where could she be?
Annie was keeping a remarkably cool head, given the situation. “Why don’t we go to her house and check? Then we can make sure she’s not waiting at one of our houses.”
Ruthie agreed and they set off. The cinema was not far from Annie and Nora’s street and soon they were knocking on the Savidge’s front door. Nora’s mother answered, opening the door to let the girls step into the foyer.
“Ruthie, Annie, what a nice surprise. Nora’s not here, I’m afraid. Wasn’t she meeting you two at the pictures?”
Ruthie’s heart sank at Mrs. Savidge’s light tone. Obviously she didn’t know what was going on – how could she?
“Are you girls all right? You look worried. Your families are all right aren’t they?”
They rushed to assure her that their families were well, but then both hesitated. Finally, Annie spoke up. “So… Nora hasn’t come back here during the last hour?”
Mrs. Savidge looked between her daughter’s friends. “No, she said the film wouldn’t be over until about half past five and that you girls might get a fizzy drink afterwards.” She saw the girls exchange glances. “Why? Did she leave the cinema and not come back?”
“No,” Ruthie said. “We had an air raid drill in the middle of the film and we all got separated. When we came up from the basement, we couldn’t find Nora.”
Mrs. Savidge had begun to look panicked. “Philip?” she called behind her. “Philip!”
Nora’s fourteen year old brother appeared at the top of the stairs. “What’s wrong, Mum?”
“Have you seen your sister since this morning?” Her voice was begging her son to say yes.
But Philip shook his head. “Sorry, Mum. I haven’t seen her since I left for practice this morning.”
“Oh, God…” Mrs. Savidge cried. “Where could she be?”
Ruthie tried to reassure her. “We haven’t checked our houses yet – she could still be at one of ours. We’ll ring you as soon as we know. Promise.”
Five minutes later, Ruthie hurried up the steps to her own house. “Nora!” she shouted as soon as she got in the door.
Her mother poked her head out of the front room. “Ruthie! Why are you shouting in the house?”
“I’m looking for Nora. Is she here? Please tell me she’s here,” Ruthie said without stopping for a breath, looking around and hoping that her friend would appear.
“No, she’s not here. What is the matter?” Mrs. Halpert now came fully out into the foyer, looking concerned.
“We had – there was an air raid drill at the cinema and we couldn’t find Nora afterwards. I have to call Annie. No, I have to call Mrs. Savidge. Phone – where is the phone?”
“It hasn’t moved from the kitchen, Ruthie. Now, sit down and calmly tell me -”
But Ruthie wasn’t feeling calm at all and she certainly was not going to sit down. She dashed to the phone in the kitchen and snatched up the receiver. For a second, she could not remember the Savidge’s number and her fingers fluttered nervously over the dial. Finally, she recalled it and spun it in. With each whir of the disk, she whispered, “Please... please… please…”
Mrs. Savidge picked up before the first ring had finished. “Ruthie?”
“It’s me, Mrs. Savidge. Have you heard from Annie?”
“Yes.” The woman’s voice grew tighter. “Nora wasn’t there. Is she – is she at your house?”
She didn’t want to say it. Her word was the final one and she didn’t want to give it. But she had to. “No, Mrs. Savidge,” she said, her heart heavy. “She’s not here.”
Nora’s mother let out a little moan on the other end of the line. “Where could she be?”
“Is there anywhere she might have gone?” Ruthie asked. “Could she have forgotten something at school yesterday and gone back to get it?”
“I don’t – I don’t think she did,” Mrs. Savidge said, and Ruthie could tell she was on the verge of tears “I – I have to go now, Ruthie. Thank you for your help.” She hurriedly hung up the phone.
Ruthie stood in the kitchen with the receiver pressed to her ear for a full minute after Mrs. Savidge had hung up, as if she were hoping she could change what she had just said. Only when Mrs. Halpert entered the room and gently took the receiver from her daughter’s hand did Ruthie sit down in one of the chairs at the table.
Mrs. Halpert pulled out the chair next to it and sat down as well. “Ruthie, what’s going on? Tell me.”
It took a moment for Ruthie to find her words. “Nora is… she’s missing.”
Mrs. Halpert was silent as she took this in. Then she said, “Are you sure?” Ruthie gestured toward the telephone, indicating that was what the call had been about.
“Oh, Ruthie,” Mrs. Halpert said, and stood from her chair to embrace her daughter. But Ruthie stood up, too, fending her off.
“I need to find her.”
“Ruthie…” her mother warned.
“No, I have to,” Ruthie said, pacing around in tight circles. “This is not just any missing person, Mum, this is Nora. How can you not understand that?”
“I do understand it, Ruthie, believe me, I do. But I will not having you putting yourself in danger to find her. If Nora has been taken by someone, do you think they will spare you if you get in their way? They won’t, and I will not allow you to put yourself in that situation.”
“Mum -”
“No! And if you try to do anything of the sort, I will make sure you can’t. Your father or I will escort you to school and back and you will not be allowed out of the house. Do you understand me? I am completely serious.” Ruthie was silent. “Ruth Ann, answer me!”
She did not answer her. Instead, she turned on her heel and ran upstairs to her room, slamming the door behind her in frustration. It was not her mother she was angry with, really – she knew that she had a reason for telling her what she had. She was not even frustrated with herself, for if she could search this very instant, she would. It was aggravation with the situation that was making her feel like this – trapped, desperate, short of breath. The trouble was that there was nothing she could do. She had no idea where to go or what to do even if she were allowed to search. She didn’t know if Nora was close or far away – by now, it could be either one. Had she been taken in by someone kind enough to help a girl alone, or was she even now fighting for her life? It was driving her mad not to know what was happening. She wished it were her instead of Nora that had been taken – then, at least she would know what was going on.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
The Downside of NaNoWriMo
I love NaNoWriMo- it's something I really want to keep doing for as many years as I possibly can because it does the wonderful job of forcing me to write. I'm one of those people who stresses over whether others will like what I'm composing, and whether or not I actually plan to show to someone or not, I cut and paste to make it what I deem "presentable."
But there is a downside to this awesome program and that is this: WORD COUNT.
The 50,000 word minimum requirement to win is a great goal, because that's a LOT of words to string together in a month. But the thing is, what you need to win is just 50,000 words- not 50,000 good words or even 50,000 coherant words. Just that many words and... CONGRATS! You could literally write "I am not actually writing a story here" and paste that into a document until it reached that magical number and you'd get that "WOW!" e-mail.
Now, most- and probably all- of the writers who participate in NaNoWriMo do not do this, since those who do the pasting thing wouldn't really try a thing like NaNo. But my point is that it's all about the word count. It doesn't matter if you write the best short story that's ever been seen- if it's not 50,000 words, you can't say you've (officially) won NaNo.
It bothers me because now, when I work on my novel, it's still partially about word count to me, and it shouldn't be anymore. That was one benefit of the amount of by-hand writing I did during NaNo; when I did that, I was merely creating, having no word counter on the bottom left of my screen to track my progress.
So as I work on my novel edits, I find myself glancing down at the number down in the corner each time I add or subtract a word. I want to get out of the mindset that 50,000+ equals success and less equals failure. I want quality not quantity... but try telling that to my subconcious and my drifting eyes!
As of now, my edited novel is 49, 190 words (I deleted a ton from my "final" November draft- more than 1,500 of that is a scene that I wrote recently). That's not even really a novel... it's a novella. But it's getting better in quality than those 50,223 words I ended with. One day, I hope that will mean more to me than hitting a certain number of words.
IN OTHER NEWS... I am filled with glee over the fact that my paycheques actually include well over $100 and that I get them on a regular basis (humor me... I am an actor. And the one "real" [though technically still "acting"] job that I've had paid me $40 a day even if I worked 12 hours.) With some of these funds, I am aiming to buy a writing program for my computer. I really like Scrivener, which I could have gotten for free from NaNoWriMo... but I am a PC person, so no go. I've been looking at a few, but I'd like your suggestions. What writing program do you use/dream about using? It can't be too, too expensive (I'd set my limit at $50), since I could find out after I buy it that I'm not a writing program person, but I would like something of quality. Leave suggestions in the comments, please!
But there is a downside to this awesome program and that is this: WORD COUNT.
The 50,000 word minimum requirement to win is a great goal, because that's a LOT of words to string together in a month. But the thing is, what you need to win is just 50,000 words- not 50,000 good words or even 50,000 coherant words. Just that many words and... CONGRATS! You could literally write "I am not actually writing a story here" and paste that into a document until it reached that magical number and you'd get that "WOW!" e-mail.
Now, most- and probably all- of the writers who participate in NaNoWriMo do not do this, since those who do the pasting thing wouldn't really try a thing like NaNo. But my point is that it's all about the word count. It doesn't matter if you write the best short story that's ever been seen- if it's not 50,000 words, you can't say you've (officially) won NaNo.
It bothers me because now, when I work on my novel, it's still partially about word count to me, and it shouldn't be anymore. That was one benefit of the amount of by-hand writing I did during NaNo; when I did that, I was merely creating, having no word counter on the bottom left of my screen to track my progress.
So as I work on my novel edits, I find myself glancing down at the number down in the corner each time I add or subtract a word. I want to get out of the mindset that 50,000+ equals success and less equals failure. I want quality not quantity... but try telling that to my subconcious and my drifting eyes!
As of now, my edited novel is 49, 190 words (I deleted a ton from my "final" November draft- more than 1,500 of that is a scene that I wrote recently). That's not even really a novel... it's a novella. But it's getting better in quality than those 50,223 words I ended with. One day, I hope that will mean more to me than hitting a certain number of words.
IN OTHER NEWS... I am filled with glee over the fact that my paycheques actually include well over $100 and that I get them on a regular basis (humor me... I am an actor. And the one "real" [though technically still "acting"] job that I've had paid me $40 a day even if I worked 12 hours.) With some of these funds, I am aiming to buy a writing program for my computer. I really like Scrivener, which I could have gotten for free from NaNoWriMo... but I am a PC person, so no go. I've been looking at a few, but I'd like your suggestions. What writing program do you use/dream about using? It can't be too, too expensive (I'd set my limit at $50), since I could find out after I buy it that I'm not a writing program person, but I would like something of quality. Leave suggestions in the comments, please!
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
WIP Wednesday
That whoosh you just heard? That was my sigh of relief.
I got home from work and the gym around three o'clock yesterday and I was determined that I was going to sit down and work on my novel revisions. I was quite frustrated because I was itching to work on it, but a mixture of fear and writer's block (or perhaps fear-induced writer's block) was only allowing me to open the document and stare at the screen blankly. I proceeded to do this for about four hours until suddenly, something in my mind cleared.
I guess a big part of the problem was that I wanted to make BIG changes RIGHT THEN to the novel. And while I did start planning out what some of those big changes might be, I started out much smaller- fixing a word here, tweaking a delivery there. Getting back in touch with the characters I haven't written about since November.
After working at these small adjustments, finally som of the larger peices started to fall into place. My novel needs to be expanded in the worst way; I'm only realising now how much I only have the skeleton of the story. This is both good and bad, for reasons I think I'll save for another blog. For now, here's the first small snippet of my NaNo novel, Remembrance. This is one of the parts I've not touched yet; I have a post it in the margins that reads "MORE, MORE, MORE!" so I hope to soon be expanding on the points that are briefly mentioned.
For a bit of background, my main character Ruthie has gone into a house owned by a possibly crazy couple because she got a clue that her friend Nora was being kept there with a bunch of other kids. This turns out to be true and at this moment, Nora is acquainting Ruthie with the inner workings of the house.
Nora led Ruthie down a make – shift cinderblock hallway and to a doorless threshold. The room inside was small but not cramped, painted a soft yellow and trimmed with flowered wallpaper. Nora’s hairbrush and a wash basin sat on the small night table. Slippers were tucked neatly under the bed and a quilt lay across the end. The sight of these touches made Ruthie stop short in the doorway.
“Are you all right?” Nora asked, rushing to her side. “Ruthie? What’s the matter?”
Ruthie could just shake her head, leaning against the cold stone of the entrance.
“Ruthie, talk to me. Are you dizzy? Do you feel like you’re going to faint? Here, sit down.” Nora grabbed her arm and tried to pull her to the small ottoman in the corner. But Ruthie couldn’t move. Or, more accurately, she wouldn’t move. Seeing those homey things, those little Nora touches, showed her something she had not expected, something terrifying. She swallowed, trying to calm herself down.
“Nora,” she said slowly, dreading the answer. “When did you give up hope?”
“What?” her friend looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
“This room … it’s like you actually live here.”
“Well … I do. I mean, I sleep here, but – what do you mean?”
“You’ve settled here, Nora, do you realise that? When did you begin to think you might never go home again?” She hadn’t realised it when it was happening, but her volume had risen considerably.
Nora took her hand off of Ruthie’s arm like she had been burned. “Ruthie, you’re scaring me. I know waking up in that room like that was not fun, but you came here voluntarily – to help the rest of us who weren’t so lucky. What are you worried about? They take good care of us here. And if things go as you say, we could be leaving soon.”
Ruthie could have stomped her foot. “It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s you! You talk about Gloria like she’s a nutcase, but looking at this place, you may not be far behind. When did you start referring in your head to this room as ‘my room’?”
“Stop it!” Nora spat. Her concerned look had been replaced by a glare. “You don’t know what you’re talking about at all. You have no idea how things work here. You came here by choice – Danny and Suzanne told you what to expect. You have no clue what it’s like to find yourself trapped down here, realising too late that you were too stupid or naïve to save yourself or even suspect what was going on. You think we don’t try to get out of here every day? Sure, the Gradys feed us and clothe us, but we don’t leave this basement. I haven’t seen sunlight since the day we went to the cinema. I have three dresses. We’re all miserable down here, except for Gloria. We all want to get out, but we’ve tried everything. And after weeks of trying every single thing you can think of, you start to wonder if you’ll ever find a way. So I haven’t given up hope, Ruthie, but I’ve started to be realistic. This place is like an interminable prison, and unless you really can get all of us out of here, we just might be stuck down here for who knows how long. I’d love to hear any plan you have after being here for half an hour. Because when you’re here for weeks with no escape possibility in sight, you can’t help but start to think that you might never get out. It’s not like we want to believe it, but when it comes down to it, should we spend all our time crying about not being home? Or should we face the reality and realise that this could very well be it and try to make the best of it?”
Despite Nora’s speech, Ruthie was still dumbfounded. “So you’re just going to forget your parents and everything else and become Nora Grady, just like Gloria?”
“Stop it!” Nora said again, and now she was shouting. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” She looked like she wanted to throw Ruthie out of the room and slam the door in her face, but that was not an option. Instead, she turned her back on Ruthie and busied herself rifling through her nightstand drawer. Ruthie was still frustrated by Nora’s ridiculous standpoint, but at the same time, she realised that she also didn’t have anyone else.
“Nora?” she ventured.
“Just go away,” came the hard reply.
I got home from work and the gym around three o'clock yesterday and I was determined that I was going to sit down and work on my novel revisions. I was quite frustrated because I was itching to work on it, but a mixture of fear and writer's block (or perhaps fear-induced writer's block) was only allowing me to open the document and stare at the screen blankly. I proceeded to do this for about four hours until suddenly, something in my mind cleared.
I guess a big part of the problem was that I wanted to make BIG changes RIGHT THEN to the novel. And while I did start planning out what some of those big changes might be, I started out much smaller- fixing a word here, tweaking a delivery there. Getting back in touch with the characters I haven't written about since November.
After working at these small adjustments, finally som of the larger peices started to fall into place. My novel needs to be expanded in the worst way; I'm only realising now how much I only have the skeleton of the story. This is both good and bad, for reasons I think I'll save for another blog. For now, here's the first small snippet of my NaNo novel, Remembrance. This is one of the parts I've not touched yet; I have a post it in the margins that reads "MORE, MORE, MORE!" so I hope to soon be expanding on the points that are briefly mentioned.
For a bit of background, my main character Ruthie has gone into a house owned by a possibly crazy couple because she got a clue that her friend Nora was being kept there with a bunch of other kids. This turns out to be true and at this moment, Nora is acquainting Ruthie with the inner workings of the house.
Nora led Ruthie down a make – shift cinderblock hallway and to a doorless threshold. The room inside was small but not cramped, painted a soft yellow and trimmed with flowered wallpaper. Nora’s hairbrush and a wash basin sat on the small night table. Slippers were tucked neatly under the bed and a quilt lay across the end. The sight of these touches made Ruthie stop short in the doorway.
“Are you all right?” Nora asked, rushing to her side. “Ruthie? What’s the matter?”
Ruthie could just shake her head, leaning against the cold stone of the entrance.
“Ruthie, talk to me. Are you dizzy? Do you feel like you’re going to faint? Here, sit down.” Nora grabbed her arm and tried to pull her to the small ottoman in the corner. But Ruthie couldn’t move. Or, more accurately, she wouldn’t move. Seeing those homey things, those little Nora touches, showed her something she had not expected, something terrifying. She swallowed, trying to calm herself down.
“Nora,” she said slowly, dreading the answer. “When did you give up hope?”
“What?” her friend looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
“This room … it’s like you actually live here.”
“Well … I do. I mean, I sleep here, but – what do you mean?”
“You’ve settled here, Nora, do you realise that? When did you begin to think you might never go home again?” She hadn’t realised it when it was happening, but her volume had risen considerably.
Nora took her hand off of Ruthie’s arm like she had been burned. “Ruthie, you’re scaring me. I know waking up in that room like that was not fun, but you came here voluntarily – to help the rest of us who weren’t so lucky. What are you worried about? They take good care of us here. And if things go as you say, we could be leaving soon.”
Ruthie could have stomped her foot. “It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s you! You talk about Gloria like she’s a nutcase, but looking at this place, you may not be far behind. When did you start referring in your head to this room as ‘my room’?”
“Stop it!” Nora spat. Her concerned look had been replaced by a glare. “You don’t know what you’re talking about at all. You have no idea how things work here. You came here by choice – Danny and Suzanne told you what to expect. You have no clue what it’s like to find yourself trapped down here, realising too late that you were too stupid or naïve to save yourself or even suspect what was going on. You think we don’t try to get out of here every day? Sure, the Gradys feed us and clothe us, but we don’t leave this basement. I haven’t seen sunlight since the day we went to the cinema. I have three dresses. We’re all miserable down here, except for Gloria. We all want to get out, but we’ve tried everything. And after weeks of trying every single thing you can think of, you start to wonder if you’ll ever find a way. So I haven’t given up hope, Ruthie, but I’ve started to be realistic. This place is like an interminable prison, and unless you really can get all of us out of here, we just might be stuck down here for who knows how long. I’d love to hear any plan you have after being here for half an hour. Because when you’re here for weeks with no escape possibility in sight, you can’t help but start to think that you might never get out. It’s not like we want to believe it, but when it comes down to it, should we spend all our time crying about not being home? Or should we face the reality and realise that this could very well be it and try to make the best of it?”
Despite Nora’s speech, Ruthie was still dumbfounded. “So you’re just going to forget your parents and everything else and become Nora Grady, just like Gloria?”
“Stop it!” Nora said again, and now she was shouting. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” She looked like she wanted to throw Ruthie out of the room and slam the door in her face, but that was not an option. Instead, she turned her back on Ruthie and busied herself rifling through her nightstand drawer. Ruthie was still frustrated by Nora’s ridiculous standpoint, but at the same time, she realised that she also didn’t have anyone else.
“Nora?” she ventured.
“Just go away,” came the hard reply.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Melodrama and Shooting on Location
I know, I know, it's been awhile. But I swear I plan to post something for this week's WIP Wednesday, although I don't think it will be from my NaNo novel, since I'm too scared to delve into the edits. Unfortunately, I have to eventually- my friend asked me to edit his novel, which I happily agreed to, but then he said, "On one condition." "What's that?" I asked. "That you let me read your novel." Cue the needle-ripping-off-of-the-record sound that they use in movies. My novel is sooo far from being reading material. It's mostly the fact that he is a close friend of mine who has read a lot of my writing, but this novel is much different from any of my other material. It's very, very dramatic- almost melodramatic- which is most worrying. I put my characters through so much that I'm worried it's laughable. But I have promised him that he will read it one day, so I will have to start the edits sometime.
In other writing news, another of my shorts is being produced on Friday by the film company I'm involved with! I'm really excited about this one because I'm pretty proud of the script. I started it in early January and worked on it for awhile with the aforementioned friend helping out with some stuff. It's cute and romantic and I hope it turns out well. It's also exciting because a) I am acting in it as well as being the writer and b) we're not shooting in our kitchens; we actually have a location (a local and really cool, artsy cafe). I love shooting on location, especially with this crew, even though the last time we did, we almost got arrested- but that just added to the fun and gave us a fun anecdote. And on the fifth of next month, the crew is taking a non-film-related trip to New York City!
In other writing news, another of my shorts is being produced on Friday by the film company I'm involved with! I'm really excited about this one because I'm pretty proud of the script. I started it in early January and worked on it for awhile with the aforementioned friend helping out with some stuff. It's cute and romantic and I hope it turns out well. It's also exciting because a) I am acting in it as well as being the writer and b) we're not shooting in our kitchens; we actually have a location (a local and really cool, artsy cafe). I love shooting on location, especially with this crew, even though the last time we did, we almost got arrested- but that just added to the fun and gave us a fun anecdote. And on the fifth of next month, the crew is taking a non-film-related trip to New York City!
Monday, May 10, 2010
Slacking and Different Views
Wow... sorry for the absence. Unfortunately, it'll be going on for a little longer. Though, compared to my fellow students, my finals week- and finals in general- have been pretty easy, I've still had so much to do in the way or projects, packing, performances, etc. However, I'm done with my sophomore year of college tomorrow at noon (just a scene from Much Ado About Nothing to do for Shakespeare!) But while I've made notes on all of the edits that my friend made on my novel, I have not actually applied any of them yet. Me = slacker. And while I have many, many plans in the next two weeks, I do have some free time to work on the novel. So I hope I will have a WIP excerpt for you next Wednesday!
In other news, I have done back to the editor side of the writing process. My roommate has written a play for her thesis and I have been her primary editor since day one; I just finished editing her final version, which means I've read about four or five versions of the play.
My roomie and I are very similar, but there is one thing we don't really agree on, and that is writing. Our styles are so incredibly different, and every time we've edited each other's composition, we've been borderline arguing. We agree on almost nothing- conventions, grammer, word choice, character development, and, in the world of scripts, stage directions. Our debates over her final draft got so heated today that I had to stop talking about it because I didn't want to fight with my wonderful roommate who I am leaving forever in less than 24 hours (she's graduating in a few weeks)! So now we've reconciled and worked out some plot points together. It's just very interesting to me how we can have such different views on a topic.
In other news, I have done back to the editor side of the writing process. My roommate has written a play for her thesis and I have been her primary editor since day one; I just finished editing her final version, which means I've read about four or five versions of the play.
My roomie and I are very similar, but there is one thing we don't really agree on, and that is writing. Our styles are so incredibly different, and every time we've edited each other's composition, we've been borderline arguing. We agree on almost nothing- conventions, grammer, word choice, character development, and, in the world of scripts, stage directions. Our debates over her final draft got so heated today that I had to stop talking about it because I didn't want to fight with my wonderful roommate who I am leaving forever in less than 24 hours (she's graduating in a few weeks)! So now we've reconciled and worked out some plot points together. It's just very interesting to me how we can have such different views on a topic.
Friday, April 30, 2010
And So It Begins... Editing!
I finally got my NaNo novel edits in the mail yesterday! Though my finals schedule is actually not too bad, I have a ridiculous amount of work to do, so I told myself that I would not open the envelope until Tuesday. Four hours later found me reading the opening editor letter and peeking at the first few edits. Obviously, when I tell myself something, I stick to it :p
For new readers (or those who have forgotten), I sent off my novel in January to two people. One girl has apparently disappeared into thin air, but the other person, my friend Nicole, actually did what she said she would. And extremely well, too!
The first great thing about her editing job is that we edit in a very similar style, so I understand how she's working. Because of this, I understand that a comment that seems bruque is probably not meant that way because a) it's not speaking, so you can't always read tone and b) she's been editing for so long by page 43 that it's just a waste of time to write little smiley faces or whatever. Because I do the same thing, I know not to take what the comments say too hard.
The editing is quite thorough. I had especially wanted her to edit it because she is English and my book takes place in London. I did a lot of research, but with all her corrections, it looks like I did nothing. For example, I did extensive investigating on Nancy Drew books, as I wanted my MC to be into those books. But while these books were published in the US in 1930- giving my 1940's MC plenty of time to get into them- they didn't appear in the UK until 1971! Nicole also told me that there were no Episcopalians in the UK at that time, which was a problem since one of my characters stated that she and her family were "vaguely Episcopalian." Another thing I didn't know- like Americans, they measure height in feet and inches. All that metric conversion for nothing!
Though I made efforts to make the book as un-American as possible, there were a few things that slipped through the cracks. For example, I didn't know that "honey" (as a term of endearment) and "grocery shopping" were Americanisms. It's "letter box", not "mail slot", principals are "headmasters" (I was unaware this was for all schools in England), "porridge" not "oatmeal", and it's always "half past five", not "five thirty." Thanks to my editor, my novel is becoming much less American!
Nicole's comments are a great balance of encouraging and factual. Her corrections are phrased in such a way that tell me what I need to do to improve without making me want to cry or sugarcoating it to the point where I distrust her opinion. Reading her editor letter, I completely agreed with pretty much everything that was said, and over the summer, I plan to do some serious overhaul on this story, because I really do love it. Though I was eager for Nicole to send me her edits, it's a really good thing that I've been distanced from my novel since the end of January. I haven't allowed myself to reread any parts of the story since I sent it off because I want to look at it with fresh eyes now, four months later. Hopefully by next Wednesday, I'll have a little excerpt to share!
For new readers (or those who have forgotten), I sent off my novel in January to two people. One girl has apparently disappeared into thin air, but the other person, my friend Nicole, actually did what she said she would. And extremely well, too!
The first great thing about her editing job is that we edit in a very similar style, so I understand how she's working. Because of this, I understand that a comment that seems bruque is probably not meant that way because a) it's not speaking, so you can't always read tone and b) she's been editing for so long by page 43 that it's just a waste of time to write little smiley faces or whatever. Because I do the same thing, I know not to take what the comments say too hard.
The editing is quite thorough. I had especially wanted her to edit it because she is English and my book takes place in London. I did a lot of research, but with all her corrections, it looks like I did nothing. For example, I did extensive investigating on Nancy Drew books, as I wanted my MC to be into those books. But while these books were published in the US in 1930- giving my 1940's MC plenty of time to get into them- they didn't appear in the UK until 1971! Nicole also told me that there were no Episcopalians in the UK at that time, which was a problem since one of my characters stated that she and her family were "vaguely Episcopalian." Another thing I didn't know- like Americans, they measure height in feet and inches. All that metric conversion for nothing!
Though I made efforts to make the book as un-American as possible, there were a few things that slipped through the cracks. For example, I didn't know that "honey" (as a term of endearment) and "grocery shopping" were Americanisms. It's "letter box", not "mail slot", principals are "headmasters" (I was unaware this was for all schools in England), "porridge" not "oatmeal", and it's always "half past five", not "five thirty." Thanks to my editor, my novel is becoming much less American!
Nicole's comments are a great balance of encouraging and factual. Her corrections are phrased in such a way that tell me what I need to do to improve without making me want to cry or sugarcoating it to the point where I distrust her opinion. Reading her editor letter, I completely agreed with pretty much everything that was said, and over the summer, I plan to do some serious overhaul on this story, because I really do love it. Though I was eager for Nicole to send me her edits, it's a really good thing that I've been distanced from my novel since the end of January. I haven't allowed myself to reread any parts of the story since I sent it off because I want to look at it with fresh eyes now, four months later. Hopefully by next Wednesday, I'll have a little excerpt to share!
Monday, April 5, 2010
Do What You Like
My big present this Christmas was something my mother and I had been investigating for about four months before the holiday- an e-Reader. I ended up getting a Nook, and I love it to pieces. One of the big reasons for my choosing it over the Kindle, the Sony Reader, or any of the other readers out there is because it had a highlight/note capability that let you spotlight any phrase or word you want and jot down your thoughts about it. This is a huge thing I love to do with my tangible books- all of my favorites have tabs sticking out of them and notes in the margins. When I got my Nook, I couldn't wait to "mark up" the electronic pages with my thoughts and save all of my favorite places.
But when I began to do this, I balked before my finger could hit the "bookmark" button. Nook has a capability that lets you lend out your e-books, and I suddenly got worried. What if I bookmarked a page, lent my book out, and my friend thought I was weird. Would they sit there and wonder why I had entire paragraphs highlighted? And the subjects of those highlighted paragraphs and bookmarked pages were not thing normal people would think to save.
I had this scared attitude towards marking anything in my new books until I decided to read one of my favorite books yesterday: The Dogs of Babel. This book is so poignant and well-written and hits on a lot of personal levels for me. The book entered my life five years ago by chance, at a time when I had just gone through what the main character goes through, and it really spoke to me. If you haven't read it, you should.
Anyway, so I'm devouring this book and it's making me sob and audibly gasp and at one point, shocked by what I read, I had to put the book aside and breathe. And this is a book I've read many times. As I had these reactions, I kept thinking, "That page says exactly what I thought when I was going through this. I'd really like to mark it..." but I stopped myself because if I lent out my book, I didn't want my friend seeing that I had marked that page. However, I eventually came to a realisation- this is my book. I can do whatever I want with it. And sure, maybe one day I'll show it to someone and they'll think that things I've spotlighted are weird. But does it matter if it means something to me? Why should I sacrifice saving something that speaks to me because someone else might not like it?
I say all this because it's the kind of attitude I need to adopt toward my writing. I spend a lot of time when I write thinking about what I CAN'T write because Person A or B might not like it or think it's weird or it will reveal something of myself that I don't want them to know about. It's why I like to be provided with plots that I can just develop and stem off of. But the writing I do is mine. No matter what I do, that is me on the page, in one way or another. I'm not one to base characters off of myself, but I'm there, whether it be in the dialogue, a character trait, or just simply my writing style. I want to have the courage to show this version of me to people because for better or for worse, that's what it is.
My NaNo novel, especially, delves into some dark places that I've never explored before. They're fictional dark places, but they came from my mind. My friend wants to read my novel and I really want to show it to him once it's edited, but at the same time, I'm really freaked out to let him see where my mind can go. This is not going to be an easy thing to do for me.
But when I began to do this, I balked before my finger could hit the "bookmark" button. Nook has a capability that lets you lend out your e-books, and I suddenly got worried. What if I bookmarked a page, lent my book out, and my friend thought I was weird. Would they sit there and wonder why I had entire paragraphs highlighted? And the subjects of those highlighted paragraphs and bookmarked pages were not thing normal people would think to save.
I had this scared attitude towards marking anything in my new books until I decided to read one of my favorite books yesterday: The Dogs of Babel. This book is so poignant and well-written and hits on a lot of personal levels for me. The book entered my life five years ago by chance, at a time when I had just gone through what the main character goes through, and it really spoke to me. If you haven't read it, you should.
Anyway, so I'm devouring this book and it's making me sob and audibly gasp and at one point, shocked by what I read, I had to put the book aside and breathe. And this is a book I've read many times. As I had these reactions, I kept thinking, "That page says exactly what I thought when I was going through this. I'd really like to mark it..." but I stopped myself because if I lent out my book, I didn't want my friend seeing that I had marked that page. However, I eventually came to a realisation- this is my book. I can do whatever I want with it. And sure, maybe one day I'll show it to someone and they'll think that things I've spotlighted are weird. But does it matter if it means something to me? Why should I sacrifice saving something that speaks to me because someone else might not like it?
I say all this because it's the kind of attitude I need to adopt toward my writing. I spend a lot of time when I write thinking about what I CAN'T write because Person A or B might not like it or think it's weird or it will reveal something of myself that I don't want them to know about. It's why I like to be provided with plots that I can just develop and stem off of. But the writing I do is mine. No matter what I do, that is me on the page, in one way or another. I'm not one to base characters off of myself, but I'm there, whether it be in the dialogue, a character trait, or just simply my writing style. I want to have the courage to show this version of me to people because for better or for worse, that's what it is.
My NaNo novel, especially, delves into some dark places that I've never explored before. They're fictional dark places, but they came from my mind. My friend wants to read my novel and I really want to show it to him once it's edited, but at the same time, I'm really freaked out to let him see where my mind can go. This is not going to be an easy thing to do for me.
Friday, March 26, 2010
The Other Side of Me
Hello, everyone. Just thought I'd let you know that if you have a LiveJournal account as well (if you're crazy like me and have two blogs), you can read about the non-writing aspect of my life (which mostly consists of acting and school.) I know you ALL want to hear more of my ramblings :p But anyway, if you DO want to do so, you will need to make a LJ account, as an open-to-the-public account has caused trouble previously.
Just thought I'd mention it, as I have posted a long entry on my first day on the film set, which was super fun!
Still waiting for my NaNo edits to arrive in the mail... I bet that darned mail room is holding my packages again. This will not stand!
Just thought I'd mention it, as I have posted a long entry on my first day on the film set, which was super fun!
Still waiting for my NaNo edits to arrive in the mail... I bet that darned mail room is holding my packages again. This will not stand!
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