The Real World

So I graduated yesterday.

I think it's easy to see certain official moments as an endpoint or a new beginning.  But in some ways, not much will change now that I have my MFA.  Yes, I can apply for teaching jobs.  I now have another diploma to hang on the wall.  But regarding my writing, everything is the same.

Except that it is more stressful to think about dropping the ball.  In a writing program, you have deadlines and expectations to create new work.  Even if it is never sent out for publication, you write yet another story, outline yet another novel.  With that pressure gone, it can be too easy to let it all fade away.

I have heard about some of the alums from my school who have significantly slowed down their writing or stopped altogether.  Maybe a Masters program is just an expensive way to find out you don't want to be a writer, but that seems like a waste.  I don't want to be another alum who drops the ball and never follows through.

So I have the first meeting of a writing group scheduled for tonight.  I have a play that must be finished because it is being produced in February 2010.  And I have my own deadlines for finishing the first draft of my novel.  The more I can do to keep life from getting in the way, the better.  Why take the easy route when that won't lead to the life and career I want?

Minor details

So back to my urge to use details that pack a large punch.  I was grazing through my bookshelves earlier today and came across The Last Town on Earth by Thomas Mullen.  Over a year ago I had joined an ill-fated book club.  When a newer member began a monologue on how he really wanted new friends and all his attempts on Craigslist ended with men soliciting him for sex, I knew it was time to go.  But they brought me to this book, so I suppose it was worth it.

Mullen fictionalizes a lesser known aspect of American history - when towns quarantined themselves during the 1918 flu epidemic.  A mill town in the Pacific Northwest votes to set up a guard to stop visitors from entering the town and infecting its population.  The moral struggles of the characters, both those for and against the quarantine, are beautifully presented.  And Mullen accomplishes this through his strong use of poignant detail.

Consider this example.  At the end of chapter two, the town has voted for a quarantine.  Rebecca, the wife of the town's founder, vehemently opposes the quarantine but cannot vocally go against her husband.  Their adopted son Philip volunteers to be a part of the guard.  Mullen writes:

"Beside her, Philip stood, and as he took his first step toward the line, Rebecca started to raise her hand instinctively to grab his shoulder, to pull him to his seat and tell him he was making a mistake.  He was only sixteen!  He should not stand out there and hold a gun against whoever might happen upon the town.  But before she could grab him, he had stepped beyond her, into that long line, sidling up beside Graham, who nodded at his unofficial brother and patted him twice on the shoulder.

For many year Rebecca would remember that shoulder clasp and the way Philip's back seemed to straighten under the weight of Graham's hand."

When I first read that passage, tears came to my eyes.  Such simple actions and details but set together, a mother's pain is revealed.  And my poor mother!  The Sunday afternoon I came to this page, I wanted to share it with someone.  I followed her around the house reading aloud, explaining why it was such fine writing.  I remember she smiled and said it was nice.

Mullen also has a knack for using detail to grab the reader's attention.  The first sentence of chapter five is "The body only felt light because six of them were lifting it."  Certainly caught my eye.

Coming across The Last Town on Earth gave me hope that I can continue to hone my use of details in my novel.  A longer work can sustain that specificity if it is balanced with plot and characterization.  Granted, I'm in a section of my novel that is heavy with dialogue and is filling in back-story so pretty sentences aren't on my mind at the moment.  But they will be.

Strong start

It’s hard for me to keep my mouth shut when I begin to read something I love. (I’m sorry to all my friends for my repeated Bullet in the Brain proclamations.) There is nothing more exciting than starting a new novel or short story and knowing pretty quickly that you will enjoy the ride.

I began Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy by John le Carré last week because I love action and espionage films and wanted to know if that would translate to novels. I’ve never specifically read a book for of its genre. If the plot sounds half-way decent, I’ll give anything a shot. But I’ve heard a lot of good things about le Carré so off I went.

The first line is fantastic:

“The truth is, if old Major Dover hadn’t dropped dead at Taunton races Jim would never have come to Thursgood’s at all.”

Great details and questions all in one shot. Obviously Major Dover doesn’t matter much – he’s dead. At the Taunton races, no less! I have no idea what that detail means but the specificity draws me in to the as yet unknown narrative voice. Someone – the voice telling the aforementioned truth – is gossiping or confiding in me, making me want to listen.

So now who’s this Jim? And where or what is Thursgood’s? And where would he be if Major Dover hadn’t dropped dead? I’m rubbing my hands with glee over all the questions waiting to be answered. I don’t want all my information upfront; a little mystery can be enjoyable. (I’m talking to you, Larry.)

I was hooked by the bottom on page 2.

So much information is provided in the three long paragraphs that end at the bottom of the second page. Some is scene setting – the teachers at Thursgood’s who debate over opening the trunk of the late piano instructor, Mr. Maltby – and some are prescient – a child observes that Jim’s arrival indicates he knows the layout of the school. The bombardment of information forces the reader to sort through and decide which details are important and will arise later, and which can be enjoyed and immediately discarded. I like the confusion of swirling information that must be sifted through since that is what the various agents in the novel do as they seek out a mole.

In my novel, I tried to create an active beginning that provided enough information to keep the reader interested but raised more questions to force follow-through. So I chose a moment in the story that is an immediate threat and must be handled before moving forward. This seems to be working so far.

I am trying to balance a driving plot with the emotional journeys of the two main characters so maintaining the action and forward motion of the story can be difficult. When I allow my characters to stop and sit and think and talk for a while, I fear they are becoming boring. When I am running them through shooting sprees, I worry that I haven’t conveyed their fears or emotions enough. Hopefully the back and forth between the active and the passive will even the flow.

(And as a side note, so far, le Carré has maintained his pacing while providing excellent inner workings of characters. His omniscient narrator that jumps from focusing on one character to the next was a great choice. Makes me rethink my POV choice. I originally thought my novel would be omniscient instead of third person. Sigh. I can’t go there right now.)

An eye to the future

While everyone else on the train ducks and covers whenever someone coughs, I've been staring out the window thinking about my novel.  I've had a burst of writing lately and I'm in the nebulous center of the story.  When I began my draft, I clearly saw the beginning and the end and shrugged off the blank void of the center.  Now that I am there, it's a little daunting.

It doesn't help that when I dream up scenes and conversations, my mind also considers the intent of the novel.  I want to explore the sometimes conflicting ideas of promises and love.  Which is more important, a promise you have made or your love for someone else, especially when it is a definite choice to be made between the two?

Right now I have been plodding along with the plot.  Lots of things happen, lots of actions and consequences to push the narrative forward.  I still have some things to string together but I bank on figuring it out as I go.  What is distracting is all the bigger concepts I want to weave into the story.  It's not the time to focus on that, I suppose.  The first draft needs to be written and then I can heighten the language and flush out the narrative to present all those Big Important Ideas.  But it's tough to stop myself from turning back.

All I want is to stop and reread, finding ways to explore the implications of Alex's secret and the fears behind Sophia's decisions.  If I do that, I might never get past where I am now though.

So I daydream on the train and see my characters fighting and loving (and some shooting, too) as houses and parks fly by.  The first draft will be the initial dress sewn from my pattern and then I can go back and adjust the hem, reset the sleeve.  Eventually it will be the perfect LBD to show off.  Eventually.