So, I've been working on my first novel for, oh, five years now--sporadically, mind you, not in any way solidly. All my life, I've always said I wanted to write a novel. Finally, in my forties, I honoured my own wishes.
I've been an English teacher for over twenty years, but that's not really much preparation for writing a novel. The best way to write a novel is, as everyone is always saying, to write a novel. I've been learning so much as I go along. My Writer's Craft students have been some of my best teachers.
I had a first version (very rough) done about two years ago. I nibbled away at a second version over the last two years. At the start of this summer, I decided to devote four to five hours a day to finishing the second version. Now, it's the last two days of my summer. I didn't quite get finished the second version--I have 40 pages to go--but I took a darn good run at it. I'm past the 100,000 word mark, with about thirty thousand to go. I'm really proud of myself for working so hard at it this summer. I thought I might be done by Christmas--but then my trip to Scotland at the end of August happened.
Did I mention that the novel is partially historical fiction? A third of it takes place in sixth century Ireland and Scotland. The other two-thirds takes place in the modern-day island of Iona in the Western Hebrides. I'd been to Iona three times before in my life, one time about six years ago for an entire week. That last trip spawned some of the ideas, settings, plot, and characters for this novel. I'd promised myself that when I was done the second version, and not before, I would allow myself to go back to Iona to do some fact-checking. I saw that as a treat to look forward to. Well, as it turned out, an opportunity to go to Iona this August came about, and I jumped at it. That's also partially the reason why I put such a push on finishing the second version this summer. I came close enough to finishing it that I could justify the trip to myself.
So, this past August 22nd, I found myself on a ferry pulling into the jetty in Iona. That's when I got a shock I wasn't anticipating. All of a sudden, my imagination stood up and said, what the heck are you doing here??? This place isn't real!! This place belongs inside your head!!
At that moment, the last thing I wanted to do was get off the ferry. For five years, the place and the people I'd peopled it with had been safely tucked away in my head. But now, there it was 3-D, right in front of me, and I was stunned. I wanted to rush back to the safety of my own pages and my own imagination.
But, of course, I'd spent thousands of dollars, told lots of people in my little world, and I had a job to do. I had to make sure that the real details in my story were accurate. So, I got off, went to my hotel, and got down to work.
The short and long of it is I had fabulous experiences, the Islanders were wonderful to me, I tracked down tons of useful information, took hundreds of pictures, and the third version of my book will be much more believeable because of it. But, truth be told, a great deal of the time, I felt a little sick to my spirit. I wanted to run away back home where my story would be safely unreal again, where it wouldn't have to live up to the real world, where its questionable plot wouldn't be so glaringly exposed, where I would almost be done the second version, and the third version would be quick and easy.
I soldiered on, though, because I had to. I owed it to myself, and to my learning, and to the people who have supported me all along. One dark night, when I couldn't sleep because my brain kept trying to find ways to refurbish my shakey plot, I wanted to throw it all out, and start a whole different book. But I made myself get up the next morning, and get on with it.
Now I'm home. I've found the strength to get back on the horse, mostly because I couldn't face my friends, my students, and my husband if I didn't (and, grudgingly, myself too), and I'm slowly beginning to let the island of Iona slip back into my head where it belongs. The shock of seeing my internal world made real is beginning to subside. Soon, my imagination will forgive me, I'm pretty sure. Soon, I will feel peaceful again.
I must admit that if I were to start all over again, I would seriously consider not doing historical fiction or using a real place for my first major piece of writing. But I'm not starting all over again. I'm going to finish the darn thing. And I know all of these experiences are helping me to become a better writer, and to become a better teacher of writers.
This is my lesson in perseverence. I may have bit off more than I can chew, but I will not let myself choke.
I'm already dreaming of a second novel . . . first person, completely absolutely modern and fictional . . . I will finish #1 by my fiftieth birthday (June 18, 2011), and then next summer, I can leap into #2 . . .
I've been an English teacher for over twenty years, but that's not really much preparation for writing a novel. The best way to write a novel is, as everyone is always saying, to write a novel. I've been learning so much as I go along. My Writer's Craft students have been some of my best teachers.
I had a first version (very rough) done about two years ago. I nibbled away at a second version over the last two years. At the start of this summer, I decided to devote four to five hours a day to finishing the second version. Now, it's the last two days of my summer. I didn't quite get finished the second version--I have 40 pages to go--but I took a darn good run at it. I'm past the 100,000 word mark, with about thirty thousand to go. I'm really proud of myself for working so hard at it this summer. I thought I might be done by Christmas--but then my trip to Scotland at the end of August happened.
Did I mention that the novel is partially historical fiction? A third of it takes place in sixth century Ireland and Scotland. The other two-thirds takes place in the modern-day island of Iona in the Western Hebrides. I'd been to Iona three times before in my life, one time about six years ago for an entire week. That last trip spawned some of the ideas, settings, plot, and characters for this novel. I'd promised myself that when I was done the second version, and not before, I would allow myself to go back to Iona to do some fact-checking. I saw that as a treat to look forward to. Well, as it turned out, an opportunity to go to Iona this August came about, and I jumped at it. That's also partially the reason why I put such a push on finishing the second version this summer. I came close enough to finishing it that I could justify the trip to myself.
So, this past August 22nd, I found myself on a ferry pulling into the jetty in Iona. That's when I got a shock I wasn't anticipating. All of a sudden, my imagination stood up and said, what the heck are you doing here??? This place isn't real!! This place belongs inside your head!!
At that moment, the last thing I wanted to do was get off the ferry. For five years, the place and the people I'd peopled it with had been safely tucked away in my head. But now, there it was 3-D, right in front of me, and I was stunned. I wanted to rush back to the safety of my own pages and my own imagination.
But, of course, I'd spent thousands of dollars, told lots of people in my little world, and I had a job to do. I had to make sure that the real details in my story were accurate. So, I got off, went to my hotel, and got down to work.
The short and long of it is I had fabulous experiences, the Islanders were wonderful to me, I tracked down tons of useful information, took hundreds of pictures, and the third version of my book will be much more believeable because of it. But, truth be told, a great deal of the time, I felt a little sick to my spirit. I wanted to run away back home where my story would be safely unreal again, where it wouldn't have to live up to the real world, where its questionable plot wouldn't be so glaringly exposed, where I would almost be done the second version, and the third version would be quick and easy.
I soldiered on, though, because I had to. I owed it to myself, and to my learning, and to the people who have supported me all along. One dark night, when I couldn't sleep because my brain kept trying to find ways to refurbish my shakey plot, I wanted to throw it all out, and start a whole different book. But I made myself get up the next morning, and get on with it.
Now I'm home. I've found the strength to get back on the horse, mostly because I couldn't face my friends, my students, and my husband if I didn't (and, grudgingly, myself too), and I'm slowly beginning to let the island of Iona slip back into my head where it belongs. The shock of seeing my internal world made real is beginning to subside. Soon, my imagination will forgive me, I'm pretty sure. Soon, I will feel peaceful again.
I must admit that if I were to start all over again, I would seriously consider not doing historical fiction or using a real place for my first major piece of writing. But I'm not starting all over again. I'm going to finish the darn thing. And I know all of these experiences are helping me to become a better writer, and to become a better teacher of writers.
This is my lesson in perseverence. I may have bit off more than I can chew, but I will not let myself choke.
I'm already dreaming of a second novel . . . first person, completely absolutely modern and fictional . . . I will finish #1 by my fiftieth birthday (June 18, 2011), and then next summer, I can leap into #2 . . .
Sounds like you managed to make progress. I wish I could say the same. I thought to use my trip to Europe to get ideas for that novel I started on in Writer's Craft, but nothing came to me.
ReplyDeleteGlad to hear you're making such good progress. I'd love to read your novel when it's done. It sounds like it'll be really exciting. I still listen to that drinking song by the way. My brothers and I will often sing it together.