“Writers remember everything…especially the hurts. Strip a writer to the buff, point to the scars, and he’ll tell you the story of each small one. From the big ones you get novels. A little talent is a nice thing to have if you want to be a writer, but the only real requirement is the ability to remember the story of every scar. Art consists of the persistence of memory.”
– Stephen King, “Misery“
Part of my recovery process has been a commitment to writing something every day, whether it’s a new scene in the novel, a poem, editing/revision activity, or a blog post. This is my fifth blog post in a little over a month, and the novel is now over 42,000 words and 22 chapters in idea, draft, or revision stage (balance tilting toward revision stage, thank goodness).
I have some satisfaction in the accomplishment. I’ve found I truly do love the writing process…a little addicted to it, if I’m honest. Writing, in itself, is not a living, but if it could be central to my living, I wouldn’t complain.
One truth has hit me square in the face: An author cannot remove themselves from the content they write. A shadow of their psyche, beliefs, experience…something of themselves…will wheedle its way into the work. When I think of great writers, the exposure they allow to the public – family, friends, readers, critics – is profound.
If I want to make this writing thing a reality, I have to be willing to do the same. It makes me hold my breath sometimes, but I’m learning to push through the discomfort so that the story and characters can come to life in all their sweetness, silliness, and ugliness (it can get pretty dark…the scene I wrote today was as uncomfortable as it can get…but it gave a depth to the main character that was sorely needed).
The novel’s premise is this: A small-town teenage boy, preparing to launch into his future, meets a reclusive old woman desperate to avoid her past. His life spirals out of control as truths are revealed that challenge how he sees his family, himself, and the world around him.
These truths and the impact on the characters create circumstances that are uncomfortable to write. I hope they’re just as uncomfortable to read. If not, then this writer failed. To succeed, I need to allow parts of me that I wouldn’t talk about in normal circumstances to come to light without the novel becoming autobiographical (which it certainly isn’t). It’s a tricky path to navigate.
Vulnerability is becoming an overused and muddied term…like love and hate. It is a core quality of good writing, though, and certainly makes the process more interesting!
We’ll see where this goes…there’s a story here that I’m truly enjoying with characters that I’ve grown to love. I know this because when a scene turns ugly toward a character, I hesitate to harm them…but that hesitation tells me that the harm has to happen so they can grow.
More to come…
If you’re interested, the working title of the novel is House with No Windows, Shed with No Walls. It was inspired by a brown pre-fab rambler in Hubbard, MN that my sister, Judy, and I would pass from the Twin Lakes (outside Menahga) to Park Rapids. The house had no windows and the shed had no walls…I’m dead serious…and we had the understanding that a couple lived there. We always thought, “who would live in a house with no windows and have a shed with no walls?” An interesting springboard for a story! I used to have a photo of it, but have misplaced it.
a tilting of air 