Writing a Novel

I finished the first draft of my first original novel a few days ago. Despite being stressed about finances, my mother noted how happy I was. I love writing, and composing a novel from start to finish is an accomplishment I’ll always cherish. What happens next is a test of my self-control.

In Stephen King’s book On Writing he commands you to leave the book alone, once finished, for at least a month. Give it time to breathe, don’t think about it, lock it away and leave it. It’s hard. I have a mental list of all the changes I need to make to the book, in addition to the regular editing that comes with first drafts. Develop here, cut there, change this, move that. Last night I almost broke the rule, but thankfully I was too tired to commit the crime.

So I’m blogging about it. Like somehow that will help me. If I have to wait a month, that means I can’t start editing until September 18th. Oh. Dear. Lord. That’s so far away.

But I must be strong. I will find other ways to siphon my writing desires.

Help me, Obi Won Ka Blog, you are my only hope.

Jaden Baker

That is the name of my protagonist in the manuscript (hopefully future novel) of the same name. With two hundred pages down–single spaced size twelve font with one inch margins–and possibly one hundred more pages, it’s time to reveal what I’m writing. There’s no doubt that I’ll finish now, the story I’ve watched unfold in my mind for the past six years, as I’m at least two thirds of the way through, and pleased with how well the writing is going. One of my goals I set at the beginning of the year was to finish the book. This may be the first year I’ve ever followed through with my goal.

Never Let Me Go

Always searching for ways to feed my deep dark chocolate layer, I reserved Never Let Me Go from the library after watching the trailer for the upcoming movie. I was mesmerized by the premise of the plot and wanted to see how the author would deal with such a dysfunctional world.

Never Let Me Go is a book by Kazuo Ishiguro about three people who’s whole life purpose is to die to donate their vital organs. It’s narrated by Kathy, who spends most of her adult life remembering her childhood and early adulthood with her close friends Ruth and Tommy.

I knew when I began reading the book that it would end like a Shakespearean tragedy, and even though the story was a sad one, my eyes were dry when I shut the book. I was in awe with how Ishiguro regarded his characters with such depth and realism, full of flaws yet glittering moments of redemption. Ruth was especially real to me, and I think everyone has met someone like her: always putting on the brave face, the bossy one who knows it all, manipulative but kind when it suits her. Kathy, her best friend, tip toes around her friend’s mood, and wants to be accepted by her despite Ruth’s often ruthless attitude. And poor Tommy, stuck in the middle, a heart of gold not wanting to harm anyone.

The book had few characters, and the narration jumped through time, but never left me confused. Kathy tells the story in a stream of conciousness sort of way, one thing reminding her of another and she’d go off with the story. It wasn’t linear, but more accurate to how we recall events. She is not literature’s strongest character, but I liked that. Kathy is a vulnerable woman who doesn’t stand up for herself. In a way she seems defeated by the shortness and purpose of her life.

Of course one of the main themes of the novel was the objectification of people and how our world at large has little regard for the sanctity of life. Humans are cloned and then harvested for their organs. The people, who are more like human crops, are completely removed from the world, living in designated areas, always separate from everyone else. It examined the effects of lonliness and isolation in a unique way.

Never Let Me Go is a rare find. Sometimes melodramatic, but always intriguing, it’s a book I’m happy to have read.

Avatar: When right things happen to leftist people

Yesterday I watched Avatar on my parents high definition TV. I had avoided seeing the film in theaters because I had read and was told that it was a very liberal movie, I’d be hit over the head with green propaganda, while the effects were good, the plot would drive me crazy.

Talk about blowing it out of proportion.

Fictional Progress

For the past seven years I’ve had an idea for a novel. It did not come to me as I was riding the train from Manchester to London, wholly finished and complete, like some great novels. It came to me in bits and pieces and has often changed and morphed over the years. I have spent many hours in turmoil writing and re-writing the story. The first time I made it 90 pages in and scrapped it because the tone was all wrong. The number of first chapters drafted is more than I can count on my fingers or toes. It’s not an easy book to write. So I gave up on it.

That’s not to say I didn’t think about it often. I thought about my characters, saw them interacting with each other, wondered how they were and how they would react to a certain situation. I frequently revisited previous written musings, wondering if I could pick up where I left off.

Then last Thursday or Friday I did something else. I started the book in the middle, or in medias res, to give the story a bang of a start. Of course I would love to publish the book one day, but right now I’m just telling the story, and felt starting it with a flash from the middle made more sense. It reaffirmed to me where the story would eventually lead. And ever since then the book has flowed almost effortlessly from my fingers, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Just about everything has taken a back seat to the book, and all I want to do is to write it.

One thing I always knew, but yet didn’t know, was that I cannot control who my characters are. They just are who they are. For years I have thought of my protagonist as a fighter, aggressive and assertive, because that’s who I wanted him to be. I wanted him strong and fighting. But that’s not who is at all. He’s a survivor, certainly, and will do what he needs to to make it to the next day, or to regain control, but he’s not a fighter. In fact he’s a runner. Now that I know who he is fundamentally, I know what he will do and how he formulates his thoughts and carries out his life. That one small fact is everything. Knowing who he is makes the story more real and plausible, which is key when dealing with some subjects that are supernatural.

While in Mass the other day, Deacon Bill talked about love and the movie Love Story. It was then that I was able to summarize my book to myself, always wondering how I would tell people what it was about. Of course it’s about a boy, later a man, but its deeper than that. He’s looking for purpose and cannot find it until he finds love. That pleased me, realizing what my story was about, and what my character needed to feel whole and complete. He will have to suffer and struggle so much, but I feel much better about it knowing that true and complete love awaits him at the end.

What love is

Love is not making excuses. Love is not uncertain, it is not cowardice, shy, or nervous. Love inspires. It demands the best, and when you’re at your worst, love overcomes it. Love commands action, attention and urgency. Love does not wait, love is not convenient. Love wants happiness for each other, never seeks to hurt or harm. True love is special. It does not forget, or take advantage, cheat or lie.

Lost series finale: Where they all were

“Guys, where are we?” said Charlie in the premiere of Lost, way back when. He could have said the same thing when he landed in LAX in season six.

The genius of the series finale is its satisfaction while maintaining mystery. Rather than tying up loose ends and having everything explained and fit together, the writers did something different. They closed it off with the finality of death but with a hopefulness and comfort that only an afterlife brings.

Bloggers and Lost fans will no doubt debate what the series meant, or what the parallel time lines were, but I think it’s clear. The people of Lost were broken and in need of different things: purpose, love, challenges. When they crashed onto the island they fought for their lives, and in doing so came together and mended. They found forgiveness and purpose and for many, healing.

The plane never landed in LAX. There was no parallel time line. Early theories about the show were that the island was some kind of ethereal place. Some said it was Hell, others said it was Purgatory or some kind of Limbo. But the island was always real, it was the parallel life that wasn’t. It was where characters went to meet up with each other before crossing over into Heaven.

Kate, Sawyer, Miles, and Claire all lived on, escaping the island and doing who knows what with their lives. When Kate meets up with Jack again in the place between worlds, she tells him she’s waited so long to see him again. Hugo tells Ben he was a good number two, and Ben replies in thanks and that Hugo was a good number one. Both lived on the island, for many years it seems, protecting the light. Ben was not ready to move on, he still had to work things out, which is an idea pretty consistent with Purgatory or Limbo: you don’t move on until your ready. Ben still had to forgive himself.

I found it fitting that “Christian Shephard” gathered the people and lead them on. That they all gathered in a church (the same church where Eloise told them they had to go back to the island, I think) to meet up again, embrace, and move on, was poetic.

Did Lost tie up all the loose ends or explain all the mysteries? No. It didn’t need to. There will be people who demand to know about the significance of Walt or Aaron, but neither is relevant. The island was a mystery, it contained something that people didn’t understand. It makes sense then that the show would still have mysteries of its own.

Charles Widmore, despite being rich and powerful, was just a simple cog in the machine. His purpose, after all his meddling, was simply to bring Desmond back to the Island. Without Desmond, the smoke monster could have never been destroyed and would have been a constant threat. But thanks to Charles, the smoke monster was destroyed.

Lost was about life, and ultimately death. The characters were lost until they all found each other, after fulfilling some kind of purpose, finding meaning and love, reconciling, becoming whole. And then they moved on together.

And such is life

“It’s hard to let go, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is, Bill.”
“And that’s life… what can I tell you.”
~Meet Joe Black

Life. It’s a tremendous thing. In one moment you can sail so high you wonder if anyone has ever been so happy. And in the next, so distressed you question the meaning of purpose. Everyone has experienced life’s nectar and poison. For one cannot exist without the other.

With thoughtful and sometimes somber music playing in the background, I’m left to ponder. It’s rare that I look back and question. What has been done or said, or what should have happened, is no longer. I’m on the path that has been laid for me, a path I’ve chosen in some respects.

The future is the real mystery, trying to read the tea leaves. What’s to come? The adventure is in not knowing. Only He knows what is in store for me, and as I ask for clarification, I’m left with soft whispers. If my ears weren’t pricked, would I hear?

Sometimes I question, I wonder. Why would God put something I desire in my path, and then tear it away? To make me stronger? Because there’s something better? I’ll know one day, but not today. After waiting for so long, I can hardly stand it.

Sometimes I’m scared to know which it is. The adventure is in not knowing, the mystery is the game. That’s life isn’t it? A game that I’m playing as best I can, but impatient to reach the highlights, hoping that I get there soon, that I hit them all before lights out. Struggling to find my way, with Him to guide me.

Life’s a red rose.

My weekend

I had an adventurous weekend. I kicked it off by getting my first ever speeding ticket on Friday. Nice. There was no haggling, and I was super nice to the motor cop, and would’ve been nicer and more flirty had I been able to get a better glimpse at his left hand. He had it gloved, so I wasn’t sure if batting my bland eyelashes would help or hurt me. Having the eager sheltie puppy in my lap didn’t help either. Oh well. I join a long list of great people who have been caught speeding. Everyone speeds, but some of us who drive super hot blue sport cars get caught more than people in gray sedans doing the exact same speed behind the sexy blue sports car. But hey, I’m not complaining.

Pesky Punctuation

Today my mom and I got into a conversation about design. I love graphic design, and shudder at the thought of people who want to destroy the process with arbitrary changes just so they can say they had a hand in it all. It got us onto the subject of details and why they’re so important, and that lead to punctuation.