Yesterday Nog and I got to talking about our novel ideas.
Last year Nog had started writing a book but somewhere along the line he ‘lost the plot’. So yesterday morning he asked if we could talk about his story – kind of a brainstorming session – so that he could work out where to go with it.
Then later on he asked me about my (eek!) book – the one I had written about 8-9 years ago. Which rekindled my interest in it (haven’t even glanced at it in years) and so I had a look at the first 15 pages or so. And although some of it is a bit cringe-making I reckon it might actually be a good thing to have as a summer project at least. Though I’m still working up the courage to let Nog read the first bit before I get too enthusiastic.
Anyhow, if I do go ahead with it there are about 400 pages to reread and then start rewriting, which ought to help while away the long, hot summer …
casa azahar 
Sounds like fun. One of these days I’ll drag out my own feeble little gesture in the direction of fiction… Once I’ve dragged it out I’ll probably shred it – but then I’ll start again.
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I’ve been promised the first ten pages or so to comment on (only fair; az has seen some of mine).
I’m thinking of posting a couple of pages of draft on my blog to see what people think. It’s actually quite nerve wracking to expose one’s gibberings to an audience, but I suppose that in the last analysis there’s not much point in writing it if no one is ever going to read it.
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Gaaaaa … just spend the past little while cringing away over here while Nog sat reading on the sofa.
The Verdict, based on ten pages of a very rough first draft, is that he actually thinks I have something worth working on.
I’m not sure which is the most dominant emotion at the moment. The slight sense of elation that Nog didn’t think it was total crap (he did promise to be totally honest) or the rising panic about now having to WORK on the fucker.
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Oh! My! Word! but you’re brave! My poor husband gets shown zip-diddly of what I’m working on, because I know in my horrible shrivelled little heart that if his reaction fell one smigeon of an iota short of utter unconditional worship, I’d make his life hell for a week. I am not rational. But I have to LIVE with him, and I don’t have to live with other people who might or might not like my stuff in its shabby drafting stages. He does get to see finished stuff. I can be a little more detached and sensible about that. Just.
And I also identify with the rising panic thing. I look at the list of novels I want to write (it’s somewhere on the blog, back in March or April, I think) and feel like I’m drowning.
But go for it, Az. As Dorothy Parker says: ‘I hate writing. I love having written.’
We’ll be cheering you on.
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Well, as you say, Ag – you *do* show your husband your finished stuff.
But I don’t have any finished stuff! I’ve got 400 pages of very basic first draft ‘story and dialogue’ – it was all written all at once, never really looked back at, never changed from the first writing.
It was kind of a weird experience at the time, like I was just writing and writing (longhand on paper – this was before I had a computer) and it just kept coming so I just kept writing it. I’m talking about the story itself.
Later on a friend offered me their computer to copy it onto disk – but I only copied it, typed it all out – didn’t feel up to doing any more than that. That was eight years ago.
So now the entire story is there, in the bowels of my computer. Something I’d mostly forgotten about until Nog started asking me about it yesterday.
And when I went back to visit what I had written I found myself not very impressed with my writing (that’s the cringe-making bit) but I did find myself enjoying meeting my ‘characters’ once again. And I also think the story is not too shabby.
And yesterday when Nog and I were talking and I was trying to tell the storyline to him and he said it all sounded rather confusing and convoluted, I found myself defending it. Pointing out to him how it did actually *make sense*, etc. Though I did also honestly say it had more the markings of a made-for-tv drama series than a book. 😉
Make no mistake – we’re not talking litracha here. Just maybe a bit of light easy-reading fluff. But hopefully something with a bit of heart in it.
I’ve never actually wanted to write novels per se – it’s more like this one just happened to me and so I wrote it all at once (more often than not with the help of many cigs and a bottle of wine, it must be said).
Sometimes, a day or two later, I’d read back and think – I wrote that? Where on earth did that come from? It was a very interesting time for me. You know that feeling where you just feel like you’re taking dictation rather than writing on your own? Well, that’s what I mostly felt.
So now I have 400 very messy pages to sort through and look at – 8 years on – with I hope enough distance to not even see it as my own writing.
Thanks so much for your support, Ag.
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There’s nothing wrong with light easy-reading fluff, as long as there’s brain in it. It’ll be literate easy-reading material.
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Thanks Ivan. If I can manage both a bit of brain and heart then I reckon I’ll have done well enough.
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The odd bit of spleen might give it some bite, too.
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Does everybody have a half-written novel stashed somewhere? I have about 350 pages of a novel that I wrote bc (before computers) sitting in the back of a drawer in my desk. I never finished it, and I suppose I could type it into the computer someday.
I always wondered whyI never finished it. After some time in therapy, which was a long time after I stopped writing on the book, I learned that I was afraid to finish it. After all, if I finished it, then I would have to “do” something with it — like try to get it published. And that would mean that it would be judged. And I was too fragile to allow my work and creativity to be judged that way. So it remains unfinished, even though probably now I could stand the judgment thing. Maybe.
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Yes, I think everyone might have a half-done novel lurking somewhere. I know a lot of people who have one tucked away.
As for my reason for non-completion – it’s rather more prosaic, hmh. Laziness, basically. Sheer laziness. And procrastination, of course. I’m good at that.
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Well, procrastination has a lot to do with mine sitting there, also. I can’t really claim laziness — distraction yes, fickle Gemini flitting from one thing to another, yes. Well, maybe lazy. I mean, the whole idea of transcribing it all onto the computer leaves me cold.
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Well, I just went and opened a blog here on wordpress. I am not sure that I am going to be much of a blogger, but we’ll see. How do you people get the stuff up on your header that you do? How do you get pictures on your site?
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Who was it that said – ‘Everyone has a novel inside them and, for most people, that’s where they should stay’ (or words to that effect)? 😉
Hey, that’s great, hmh – another WordPress blogger! If you drop me an email I can give ou some tips on how to get started with stuff. It’s quite a user friendly place. For my email just go to my h2g2 ps.
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Nog is presently doing a little editing on those first ten pages of mine … it will be interesting to see what he comes up with.
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Most of the editing was pretty light stuff – I’d expected a lot more slicing-and-dicing, whole paragraphs wiped out, etc. As it was, it was mostly a few grammatical corrections, awkward phrasing tidied up, etc. Which I think was quite fine for a first edit, but it’s going to need some serious reorganising after I get the basic story and writing a bit more polished.
So this weekend I’m going to dig out the beast (I’ve got the whole thing printed out here somewhere) and reread it all – a rather daunting prospect.
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I found the first 20 pages of my last attempt at a novel last night. Prime-grade tripe, it was. There wasn’t anything in it worth saving, apart from the initial concept.
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So what happened to the dreams thead?
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OK I found it!
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[29 July] “So this weekend I’m going to dig out the beast (I’ve got the whole thing printed out here somewhere) and reread it all”
[1 September] 😳
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Pink really isn’t your colour.
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I know. Next to mauve it’s probably my least favourite colour ever.
And a mauve face would mean I’d already have been dead for several hours at least …
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