And Life Goes On

One of the facts of a writing life -- as I and my blogmates have noted -- is that life goes on even when we would rather be focused on a work in progress. I'm having one of those weeks. Last week, we learned of a reorganization that is going to affect my academic unit at school. That has meant meetings and discussions and the need to re-orient before we move on. The fact that all this is happening during one of our gloomier weeks here in Albany has me thinking of Shakespeare's  "winter of our discontent" or Melville's Ishmael "growing grim about the mouth."

School is closing this afternoon because of the weather. It looks like rain from my dining room window, but obviously more is happening. So I may not be able to make it to the post office to mail out some paperwork about reissuing the next book in my Lizzie Stuart series. And I won't be able to get to Best Buy to pick up a printer and take it to my computer tech to be programmed. (I ordered a new Dell to replace my ancient desk top, but I was so focused on choosing the right computer that I neglected to order the speakers and a new printer). My computer tech has the speakers waiting to be picked up. But it looks like a few more day without sound on that computer.

Getting back to Ishmael and his gloomy mood. Last night I was looking up that paragraph from Moby Dick -- one of my favorite first paragraphs even when I'm in a good mood. I clicked on one of those sites with quotes from famous authors. I had never done a search for quotes from Melville before. After reading a few, I wanted to post them over my desk. 

I share below three quotes from Melville that sent me back to my keyboard feeling inspired and invigorated:


I try all things, I achieve what I can.

It is better to fail in originality than to succeed in imitation. 

To produce a mighty book, you must choose a mighty theme. No great and enduring volume can ever be written on the flea, though many there be who have tried it. 

So I am going to venture out to see what I can get done before the weather gets worse. Then I am going to spend the afternoon and evening trying to "achieve what I can."

(And the rain just turned to snow, so now I'm in for the day. But I'm ready to work).

Does Length Matter?

I’m chipping away at my project at hand this week, following my 48-chapter outline (and adlibbing here and there) and found myself wondering (panicking?) perhaps for the first time (for me) ever: How short is too short?

I’m 15,000 words in, and I feel like I don’t have a lot of filler. But I can’t see the book topping 100,000 words. It’s moving well, and the outline is helpful. But . . . is it on pace to hit even 70,000?

It has me thinking back to some of my favorite novels, particularly those by Ross Macdonald. The Lew Archer classics are short but far from small. They are existential and deal with moral ambiguity in ways even Chandler did not. Some weighed in at 180 pages, but the tale of the tape doesn’t mean much when you hit as hard as Macdonald.

Therefore, the question quickly becomes: Regardless of length, is the book satisfying for the reader? I’ve read several 800-page books that should have been 400 pages. Conversely, I love all 900 pages of Moby Dick (yes, even the middle 200 about the whale). But Gatsby is fewer than 200 and is one I would take on my island to reread until eternity.

One thing I know about myself is that I have a habit of putting lots of players on the stage. That leads to the danger of not fully developing them all. As I’m re-examining my outline, keeping track of who is allowed to sing loudly for all to hear and who fades into the background is useful. As is considering which questions were asked and not answered. I’m not talking about the plot here, but rather who made a cameo and never got back on stage.

Author's Best Friend or Bored Reader?

As you can see, for me, it comes back to the outline. I am holed up in Maine for the week with my dog, doing home-owner work and writing. We will get back to work, starting by revisiting the outline.

Going on Location

This week I went out to do location scouting for my 1939 book in progress. I went to Nantucket -- a fast turnaround of two nights and a day. I had a credit at an inn from last year when the ferry wasn't running because of a hurricane. I needed to come back quickly because of an event my students and I will be attending on campus this afternoon. Since I really needed to get to the library on Nantucket, I decided the quick trip for a first look would be worth it.

If you live in the Northeast or have been watching the weather report, you know that the remnants of Florence have been bringing us rain. Nothing like the devastation in North Carolina and hardly worth complaining about -- just enough to produce flash flooding and to make the drive to Nantucket on Tuesday an exercise in peering at other people's brake lights and on-coming headlights through downpours. I stopped at one point to remove a temporary registration renewal from from my dashboard because the white paper was being reflected on the windshield and I couldn't see through it. That was the weirdest effect I'd ever seen, and I have to remember it for future use (somewhere, somehow).

But getting back to my soggy drive from Albany to Hyannis -- I ended up stopping and calling to change my ferry reservation. Lucky I did because even with the change in time, I barely made the next ferry. And had a hard time getting a taxi in the rain once I arrived in Nantucket. But finally made it to the lovely bed and breakfast where I was staying. The rain continued, and I ordered a pizza, had a hot shower, and settled down to make some notes about the book.

The next day was much better. After enjoying breakfast with the other guests, I walked over to the Nantucket Atheneum, the public library. One of the reference librarians told me that I would be able to access the digital collection of the Nantucket newspaper. That freed up the time I thought I would need to spend reading in the library. Then he showed me the Nantucket section (local histories, fiction, cookbooks, picture books, everything Nantucket). I settled down at the table and knew I was about to have a wonderful afternoon.

Any Moby-Dick fans here? I admit it. I've struggled since high school to read that novel. I love the opening lines, the first few pages, but I never gotten beyond that either in print or audible. I am now ready to try again. Now I know that at one point Nantucket was the whaling capital of the world. I know that Melville's novel was inspired by the true story of the sinking of the Essex. I've read sections of the account written years later by one of the survivors, who was a fourteen year old cabin boy on the ship. I started to read the nonfiction book based on that account and other research. Now, I'm ready to tackle Moby-Dick again -- an unexpected bonus of my research.

But the real find was the prairie dogs. In the 1890s, for unknown reason, prairie dogs were brought to the island. The population quickly got out of hand. One of the problems was that the prairie dogs dug holes. Horses could break legs if they stepped in those holes. The town where most of the prairie dogs were found decided to eradicate the prairie dogs. This happened in 1900, long before the beginning of my novel. But the mention of horses breaking their legs reminded me of the real-life story from 1939 involving the death of a horse during the filming of a movie. One of my POV characters loves horses. I thought this would be an interesting minor detail. Two characters mention this in passing when she is out riding. But since she is the character who will go to Nantucket, followed by my bad guy (who is trying to court her), the prairie dog/horse story has caught my attention. In fact, it has sent me off in a new direction as I imagine an argument she might have with my bad guy and re-think what she does for a living. All that from one brief entry in a book about Nantucket history. More than worth the trip.

But that wasn't all. There were other bits and pieces that I can weave into my plot -- like the Fourth of July celebration that summer in 1939.  Now, I know what my female character would have done that week in Nantucket. I have photographs and descriptions.

In my room that evening, I also had time to think about the relationship between two other characters. To think and realize that I could eliminate a minor character by making one character do the work of two.

Anyone else love getting out and doing location research after days and days at your desk? Wonderful how being there can open a story up and make it work.

Had I But Known

No, I'm not referring to the subgenre of crime fiction/romantic suspense in which the protagonist informs the reader, "Had I but known the dangers that lurked beyond the gates of that Gothic manor…" I did gobble those books up like candy when I was an adolescent, but I'm referring here to my HIBK as a writer.

I'm in the midst of reading student papers as commencement weekend looms – beginning tonight with a graduation ceremony. But last night, during our first real storm of the spring, I took a couple of hours out to read a book that I'm using for research. As I read, my mind drifted to a thought inspired by a phrase the author had used. And – as I have many times since I became a writer – I regretted that I didn't know that I would eventually write and publish. I knew I felt like a writer and wanted to write. But I thought I would be a veterinarian, and I didn't anticipate a career beyond that. I was a Biology major during my freshman year. I later double-majored in Psychology and English, but I have never caught up. I have always read, but even as an English major (who took the required courses), I was drawn to some eras and some writers. Having read Shakespeare in high school, I plunged with delight into three quarters of his plays and sonnets. But I have yet to make my way beyond the first few pages of Moby Dick. I know the plot – as I do other books that I have struggled to read – but I have not read the book. And I want to. On the other hand, I have read Thomas Hardy.

Then there's the music. I'm learning about jazz as the backdrop for the historical thriller I'm working on. But opera still eludes me. I somehow managed not to learn about music in a systematic fashion.

My point is that if I had known I was going to be a writer, I would have made a list of the things I might need or like to know. I would have joined the Girl Scouts. I'd like to know how to start a camp fire or find my way in the woods. I'd like to be able to name the trees and plants. I'd also like to know how to swim and speak several languages. I'd like to know how to milk a cow and grow a rutabaga.

I'd still like to learn karate and be a whiz at first aid. I'd like to be able to make a martini or a really good cup of coffee.

But I'm not giving up. I don't have to restrict myself to what I need to know. I can still learn what I want to know. I've already bought the seeds, and this year I will try again to learn to garden. Maybe I'll also work my way through The Adventurous Boy's Handbook that I can see on a book shelf. This summer, during my breaks from writing, I'll try again to get beyond Melville's gorgeous first paragraph.

What would you have tried to learn more about if you had known you were going to become a writer?

All Hail the Whale and Review Musings

This week, I'm offering some brief (and random) thoughts.

As a crime-fiction writer, I spend a lot of time worrying about word counts. Should my mystery be 70,000 words? Is that too short? Is 100,000 words too long?

As a reader, I like longish books. I'm dragging around Stephen King's 11/22/63 right now (800+ pages), and I love Moby Dick (all hail the whale!), which weighs more than my six-year-old. I'm a slow reader, so both are major commitments.

But they're commitments I enjoy making. These two books and Great Expectations and Crime and Punishment are big books that will entertain you (and probably teach you something as well). If you're looking for a summer read, you can't go wrong with any of the four.

Second, in something of an epilogue to my post "First-World Problems," in which I mention the Kirkus review for my June novel – a review that gave me about 15 minutes of heartburn – I must share an excerpt received Monday from the second advanced review to roll in: “This edgy and emotional thrill ride will captivate readers.”—RT Book Reviews (4 stars).

The RT review is positive from start to finish and makes me wonder if the two reviewers even read the same book. These two contradictory reviews for the same book lead to many questions: Did one reviewer skim?

For me as author, will 50% of my readers miss the mark? (If so, that's clearly on me.) And what to make of reviews in general? How much do they mean and to whom? Who writes them? How much time is put into them? And so on. And so on.

I'd love to get readers' thoughts on those questions.