Paperback Writer?

A member of my Masters program cohort put this video section together--and graciously gave me permission to share it here (Thanks, Tom!)--as a sample of one he hopes to create for our hooding ceremony coming up on June 10th, with segments like this one for each member of our graduating class. The quotes contained in the video are from my novel and Master's project defense, and the music? Well, for anyone who knows me, it's entirely self-explanatory!

I have to admit that, although I've been finished with my program since December and had my diploma hanging on my wall since March, I am really excited about my upcoming hooding ceremony. I've asked one of my committee members to do my actual hooding--the lovely and talented Nicole Blair--my good friend and favorite professor from whom I never took a class! She has been with me on this project from the very beginning, my staunchest supporter even before I had an inkling what I would end up doing with it. I can't imagine anyone I'd rather have bestow this amazing honor on me!

And then there's the novel--my heart on the page--that has taken up so much of my time and thought for the last year and a half. I can't believe it's finally practically finished (is any writer's work every really done?). But I know I have to let it go soon because of a growing awareness that another story idea is springing up to take its place--and it's one I'm really excited about. I'm still in the early stages, but firmly involved in the "what if" game, and madly scribbling notes wherever I go. I love new ideas and fresh beginnings if for no other reason that they help me to stop obsessing over the old ones!

So, old story winding down. New story springing up? Maybe someday I really will be a paperback writer?

"Life in Continuous Present"- taking it out for a test drive

I recently bought my fist-ever brand new car, so I know a little more about test drives than I used to.

You slide into the driver's seat, surrounded by that new car smell (trying not to think about the fact that it arises mostly from the slough of toxic chemicals that go into making all that plastic), and start up the engine--which in my new hybrid is so silent that only the lights on the dash are assurance that the car is actually running. After checking unfamiliar mirrors to be sure that you aren't going to run over a salesman or any other customers in the dealership parking lot, you ease the wheel around, step on the gas and turn out onto the road. The same road you barely noticed on the way in now becomes a backdrop for a heightened awareness: road noises you never noticed before, the feel of tires gripping the road--and a little bit of panic when the car growing rapidly larger in your rear view mirror doesn't seem to slow as quickly as you think it should at a red light. Maybe it's the fact that the instrument panel is different or the presence of the salesperson in the back seat, but the everyday experience of driving is somehow heightened during a test drive.

Yesterday, I took my novel out for one.

I did a reading at my university's graduate student showcase. Choosing a section to read was hard. How can one 15 minute reading offer a sense of a 285 page story--especially one that has so many moving parts? But with a little help from some friends, I chose a piece, practiced reading it out loud--repeatedly--editing as I went to be sure I wouldn't trip over words and that it sounded "right."

Not really its first outing, but the first time I had to face a group of people I actually know with it.

Forgive me for mixing my metaphors here, but I felt a bit like a mom taking her daughter to school for the first time, hoping that the day goes well, that she shows the teacher how smart she is. Praying her classmates will like her and she'll make friends.

But this time, Mom doesn't get to drop her daughter at the classroom door with a pep talk and a kiss goodbye--she has to stay and watch every agonizing minute as her baby navigates a big scary world for the first time.

While I read, I couldn't really gauge reactions--but because of that heightened awareness I could feel every eye and ear. I looked up once or twice, noting all the people standing around me, listening intently--and felt a slight panic, wondering if my baby was really ready for this. Did they like her, or should I have kept her home a little while longer?

(I have to admit I'm always a little amazed that you can read aloud and be thinking of a million other things at the same time)

I think the reading went well. Although I was a little nervous, I only stumbled once (all that practice paid off, I guess). And when I looked up at the end and caught a grin and thumbs up from one of my faculty, I felt like my little one had made a friend...

(and "Mom" was pretty excited about that!)

Can't quite seem to leave "well enough" alone...

It's not an altogether bad thing--this uncontrollable compulsion to tinker with words. The more I tweak them, the better and richer the whole thing seems to get. But the changes had been getting smaller recently. A word changed here and there, rather than wrenching paragraphs from one location to another, or cutting entire sentences only to replace them again (although not always in the same form they held before). Let chain saw, more chisel.

A few weeks ago, though,  I declared the manuscript finished. I printed it and sent it off to a publisher in delirious hope that they would see in it what I do. That an editor would find Emily and Lizzie's stories compelling and publishable. That someone would send me an email declaring nothing less than complete and utter devotion to the idea of bringing my story to print and putting it out there for all the world to read

(Yup... I'm that delusional!)

Anyway, once it was printed and mailed, I put the manuscript safely away--saved in countless clouds throughout cyber-space--and did my best to let it rest.

Until yesterday.

Reading through email and minding my own business, an idea for a new opening scene flashed across my mind, and I pulled my manuscript down from the clouds, and went back to work.

It was surprisingly easy to rebuild the opening of chapter one--allowing for just a taste of "in medias res" (or for all you "LOST" fans--a flash-forward)--and I think it worked. Now I want nothing more than to send this page off to the publisher who now hold my manuscript and ask her to replace that first chapter with this one. But I'll just have to wait and see what happens.

In the meantime though, I'm wondering if I should just keep tinkering or go back to leaving "well enough"...truly alone!

But if you're curious, here is that new opening to chapter one...at least as it looks today!

Chapter One

~∞~

In a way, I recognized it even before I saw it—as if time had paused in its passage. Past, present and future warped into a single strand, its ephemeral fibers shivering down my spine.

Loosing the twine with curious fingers, I lifted the lid. Inside lay a muddle of loose papers, envelopes bound up with ribbon, and several timeworn volumes. Almost without thinking I reached for one, removed it from its shelter, and pressed open its yellowed pages. Written in a distinctly feminine hand, it began with a date—March 29, 1858.

My heart began to pound.

Laying it aside, I took up another of the books, then another. Dates begin to diverge: August, 1861. January, 1882. May, 1868. Despite the disparity in times, the handwriting appeared the more or less the same.

1858… more than a century before I was born.

Regardless of its absurdity, a single thought crossed my mind—

“You were waiting…for me?”