Real Magic

This is about writing and magic.  Wait for it.

A good friend and wise teacher of mine recently said someone asked her if she believes in magic.  My friend said, "Of course I do.  Have you ever looked at a baby?  Have you ever noticed how the baby changes from an infant into a baby, into a pre-toddler, into a toddler, into a child?  That's magic.  LIFE is magical."

Our capacity to learn language as children, simply by hearing others speak, is part of that magic.  Today I accompanied my sister, my brother-in-law and my two little nieces to Greta Jo, the two year old's second riding lesson.  Greta Jo very clearly communicated her feelings and needs during our time in the barn and her time in the saddle.  Every new word was a discovery, from "Bridle" to "Bit!" and "Saddle!"  She conveyed he excitement with, "Up?  Pony.  Saddle!" 

On the drive home, Greta Jo's little sister munched on a teething cracker.  Scrunched up next to the girls in their car seats, I grinned into Clara's blue eyes.  "You like your cracker? 

She straightened up a little, looked straight at me.  Thinking before she said, "Cwacker."  She studied me another moment, as if to make sure I understood, and then laughed.  She knew the name of something.  She said the name, and she knew I understood her.  A magical moment in both our lives.

It still awes me that writers receive the divine gift of taking words, putting them on paper, and creating a story.  That's magical, too.

What's next?

When asked, "What's next?  What will your next manuscript be?"

"I'll find a home for Selkie Song."  I started that YA novel a number of years ago.  It has undergone many perumutations, including a shift from one protagonist to another, point of view change, and in fact was originally an adult novel, not a young adult story at all.  (Or so I thought.)

"Yes, but that's not the same as writing.  What will you do once Selkie's off into the world?"

This time I gave my friend's question such a long stretch of thought, he asked if I was still there.  "Oh, I"m here.  I'm just turning over possibilities.  There's the Fairy Gate (another YA I started before Judith grabbed me and would not let go) . . . but it's tempting to go back and really revise one of the children's stories I wrote when I was in my thirties." 

The Forest Witch actually came to me in a series of dreams.  I've always loved Kierka, the witch who lives in a tree.  And the main character in another tale, Maura, discovers a young dragon lost in the woods behind her house . . . 

Yes, it's good to start turning over which characters, what conflict I'll focus on, live and dream in once Judith is complete.  Once Selkie is on her way through the publishing pipeline, and Love is the Thread launched and out in the world.  In some ways writing and gardening share this key similarity.  Before the writer or the gardener begins, we need to turn over the ground. 

But what's next for right now, for today, is Judith.  My heroine waits for me right now, with a whole day to survive at the center of an Assyrian military camp.

Bonus

I experienced an unexpected boon the other day.  Big chunk of the morning-into-the-afternoon scheduled with a client who needed to postpone.  That left me with a full day to spend with my keyboard, back in 650 B.C.E. with my character Judith, just as she is making the transition from the safety of her village into meeting her enemy face to face.

Judith was not happy that day but I was and am.  Six hours and two chapters of revision instead of less than half that much.

beachmeansbeach

beachmeansbeach

That was my friend Kristine's special email address for messages and information and organizational data for our annual trips to the beach.  The group of eight or more women who gathered in the canal-side condo nicknamed "The Delaware Consortium" by someone I once knew.  We talked and knitted, cooked and ate and talked, Talked and visited the ocean, which Kristine always called "the big water."

For the first time since soon after Kristine died, I'll be visiting that part of the world again. I could say this upcoming vacation will be bitter sweet, but not only do I want to avoid that cliche, I have no idea how it will feel to see the places where I last saw my friend, or to visit the places that feature in the memoir she inspired me to write.

That will be the topic of my next post a couple of weeks from now.

Awakening

It's been a challenging couple of months. The car broke down three times. I've been unwell twice, including my present head cold. The computer broke down, as I believe I mentioned before, but all is well now. And I realized I've worked non-stop on Judith since well before I left for the research trip back in April.

A more important realization has unfolded over the last couple of months, something I've known for years but only with my head or my brain. Now I comprehend it with my heart, or my full consciousness. Something like that.

I realized that every time I revise a manuscript--or every time I've done so up until now--I've believed "this was it." It. The final draft. But as I've worked through this very special revision, which integrates the research from my week in the library, I am recognizing that there is more yet to do. Another revision probably won't be enough. I can glimpse Judith and her friends, her neighbors and enemies as they grow more fully into themselves and into their world.

They're just not there yet. How many manuscripts have I written now? A dozen at least, from children's book manuscripts, murder mysteries, the memoir and more. Yet I feel I'm only beginning to understand the old maxim, "Writing is revision." And revision is seeing again, more clearly.

It feels like I've outgrown (or at least broken through one layer) of the familiar writer's urge to be done. To have written instead of being inside the writing. I'm happy to be here.

Remember the Velveteen Rabbit?

I just spent several days on the road with my youngest sister and her two little girls, Greta Jo and Clara Louise. Though I took a chapter of Judith with me for hand editing, by day's end . . .

No, well before noon, I was too wiped out for even minimal mental effort. There's a reason parents are often in their twenties or thirties. At 51 I suppose I qualify as a Grandmother/Aunt! Anyway, for the first time in months Judith took a back seat in my consciousness for more than a week. My writer self sat beside her.

When I checked my email on my return, guess what was waiting for me? Proofs of the cover for my memoir, Love is the Thread. Remember the Velveteen Rabbit? Talk about becoming real. After weeks absorbed in the novel in progress, and then days out of the creative loop, those images brought the reality that my life as a writer is truly unfolding.

Now it's time to get back to Judith. She's part of that reality, too.

Research and Revision

Four of Judith's forty-four chapters revised to date. Incorporating the research involves reading what exists and noticing the sometimes hundreds of tiny moments per page that could come into sharper focus. Some shifts or additions are subtle, like changing the description of one character's coarse, difficult hair from a comparison with "dill" to "anise," the name used for the herb at the time.

Other revisions require threads of change that will weave through the entire novel. Every time Judith or anyone else offers a prayer, for example, I need to consider not only the words used but the feeling beneath the words. Every change brings me closer to the spirit of my character.

I resisted the thought of writing an historical novel for years because of all the research involved. Now I delight in the process. Can't wait to share her story with the world.