So, Aspiring-Novelist, You’ve Graduated. Now What?

A few weeks ago I had a VERY NICE conversation with a banker who was very good at MINDING HIS OWN BUSINESS. It went along the lines of:

 

Banker: You’re graduating soon? That’s awesome. What are you majoring in?
Me: English literature and history
Banker: Oh, so you’re going to be a teacher?
Me: Uh….No.
Banker: Then what are you going to do with an English and History degree?
Me: I studied English and History to become a better writer
Banker: That’s not very practical. You’re paying thousands of dollars for post-secondary education. I studied economics (?) because I knew it would get me a job.
Me: WELL…becoming a novelist is my dream…and I’ll do whatever I can to invest into this dream.
Banker: That’s really not practical…What are you going to do financially? I don’t think you’ll make a lot of money through writing.
Me: I KNOW. I’ll figure something out…

And the conversation went on for a while longer until I ran out of patience and began answering in monosyllables.

ANYWAY, I confess that I’m a little stressed over this issue of finance, because while I CAN continue to live off my parents for a while longer, as an adult and as a loving daughter I’d MUCH rather be financially independent. Plus, as a daughter living abroad, I’m a bit costly.

Currently, I’m working part-time at the Public Library and I’ll probably work a second part-time job (until I accumulate enough seniority to land a full-time position at the library). I’m hoping that within this year I’ll be making enough to at least pay off my monthly student loans. URGGHHH…student loans….

But enough about my finance. This is a blog about writing.

Northanger Abbey (2007). My writing inspiration.

SCHOOL was (for me) the BEST SCAPEGOAT for not writing. Because I was in university, I could say, “Oh, I’m a writer, but I didn’t write this week – or last week – or the week before that because I was drowning in assignments,” and everyone sympathised.

After graduating, however, if I don’t write and constantly go on long, long writing breaks, I’ll have nothing else to blame but myself. I must face the reality that IF I DO NOT WRITE, I AM NOT A WRITER, until I pick up the pen again. ‘Tis a harsh reality, but ’tis the truth. Graduating is, therefore, both liberating and terrifying.

But, oh god, it is so much more LIBERATING than terrifying!

After TWENTY years, this will be my first year totally free from the school system. It’ll be a crucial year for me to figure out how to balance my writing and my life. My nightmare is that I’ll spend my time after graduating as if I were on a LONGGGGGG SUMMER BREAK from school. Why would this be a nightmare? Due to the all-consuming nature of school, during summer breaks, I’ve grown into the habit of BINGE WRITING as in, I write as if the END OF MY LIFE were round the corner. I’ll spend (almost) ALL the hours writing, writing, writing, blogging, writing, networking, and writing, knowing that once I go back to school I’ll hardly have time to write again.

BUT now I need to pace myself. My goal for this year is to discipline myself to:

• Take breaks from writing to cook DECENT meals – following cook books and making tasty meals, rather than living by my university-life motto: “Eat anything! I just need to be full.”
• Eat my meals at the correct time of the day – rather than eating breakfast at 1pm, lunch at 5pm and dinner at 12am – or eating lunch late and eating cereal for dinner.
• Take breaks from writing to exercise
• Take the weekends off to socialise
• READ more books (especially as I no longer have school readings to expand my knowledge)
• Go downtown bi-weekly to my campus library so that I can spend a few hours researching and taking notes for my novel.
• Write at least a chapter a week (I do write a lot, but a lot gets deleted)

At the end of this year, I’ll return to this list and see whether I’ve achieved these goals. And hopefully, by the year’s end, I’ll have hammered into my mind that writing is a LIFETIME journey. If I don’t get published this year, there’s always next year, and the year after that. There is no BIOLOGICAL CLOCK to writing. The apocalypse is not coming any time soon.

While it would be AWESOME to publish within the next few years, it’s also OK to take time with writing. As my father once told me – with the passing of time, writing, like wine, develops more depth and layers.

~

These days I’ve been obsessed with the THE GREAT GATSBY soundtrack while writing:

 

 

Remembering the Reader in Me

(A brief review of Great Expectations (film/miniseries) can be found below).

While working at the library, shelving books, I found myself bewitched. I stared for the longest minute at a very pretty and elegant book-spine. Flutters filled my chest. I wondered why I felt this way… (because, naturally, I analyze every single emotion I feel)…and realized that my subconscious remembered the way it felt to read for pleasure. Of how excited I’d be to take home a book, curl up in the sofa with a cup of coffee, and be swept away into the world of fiction.

This was the feeling I’d forgotten while studying at university, as all I read were scholarly articles and novels from the syllabus which I would never have picked up otherwise. Reading = academics. This kind of attitude towards books affected my writing as well. I approached my writing as if I were writing a research paper: I laboured to find a thesis, then, after much research, would write to prove that point. So actually ENJOYING what I wrote was besides the point – everything was about strengthening my argument. And finishing the darn assignment.

With this approach: My writing and my characters turned stilted. While I once could write for an entire day, now I could only write for 2-3 hours at most before burning out.

However, as I examined why my heart had fluttered at the sight of the book-spine, I was reminded of why I even began writing in the first place. I began writing because I couldn’t find the book I wanted to read (to be more specific: I got my hands on all the Pride & Prejudice Sequels and when I couldn’t find any more I began writing one myself). After work, I therefore marched home, marched into my room, and began rereading my story – not as the writer OF the story, but as a reader. I read with this mindset: I want to WRITE the book that I, as a reader, will love. And this was the point I’d forgotten while re-writing TRC from scratch.

Writing-because-it’s-fun seems like such an obvious approach to writing and yet so many times I (and perhaps other writers) forget along the way due to pressures to write something ‘meaningful’ or ‘original’ or ‘funny’ or ‘angsty’ or ‘romantic’ or ‘historical’ or ‘political’ or ‘psychological’…etc. Or even just to get the friggin’ draft finished so I might proudly type ‘THE END‘.

So, as I read through my story with this mindset (write what I, the reader, will love), I began wondering – what exactly do I love to read of in books? One would think this to be an easy question, and yet, it was actually a question that took time to answer.

The list I came up with was:

• A world of a grey moral landscape. No one is completely ‘evil’ and no one is completely ‘good’
• An antagonist whose noble goal goes awry
• A love story that opens the door to psychological/social/religious strife
• Rich in history
• A flourish of insight into the workings of a character’s mind
• Moors, rain, fog, ballrooms, greatcoats, cravats, voluminous gowns *wistful sigh*
• An evocative/descriptive writing style
• Epic character development
• Edginess
• An escapist quality

That’s the book of my fantasy.

That’s the book I want to try and write.

Dear Readers,

What kind of books do you enjoy? What are the qualities in a book that leaves a deep impression in you or induces a fit of fan-craziness?

~

ON A TOTALLY DIFFERENT NOTE….

I recently watched the BBC miniseries of Great Expectations (2011). It doesn’t really bring anything new to the table, but, it’s an entertaining watch. Oh, wait, it does bring something new: Pip steps into a bawdy house. ‘Nough said. I enjoyed the darker, edgier quality to this series.

Then, within that week, I discovered that BBC had a FILM adaptation of Great Expectations (2012) and now, because it is a costume drama, I must force myself to watch it… though I already know the beginning, middle and end of the story…

Two adaptations of Great Expectations within the span of a year… How curious…

I’m Breaking-Up with my ‘First Love’: The Romance Market & Narrative Style

(I mentioned before that I’m no longer writing for the romance market, but the general fiction market. I didn’t explain this decision fully though. So I decided to write a post about it. Also, you’ll find an excerpt of my rewritten manuscript towards the end of the post).

A few years back my mom made a remark that I considered to be absolutely crazy. She said: “You know, one day, you might not want to write romance novels.” To me, this remark was tantamount to telling a woman, who is head-over-heels in love: “You know, one day, you might fall out of love with him.”

I thought her remark ridiculous, outrageous because for the past NINE years I had invested so much (time-wise, emotion-wise, mind-wise) into the idea of writing for the romance market. I therefore heatedly defended my ambition, saying, “NO, MOM. I”LL NEVER STOP WRITING ROMANCE NOVELS. TRUST ME.” Back then, I was so convinced that the romance market and I were “meant to be.”

However, the past two years of my life has changed me – and in changing me, life has changed my writing. I went from writing HISTORICAL-ROMANCE in THIRD-PERSON PAST-TENSE to GENERAL FICTION (historical-women’s fiction, to be more specific) written in FIRST-PERSON PRESENT-TENSE.

For six years, I experienced a DEEP dissatisfaction with TRC. The conventions through which I expressed my story felt like an awkward fit. Something just wasn’t right. I nevertheless REFUSED to consider that another genre and another narrative style might better suit the story. Come to think of it, I was afraid of stepping out of my COMFORT ZONE (romance genre, third-person, past-tense). And it was only after I ‘LET GO’ of what I was comfortable with that my writing evolved into a style that no longer reflected the 18 year-old writer (which is when I first began to write TRC) but the current 20-something year-old writer.

Considering the dramatic shift in my writing, I asked myself – What led up to my decision to ‘let go’ of the story written by the 18 year-old me? Tracing back my journey as a writer I realized that life and writing are tied closely together (duh, June).

The past two years were SO eventful, resulting in the MOST dramatic changes in my writing journey as well.

Here are some of the events that I think partly influenced my decision to switch markets and narrative styles: I fell HARD for a guy that embodied the sort of hero I idealized in my romance writing, I got my first taste of betrayal, I went through a man-resenting phase (don’t worry, I’m now totally into guys again), I realized that even though wounds heal they still leave a scar, I outgrew the rose-tinted glasses through which I once viewed people, I learned that friendship and all other relationships outside the sphere of romance is EQUALLY as important…

MOST importantly, I LEARNED THAT PUBLISHING AIN’T EVERYTHING. It doesn’t define me. Writing is only ONE of the MANY ways in which my life is given meaning. This isn’t to say that I’m any less determined to publish. Because, dear readers, I am SO determined. All I’m saying is that when someone asks me: “Who are you?” My immediate answer will no longer be: “A writer.” I won’t consider myself a failure if I don’t publish.

All these life lessons taught me to let go of my expectations and embrace the truth that the story I want to tell (which is about romance/love, but also about family, society and religion) just doesn’t meet the expectations demanded by the romance market. And, in embracing this truth, for some reason, I was able to LET GO of the the third-person past-tense narrative that I was holding onto SO fiercely (seriously, only people who have been writing in this style for years can understand how unsettling it is to try writing in any other form).

Now, writing TRC for the general market in first-person present-tense, I feel as person might when she’s finally discovered the MOST comfortable and supportive pair of shoes. One day I might need to find a new pair – but for now, I’m QUITE satisfied.

Here’s some music to listen to as you read the excerpts

The opening scene in the ORIGINAL manuscript:

His boot heels rang against the cobblestone street, which glistened in the light rain. Street lamps did little to ward away the shadows of the evening, leaving his countenance unreadable beneath the brim of his hat. Only when the cheroot he smoked glowed did it light his features enough to reveal a pair of gray eyes.

The gentleman slipped a miniature portrait out of his pocket and inspected the face of a young woman no older than sixteen. It was not a beautiful face, for it was too narrow, the cheeks too prominent, and the chin too pointed. But that was easily substituted by the restrained animation which seemed to brim over in her clear brown eyes and the arch of her lips. Finally, after all these months, he had found her.

Reaching the threshold of the brothel, he carefully tucked away the portrait, and glanced up. The small letters above the door read Harleton House.

‘She should be two-and-twenty by now,’ he thought, and dropped the cheroot. Its stub hissed in a puddle before he ground it out with his heel. He raised his fist and knocked on the door of what he’d been told was one of the best houses in Brighton. It was soon opened by the keeper of the establishment who, upon seeing how well the stranger was dressed, favoured him with a fawning smile. “Good evening, sir.”

The opening scene in the REWRITTEN manuscript (mind you, this is a rough draft *edit* this is no longer the opening):

Bessie tells me that I am a good woman, the most ‘goodly whore’ in Brighton. I think so too, though at times I gaze at my reflection and there is a sickening feeling at the pit of my stomach. It’s the feeling a mother might have when carrying a stillborn in her womb. But Bessie looks at my shell and sees only the winsome façade. Whenever she walks into my chamber, she comes to lay her trampled spirit upon me, never wondering what lies behind my smiles.

“Do you think there’s something the matter with me?” Bessie asks one evening, sitting down at the edge of my bed. The flush climbs up her neck and slowly spreads across her cheekbones. “Kitty says there must be. She says I only ever attract the old and nasty creatures.”

Rather than sharing that I too feel as she does – wretched – I simply reply, “There is nothing the matter with you.” That is how we are, Bessie and I; she voices the emotions that I would rather suppress. She calls out her demons, while I try to forget mine.

“What do you think Kitty said to me? Only guess,” Bessie goes on. “She says I have the face of a horse!”

“Lord, what a malicious tongue that slut has.”

Bessie lifts her hand then lets it fall, her voice barely able to conceal her misery. “You also think I’m hard on the eye. You do think so, don’t you.”

“I don’t think that. Truly.” Knowing this conversation can go on for longer yet, I pick up my shawl, throw it around myself and walk towards the door. “Come Bessie, ‘tis half past five. We’d best start out now or we shan’t have a shilling’s worth by nightfall.”

We make our way downstairs, past Madam’s watchful eyes, and out the door. With our colorful dresses, we look like exotic birds against our gray and lifeless surrounding. The sky is hidden behind the smoke and the crumbling walls. The earth is suffocated by the partially paved streets, covered with refuse and pools of foul waste. A boy gathers his meal of potato parings and rotten vegetables from the ground. He passes by a half-naked woman, whose mouth is agape, lying on a flight of steps with a bottle of gin.

I absorb this all with utter indifference, and turn to Bessie, as she calls my name…

(I’m aware that not all readers will appreciate the drastic changes that I’ve made with the story. But, sadly, I can’t please everyone)

Dear Reader,
Care to share about how much your own writing has changed over the years?

On poetry, on inspiration, on writing, on life, on blogging, on confidence, on hope (…aye, what a stimulating title)

A lecture by my first year prof. He is the bomb. So make yourself a pot of tea, open the balcony window, let the warm summer wind and the twittering of birds into your room, and click on the play button. Anyone who loves poetry or loves Sylvia Plath or loves a good, intelligent, witty lecture will enjoy this one!

As for the writing front, I’m still working on the next chapter of TRC. I haven’t opened microsoft word for days. Literally. But I’m not at all anxious. I’m not hypverventillating as I  would have last year – last year I would have thought:I am not writing, therefore I am not a writer, but writing is my identity, so now I am a nobody!!!! Surprisingly I’m at total peace in my most vulnerable moment – the period when inspiration is silent. Rather than trying to force myself to write I’m just filling up my writing-well with life experience and knowledge from other books. This way when inspiration does strike…I have a huge well of thoughts to tap into, so as to add more depth to my story. I’ve come to realize that no matter how great one’s inspiration is, if that writing-well isn’t full, the story remains shallow. Like the original draft of TRC. So if there is anyone else stuck in a deep, deep writer’s block, don’t go nuts, don’t stare at microsoft word for hours – like I use to do. Fill your head with knowledge. Fill your heart with understanding drawn from life experience (in other words, go out and socialize!). And journal. Reflect upon your day.

Though I cannot say that I have unwavering confidence in my writing and in myself as a writer - I  do have unwavering, rock-solid hope.

I can’t promise when I’ll next update this blog… there really isn’t much to blog about when I’m not struggling with my writing. But thank you so so so much to everyone who has stuck around – always checking up on my blog posts and leaving such encouraging comments. Love you all : ) And I hope everyone is having an awesome summer! I certainly am…. hehe