Notes from Maine - 2020/09/01

Sometimes it feels like I’ve written a million books. I think of a “brand new” idea and then remember that I already wrote it. But then, this morning, I looked through my catalogue and realized that I’ve almost given away all of them this year. There are a few more coming and then I’m going to have to repeat my giveaways I guess.

I remember very clearly my first attempts at writing a novel. It started as a desire to write a screen play, but those are really hard to create. Every word has to be carefully considered. Every moment has to have a specific point. I figured a novel would be easier because I could ramble a little here and there and it wouldn’t be a failure.

The first hour of writing, I produced a single paragraph. I tried to describe the town in which Jack lived (The Vivisectionist). I talked about how he lived on the outskirts of everything, where the roads didn’t have sidewalks yet and strips of trees divided the blocks of old houses. It was a slow, boring description that didn’t lead anywhere. I took a break before highlighting the text and deleting it. I wish I had kept that first paragraph. It my first, quick, self-taught lesson. If I’m bored, then the reader will certainly be bored. This is what I replaced it with:

Jack sat near the front of the school bus, oblivious to his raucous classmates. The other kids were bursting with excited energy; they only had three days left until summer vacation. Jack stared out his window. When the bus slowed to its last stop, he waited for everyone else before heading for the door. He had few friends at his school, and none on this bus. In this neighborhood the public school kids generally didn’t place into the advanced classes, and the smart kids, like Jack, usually went to private academies.

It’s still not great, but you should have read the text that I deleted.

The more I write, the more I enjoy the process. There are so many layers to the act. Thinking about sentence structure, the bestest words, and the clearest way to not mess up a sentence so bad that it’s completely un-not-readable. But, while the mechanics are going on, I’m also thinking about the characters, the setting, and what’s happening. At times, I’m watching the movie alongside the reader. The only difference is that I’m typing everything I see.