Novel Mash
I've gotten fairly back on track this past week with the novel. I'm close to finishing what will be Chapter 22, forging ahead with it after not getting any traction on 21. There's just too much going on in it and it got to be like a congressional debate, so I decided I would go do something else rather than sit on my hands. I may continue on that track (if you recall, there were two: Monster Mash track, and Polar Mash track, this being Polar Mash [PM]) until I get my feet under Monster Mash (MM).
I think the 'mash' is pretty much over at this point (leaving me to wonder if there's not too much mash), and before we get to end of novel mash (okay, that's enough) I get to the heart of the drama, the intrigue, and what hopefully is the juicy center of this thing. Someone said each time you write a novel, you learn to write all over again, and that's certainly true with me. On one hand, I feel like I learned how to write this kind of book on the last one; the learning curve was pretty steep. Not so much this time, but I'm learning how to write THIS novel, this 19th century Tolstoy sprawl for the very first time, it's painful and joyous all at once. Oh, to write a simple little roman a clef.
I think this novel is in some way about resisting your nature. The main character believes her life, her choices, her nature, have all been decided for her. This makes her angry, but what really makes her angry is that it doesn't really. If she had a choice, this is who she would be. Does God ever wonder what it would be like not to be God?
Anyways, it's up to 515 pages. "There's no going back now, kid." I'm rounding the corner onto the last third of the novel now. I can see it anyways. Secrets. Lies. Mash.
I think the 'mash' is pretty much over at this point (leaving me to wonder if there's not too much mash), and before we get to end of novel mash (okay, that's enough) I get to the heart of the drama, the intrigue, and what hopefully is the juicy center of this thing. Someone said each time you write a novel, you learn to write all over again, and that's certainly true with me. On one hand, I feel like I learned how to write this kind of book on the last one; the learning curve was pretty steep. Not so much this time, but I'm learning how to write THIS novel, this 19th century Tolstoy sprawl for the very first time, it's painful and joyous all at once. Oh, to write a simple little roman a clef.
I think this novel is in some way about resisting your nature. The main character believes her life, her choices, her nature, have all been decided for her. This makes her angry, but what really makes her angry is that it doesn't really. If she had a choice, this is who she would be. Does God ever wonder what it would be like not to be God?
Anyways, it's up to 515 pages. "There's no going back now, kid." I'm rounding the corner onto the last third of the novel now. I can see it anyways. Secrets. Lies. Mash.
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