After a year and a half of writing Any Color You Want, friends suggested that I cut the first 70 pages and get to the action. Before doing so, I noted what bits from those first 70 pages I really needed and then found homes for them later in the book. Tonight I've taken pre-emptive steps to making the same mistake with The Beer Flower Limited.
Until tonight, my outline consisted of 7 chapters. Earlier this week I hit the point where the little engine ran out of track. Over the last few days I've gone back to flesh out the outline more. So far I've more than doubled the number of chapters, adding depth to the story and characters. I've also rejigged the order of things so that the reader hits the ground running instead of being hit over the head with slow moving background info upfront.
All this being said, I'm still not sure where the story will end up. Back to work on the outline...
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
RIP J.D. Salinger
J.D. Salinger passed away today. Fortunately, he will live on through his work. Here's a selection of his that has been on my mind lately from Raise High The Roof Beam, Carpenters:
"One night some twenty years ago, during a siege of umps in our enormous family, my youngest sister, Franny, was moved, crib and al, into the ostensibly germ-free room I shared with my eldest brother, Seymour. I was fifteen, Seymour was seventeen. Along about two in the morning, the new roommate's crying wakened me. I lay in a still, neutral position for a few minutes listening to the racket, till I heard, or felt, Seymour stir in the bed next to mine. In those days, we kept a flashlight on the night table between us, for emergencies that, as far as I remember, never arose. Seymour turned it on and got out of bed. 'The bottle's on the stove, Mother said,' I told him. 'She isn't hungry.' He went over in the dark to the bookcase and beamed the flashlight slowly back and forth along the stacks. I sat up in bed. 'What are you going to do?' I said. 'I thought maybe I'd read something to her,' Seymour said, and took down a book. 'She's ten months old, for God's sake,' I said. 'I know,' Seymour said. 'They have ears. They can hear.'
The story Seymour read to Franny that night, by flashlight, was a favorite of his, a Taoist tale. To this day, Franny swears that she remembers Seymour reading it to her:
Duke Mu of Chin said to Po Lo: 'You are now advanced in years. Is there any member of your family whom I could employ to look for horses in your stead?' Po Lo replied: 'A good horse can be picked out by its general build and appearance. But the superlative horse - one that raises no dust and leaves no tracks - is something evanescent and fleeting, elusive as thin air. The talents of my sons lie on a lower plane altogether; they can tell a good horse when they see one, but they cannot tell a superlative one. I have a friend, however, one Chiu-fang Kao, a hawker of fuel and vegetables, who in things appertaining to horses is nowise my inferior. Pray see him.'
Duke Mu did so, and subsequently dispatched him on the quest for a steed. Three months later, he returned with the news that he had found one. 'It is now in Shach'iu,' he added. 'What kind of a horse is it/" asked the Duke. 'Oh, it is a dun-colored mare,' was the reply. However, someone being sent to fetch it, the animal turned out to be a coal-black stallion! Much displeased, the Duke sent for Po Lo. 'That friend of yours,' he said, 'whom I commissioned to look for a horse, has made a fine mess of it. Why, he cannot even distinguish a beast's color or sex! What on earth can he know about horses?' Po Lo heaved a sigh of satisfaction. 'Has he really got as far as that?' he cried. 'Ah, then he is worth ten thousand of me put together. There is no comparison between us. What Kao keeps in view is the spiritual mechanism. In making sure of the essential, he forgets the homely details; intent on the inward qualities, he loses isght of the external. He sees what he wants to see, and not what he does not want to see. He looks at the things he ought to look at, and neglects those that need not be looked at. So clever a judge of horses is Kao, that he has it in him to judge something better than horses.'
When the horse arrived, it turned out indeed to be a superlative animal.'
I've reproduced the tale here not just because I invariably go out of my way to recommend a good prose pacifier to parents or older brothers of ten-month-old babies but for quite another reason. What directly follows is an account of a wedding day in 1942. It is, in my opinion, a self-contained account, with a beginning and an end, and a mortality, all its own. Yet, because I'm in possession of the fact, I feel I must mention that the bridegroom is now, in 1955, no longer living. He committed suicide in 1948, while he was on vacation in Florida with his wife...Undoubtedly, though, what I'm really getting at is this: Since the bridegroom's permanent retirement from the scene, I haven't been able to think of anybody whom I'd care to send out to look for horses in his stead."
"One night some twenty years ago, during a siege of umps in our enormous family, my youngest sister, Franny, was moved, crib and al, into the ostensibly germ-free room I shared with my eldest brother, Seymour. I was fifteen, Seymour was seventeen. Along about two in the morning, the new roommate's crying wakened me. I lay in a still, neutral position for a few minutes listening to the racket, till I heard, or felt, Seymour stir in the bed next to mine. In those days, we kept a flashlight on the night table between us, for emergencies that, as far as I remember, never arose. Seymour turned it on and got out of bed. 'The bottle's on the stove, Mother said,' I told him. 'She isn't hungry.' He went over in the dark to the bookcase and beamed the flashlight slowly back and forth along the stacks. I sat up in bed. 'What are you going to do?' I said. 'I thought maybe I'd read something to her,' Seymour said, and took down a book. 'She's ten months old, for God's sake,' I said. 'I know,' Seymour said. 'They have ears. They can hear.'
The story Seymour read to Franny that night, by flashlight, was a favorite of his, a Taoist tale. To this day, Franny swears that she remembers Seymour reading it to her:
Duke Mu of Chin said to Po Lo: 'You are now advanced in years. Is there any member of your family whom I could employ to look for horses in your stead?' Po Lo replied: 'A good horse can be picked out by its general build and appearance. But the superlative horse - one that raises no dust and leaves no tracks - is something evanescent and fleeting, elusive as thin air. The talents of my sons lie on a lower plane altogether; they can tell a good horse when they see one, but they cannot tell a superlative one. I have a friend, however, one Chiu-fang Kao, a hawker of fuel and vegetables, who in things appertaining to horses is nowise my inferior. Pray see him.'
Duke Mu did so, and subsequently dispatched him on the quest for a steed. Three months later, he returned with the news that he had found one. 'It is now in Shach'iu,' he added. 'What kind of a horse is it/" asked the Duke. 'Oh, it is a dun-colored mare,' was the reply. However, someone being sent to fetch it, the animal turned out to be a coal-black stallion! Much displeased, the Duke sent for Po Lo. 'That friend of yours,' he said, 'whom I commissioned to look for a horse, has made a fine mess of it. Why, he cannot even distinguish a beast's color or sex! What on earth can he know about horses?' Po Lo heaved a sigh of satisfaction. 'Has he really got as far as that?' he cried. 'Ah, then he is worth ten thousand of me put together. There is no comparison between us. What Kao keeps in view is the spiritual mechanism. In making sure of the essential, he forgets the homely details; intent on the inward qualities, he loses isght of the external. He sees what he wants to see, and not what he does not want to see. He looks at the things he ought to look at, and neglects those that need not be looked at. So clever a judge of horses is Kao, that he has it in him to judge something better than horses.'
When the horse arrived, it turned out indeed to be a superlative animal.'
I've reproduced the tale here not just because I invariably go out of my way to recommend a good prose pacifier to parents or older brothers of ten-month-old babies but for quite another reason. What directly follows is an account of a wedding day in 1942. It is, in my opinion, a self-contained account, with a beginning and an end, and a mortality, all its own. Yet, because I'm in possession of the fact, I feel I must mention that the bridegroom is now, in 1955, no longer living. He committed suicide in 1948, while he was on vacation in Florida with his wife...Undoubtedly, though, what I'm really getting at is this: Since the bridegroom's permanent retirement from the scene, I haven't been able to think of anybody whom I'd care to send out to look for horses in his stead."
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Mutual Fund L-v-?
In The Beer Flower Limited, a woman believes in the mass market when it comes to l-v-, but not when it comes to her homemade beer while a man believes in mass market beer, but not mass market l-v-.
Question: Could she say to him that his view on l-v- is like shunning mutual funds for single stocks? Or are they apples and oranges? If so, discuss.
Question: Could she say to him that his view on l-v- is like shunning mutual funds for single stocks? Or are they apples and oranges? If so, discuss.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Double shot
That's right, two posts in one night. Can you handle it? Good.
I recently finished re-reading Salinger's Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters which, along with Franny & Zooey, are my favorite works of his. Salinger, of course, caught the literary world's attention with A Catcher in the Rye, a book that had an edge. These other two works, though, don't. There is some rising action in F&Z and there is certainly some tension in Carpenters, but nothing like the edge of Catcher.
While this blog primarily exists to shame myself into writing, it is also a place where I consider the practice of writing. To this end, I highly respect Salinger in F&Z and Carpenters especially, because he writes with a handicap. He refuses to play to the readers' baser desires. Sex. Violence. Explosions. Aliens/Vampires. Not here. If there's a cop, it's because a character needs to know how much longer a parade is going to hold up traffic. Amen.
By today's standards, I doubt he could have started his career with anything but Catcher. It grabbed peoples' attention and built him a following. After that, he slyly worked Eastern philosophy and detachment into Western literature, moving away from Holden Caulfield to Seymour Glass.
Neither of my first two books eschew edge. I'm not at the point where I can do that. I do, though, look forward to that book.
I recently finished re-reading Salinger's Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters which, along with Franny & Zooey, are my favorite works of his. Salinger, of course, caught the literary world's attention with A Catcher in the Rye, a book that had an edge. These other two works, though, don't. There is some rising action in F&Z and there is certainly some tension in Carpenters, but nothing like the edge of Catcher.
While this blog primarily exists to shame myself into writing, it is also a place where I consider the practice of writing. To this end, I highly respect Salinger in F&Z and Carpenters especially, because he writes with a handicap. He refuses to play to the readers' baser desires. Sex. Violence. Explosions. Aliens/Vampires. Not here. If there's a cop, it's because a character needs to know how much longer a parade is going to hold up traffic. Amen.
By today's standards, I doubt he could have started his career with anything but Catcher. It grabbed peoples' attention and built him a following. After that, he slyly worked Eastern philosophy and detachment into Western literature, moving away from Holden Caulfield to Seymour Glass.
Neither of my first two books eschew edge. I'm not at the point where I can do that. I do, though, look forward to that book.
Joke's on me
One of the reasons I write is to explore questions that I have more fully. This is certainly the case with The BFL, where I am exploring the merits and demerits of rationing l-v- versus the merits and demerits of deluging the world with it. What I have already learned, having scribbled in small blue font for nine pages thus far, is that no matter what I conclude, in order to produce a work that I am proud of, that is beautiful, I am going to have to l-v- my characters. The joke, therefore, is already on me as I cannot afford to ration here. I've discussed this before, but considering this story, the irony is particularly apt.
In other news, I've decided to start submitting ACYW to various contests to see where that may lead.
In other news, I've decided to start submitting ACYW to various contests to see where that may lead.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Going Global & The BFL
I don't know how long this trend will last, but I've noticed that my first two novels are both global in scope. While the first takes place in Dearborn, Michigan, it reaches around the state, the country and then off to the Arab Middle East among other places. The novel I'm working on now takes place in China, between a native and a New Yorker and it too will have people putting their equivalent of two cents in through global governing bodies, international corporations, various media outlets and beer houses and halls the world over.
I like this. I like showing how there are repercussions (globally) to our actions. These actions range from judgments passed on blogs and in pubs to violence incited over cartoons or a lack of good beer.
While I did not explore this much in the first book, this time I will have more opportunities for the protagonists to see and react to the waves of responses they stoke.
Lastly, my new working title for the book is, The Beer Flower Limited (BFL). I have Brittany Morford to thank for this. Thank you, Brittany.
I like this. I like showing how there are repercussions (globally) to our actions. These actions range from judgments passed on blogs and in pubs to violence incited over cartoons or a lack of good beer.
While I did not explore this much in the first book, this time I will have more opportunities for the protagonists to see and react to the waves of responses they stoke.
Lastly, my new working title for the book is, The Beer Flower Limited (BFL). I have Brittany Morford to thank for this. Thank you, Brittany.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
It's about...Mr. More.
As I learned with my last book, it's important to prepare a succinct answer to the question, "So, what's your book about?" In short, I've come up with, "Love, quality versus quantity...starring a Chinese beer-ess and a Wall Street banker." Intriguing or just weird?
Speaking of quality versus quantity, the Economist ran an interesting article recently entitled, "Hi there" with the subtitle, "Life is getting friendlier but less interesting. Blame technology, globalisation and feminism." Among other things, the article discussed greeting etiquette and how the old Dear Mrs. Post has quickly become, Yo Fanny!
Along that line, I always enjoyed the formality of Russian names in the works of Dostoevsky and Tolstoy. While some found all the long names confusing, I liked how you could tell how close two people were according to how they addressed each other. Today, the Economist article argues, everyone is on a first name basis. That being so, intimacy seems to be assumed, not earned.
To this end, my love-everything female protagonist is on a first name basis with the entire world while my love-few male protagonist's first name is, at least early on, barely known. I look forward to playing with this.
The story continues to move along, a little each day. And that time I spend working on it every day is the greatest release I get. Amen.
Speaking of quality versus quantity, the Economist ran an interesting article recently entitled, "Hi there" with the subtitle, "Life is getting friendlier but less interesting. Blame technology, globalisation and feminism." Among other things, the article discussed greeting etiquette and how the old Dear Mrs. Post has quickly become, Yo Fanny!
Along that line, I always enjoyed the formality of Russian names in the works of Dostoevsky and Tolstoy. While some found all the long names confusing, I liked how you could tell how close two people were according to how they addressed each other. Today, the Economist article argues, everyone is on a first name basis. That being so, intimacy seems to be assumed, not earned.
To this end, my love-everything female protagonist is on a first name basis with the entire world while my love-few male protagonist's first name is, at least early on, barely known. I look forward to playing with this.
The story continues to move along, a little each day. And that time I spend working on it every day is the greatest release I get. Amen.
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