vz

“All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know.” Ernest Hemingway

My current WIP is an old story. By that I mean I have been writing it for most of my writing life. (over 20 years) I have had it coming from the POV of a teenaged boy and and teenaged girl. I tried it as a YA romance. I tried it as a diary. I recently came to the realization that I was too wrapped up in all the stuff I’d written that didn’t work. I kept trying to cut and paste and tweak and edit my way to a good book. That’s not writing, that’s an art project.

I made the decision to read through my old stuff once and then not look at it again while I went back to work on VZ. It is both exciting and terrifying. Especially as I had been away from writing for so long.

This is a typical writing session for me now:

I sit at the screen and stare at it. I type the main character’s name. I delete it. I type it again and realize I have no idea what he is doing. I leave my Word doc open and go off to read blogs or do some online shopping or anything that ISN’T writing. I pick up my student pilot manual and read some of it until my eyes start to glaze over. I go back to my Word doc and look at the character’s name. I sigh and decide to go brush the dog.

But the book is there, just nibbling at the edge of my subconscious. I want to write it. I have to write THIS story at THIS time in my life. I know it is the right time. And then I remember Hemingway’s quote about writing just one true sentence. I think I can do that. Just one. It doesn’t even have to be a long one.

I go back to computer and start playing with verbs. 

He runs . . .
He sees . . .
He thinks . . .
He likes. He likes….hmmm….I can’t work with that. 

Wait, he doesn’t like. That’s better. Conflict. What doesn’t he like?

And then I have it – one true sentence. I know one thing about my MC that he doesn’t like. I know that for a fact. And when I know what he doesn’t like I know a few things he DOES like. So I write another sentence. And then a couple of more.

It’s not even a full page. Just a very small paragraph. But it’s a start.

how much of the old versions of DC’s story were based on real stories a real person had shared with me. It was obvious how much of the book was trying to fit pieces of my real life into it and it wasn’t a good fit. Not then and certainly not now.

Now that I have finally admitted to myself that I am writing something completely made up…I feel very free.

before a story becomes a book?

I don’t know. But I spent time today rereading the last complete version of VZ. The last time I had tried to tell the story from start to finish was over 12 years ago. I was both surprised and pleased when I finished the reading. Oh, it’s a long way from anything that should be published. But I had more plot than I had remembered which was a bit of a comfort since I am often plot-impaired. And I had a couple of well defined characters that I can carry with me. I could also tell that the new ideas I had should work well into the shell that is already there. The best parts of it were, of course, the flying scenes. I say of course because that’s where I had done such tremendous research and it showed. And when I shopped this book around in the past, those were the scenes that editors always commented on positively.

So there’s more to work with than I remembered and that’s good. I’m stalling. I know it. I could say simply that I don’t know where to start but it’s more than that. It’s almost like I am afraid to start. I don’t want to call trouble to come looking for me by listing what I might be afraid of so I will, instead, make a few commitmentsfor my writing week.

This week I will block out all the scenes I already know in the book so I can see what needs more attention. For me this means a stack of index cards and each one has a line or two about the scene I know I want. I’d like to have that all done by Friday night so we’ll see how much I can get done each night after work.

In addition I’m giving myself a sleep suggestion every night before I go to bed. It’s the same one every night until I figure it out. For now the question is

“Where did DC’s sister find the piece of paper that changed DC’s life?”

of a writer. Well, this writer.

Go to work at the non-writing job and spend most of the time working but with half of my brain thinking about VZ and when he first meets B at the airport and wondering whether or not B really knew DC’s dad or if he’s bluffing or if it’s just a non-issue. In other words, even though I was working, my brain was writing.

After work I went to a local school to pick up Oliver  where he spent the last couple of months. I was hoping to hear some feedback from the teachers but thus far, nothing. Then I went over to triple A to order my personalized license plate but couldn’t because they wanted cash or check and I never carry much of either anymore. Bummer. So I came home and did it online. And if you want to know what license plate I ended up with, email me. LJ friends have helped me get paranoid so I’ll not post it here.

Then I gathered up all my notes on DC and the research books on flying but haven’t put a word down on paper. Still. Why?

I don’t know.

Hemingway said, and I can’t remember the exact quote so I’ll try to paraphrase it, he said that he couldn’t write about Paris when he lived there. He had to leave Paris before he could put the words on the page that would describe his experiences. While living there it was too much, too intense, too something and it skewed his vision. He needed distance and the passage of time before he could tell his story.

Some stories, while not easy, can still be written while you are in the midst of living them. When my kids were little I wrote about events within weeks or months of them happening. It was fun, like putting things in their baby scrapbooks. I recorded their awkward moments, their growth, and many of our special family memories. I told stories about our family and I got paid for it. Now I can go back and reread those old articles and it’s like picking up an old teddy bear and paging through a scrapbook of their childhood.

But other stories, perhaps those that touch the most painful parts of us, lay fallow for many years before the words begin to venture forth. I believe our emotions go into self-preservation mode and give us time to heal before we’re strong enough to attempt share a piece of ourselves through the telling of a story. My first picture book, Can I Pray With My Eyes Open? rested deep beneath the surface for over 25 years before it burst forth, near fully formed in one sitting. I can tie that story to an exact moment in time, when I was 10 years old, and I know that the book was an answer to a question asked long ago. Hugging the Rock is a novel about fathers and daughters, but more than that, it is about making peace with things you cannot change. I never knew my father and I wondered about him for many years. I can’t remember when I finally stopped searching but when I did, I realized that my own story was inching closer to the surface, closer to being ready to be heard. Hugging the Rock is also about picking up the pieces after a divorce. Though many friends advised me to, I couldn’t write about my own divorce in the years immediately after it happened. The pain was too immense, the emotions too raw. But time was a helpful balm. Eventually my emotions bubbled to the surface telling me when it was time to write the story. In the process of the writing there were still some deep and painful moments but because I had waited, I was strong enough to go to the dark places and still come out alive. Enough time had passed that I could accept the blame for what was mine and let go of the blame for anything else. I could see the details through the tears.

There are other childhood events I want to write about someday but they’re still simmering and I’m still healing. Those stories will have to wait a bit longer. It’s been over 8 years but I know I am not yet ready to write about my time in New Orleans. I don’t know how long it will take before I am brave enough to face those demons head on. Not all my writing is tied to a piece of my past but I am making an effort to mine the treasures I have within because I do believe that’s where the juiciest stories wait to be told.

What does all this have to do with my current project? Everything and nothing The new project, the old project which I have returned to doesn’t really touch on a truth from my own life. I don’t fly planes, I’m not adopted, and my dad wasn’t famous. But I know what it’s like for the main character to obsess about planes the way I obsess about writing. I know what it’s like to wonder where you came from and how that might affect where you’re going. I know what it’s like to feel lonely even in the midst of a family.

When you’ve been working on a book for over 15 years, like I have with VZ, the story becomes so wrapped up in your own life that sometimes it’s hard to remember what happened to me and what happened to DC. Was it DC or was it me that found the box that held so many secrets? Was it DC or was it me that met someone who knew their father and answered questions held silent for so long? Was it DC or was it me that finally realized the true meaning of family?

I hope it is both. I hope I can tell that kind of a story, one that feels like it happened to you.

I hope 15 years of running is long enough.