Incoherent Scribblings

Now that my novel writing class is over, I hope to have more time to write about something other than stitching here. It isn’t that I haven’t had time to write these past months, rather I felt that if I was going to write something creative it should go towards my novel rather than the senseless babbling that I do here.

So… what did I learn in my novel writing class this semester? The simple answer is a lot. However, that doesn’t make for a very interesting blog post so I will expand.

I think the most important thing I learned in my novel writing class was that I finally got over my reluctance to let other people read what I write. Now, I am sure those of you who have been reading my blog for the past 4 years (If there is actually anyone out there that has been reading that long!) are probably thinking, “What the hell is she talking about? People have been reading what she writes all along.”

Well, I suppose that is true, but I will admit that for a while I turned comments off because even though technically I knew people were reading, it wasn’t until they started leaving comments that I really knew they were reading.

But when you write fiction and people read that… well, it’s different somehow.

Granted, when I write in my blog there is a certain amount of creativity that goes into each post, but at the same time I am reporting what is going on in my life and my life is not that much different than anyone else’s. I go to work, I dabble in my hobbies, I show off pictures of my children cats, I complain about things that irritate me, etc.

But when you write fiction, it’s art.

You pour your heart and soul into this creative process. You think about the characters you create and you become emotionally attached to them. Some days when you write you go places that you would never dream and other days you can’t believe the garbage that has flowed from your fingers. You know the story you are trying to tell and you do your damnedest to set it free. Although I have never given birth, it is the only metaphor that I think can probably do justice to the creation of such a thing.

And like a child, I want to protect my creation. I don’t want other people to criticize it. I don’t want other people to make fun of it or be mean to it. And so, if I keep my creation safe and secure in my drawer or on my hard drive there is no chance to expose it to the unsavory elements.

But eventually you realize that by protecting it (and yourself) you might be doing more harm than good and so you take a chance and you let other people read what you have done.

And that is what my novel writing class did for me. We were all in the same boat. We were all telling stories that meant something to us and as a result, we were sympathetic to one another’s hopes and fears about our writing. Our criticisms were productive and the ones I received only made my subsequent drafts better.

Now, I am not naïve enough to think that everyone that reads my manuscript will be as considerate as my classmates, but I believe now I have a thick enough skin that I can take whatever criticism comes my way.

Such an appropriate post title: My weekend was all about books in one form or another!

First up, here is the progress that I made on “The Bookshelf” this weekend. I have now added the authors’ names. At first I thought it was odd that Oscar Wilde was a member of this group of female authors (well, if you know anything about Oscar Wilde, maybe not) but then I realized it was Wilder as in Laura Ingalls Wilder, not Oscar Wilde!

And because I am a stickler for accent marks over letters in words (perhaps it has something to do with the fact that my first name has one of those elusive babies) I added the umlaut symbols over Emily (or Charlotte or Anne) Brontë’s name.

I also read this weekend. I finished reading John le Carré’s The Spy Who Came in from the Cold for my novel writing class. I must say that out of all the books we have read this semester I was most dissatisfied with this one. Although I did find the glimpse into East Germany in the late 50s/early 60s slightly interesting from a personal point of view, overall I guess spy novels just don’t do anything for me.

Of course, considering that May is nearly here, the semester is quickly coming to an end. This means that tomorrow I have to hand in a portfolio of everything I have written this semester. This includes 45 pages written towards my novel, 16 “elements,” and any other writings that we included in our journal. Next week we hand in our final assignment which includes 15 polished, revised pages that (more or less) comprise a chapter of our novel and a reworked copy of our midterm project: A proposal to a publisher.

When we began the semester Dr. B. warned us that by the end of the term we would be sick of looking at our novel and at this stage I whole heartedly agree! Although I hope to take my novel and turn it into my Master’s project (aka “thesis”), I am also ready to take a bit of a break from it. Right now I feel that the story and the characters are a bit stagnant.

I think I need a new perspective on the manuscript. I am not sure which will help me more though: A month’s break from it or a pitcher of margaritas!

I have a major assignment due for my novel writing class today so I didn’t get a chance to work on “Harvest Witch” yesterday. However, after class on Monday nights I usually try to relax by stitching for a couple of hours, so I will work on her tonight instead.

In preparation for tonight’s class, I spent most of yesterday afternoon with my nose buried in Madame Bovary. I read an excerpt of this novel in French many years ago when I was studying abroad in Paris, but apparently had either forgotten what I had read or never understood it in the first place because I feel like I am reading everything for the first time.

The translation I am reading is the 1886 translation by Eleanor Marx-Aveling and is not exactly an easy read. However, I am plodding my way through and find that I am actually enjoying myself a wee bit. In my opinion, Madame Bovary is an interesting character who I don’t exactly like, but I can’t help but pity her. Her romantic notions may make her a silly woman, but like many women of her day she is trapped in circumstances that are only partly of her own making.

Once I decided I had had enough of Madame Bovary for the day, I took a crafty break and finished “Winter Love” into a pillow-style ornament. I had originally intended to make this into a tuck-pillow ornament, but after I trimmed my stitching I realized I didn’t really leave enough room for the “border” that characterizes a tuck-pillow so I just fell back on a regular pillow-style ornament instead.

I then settled down to work on my mock proposal to a publisher and except for printing it out, had it ready for class before I fell into bed around 1 a.m.