Just One Thing to Say

At the James River Writers Conference this year, Robert Goolrick (and I had a totally fangirl reaction to him! What a writer!) said most writers have just one or two things to say. That's it. And they spend their lives trying to say that ONE thing, better and better (hopefully) with each book.

I tend to think he's right.

I do not consider myself an optimist . . . but I consider myself a very content, happy person. In fact, I am the LEAST likely person to ever be depressed mainly because I tend to face whatever difficulties life hands me with a "put on your big girl panties and deal with it" or "it is what it is." YET, when I think about the ONE recurring theme in nearly EVERY book (even all my comedies) . . . it's grief. I find the human condition--the idea that we are born alone and die alone, that we say goodbye to so many people we love along the way--to be fascinating. And nearly every character I write is processing some major loss, trying to figure it out, put it on a shelf where it won't consume them, put on a braver face and go out and live.

Ultimately, I think my characters are trying to make SENSE of things that make no sense. And the resolution of that is acceptance. It's the same lesson I learn. And re-learn.

And re-learn.

It's funny, but I rarely, if ever, feel sorry for myself for being sick--not even when in the hospital for extended stays. It doesn't tug at me. I have Crohn's disease . . . because. People get sick and die . . . because. It isn't FAIR but life isn't. So it is what it is.

I find I waste MORE time trying to understand PEOPLE. Wondering at someone's seeming lack of conscience. The Penn State case, for example, is the type of thing on the news that TUGS at me. It nags at the edges of my consciousness. I find myself really thinking about it. I ask, Why? Or maybe more . . . HOW? How can people do such dark and awful things? The last couple of years, I have seen, as I've said before on this blog, Grownups Behaving Badly. People I thought I knew. Once I realized there was no solace to be found in trying to understand others, I turned the focus to me. How could I have been so betrayed or fooled by other people? Is it because I DON'T act that way--so I don't expect it in others? I'm not naive--so you'd think a grown woman would learn. But then . . . it goes back to never understanding the HOW.

And so it goes back to the writing. Characters trying to make sense of that which . . . never will make sense. And so then it becomes finding a sense of peace. A way to live WITH that which makes no sense. A way to live WITH grief and not have it overtake their lives.

In Illuminated (brief shameless plug: preorder it!) . . . Callie wishes she knew her mother, long dead. But her mother is unknowable. How can you know someone who never lived long enough to be there for you? And yet . . . I think part of the journey of my heroine is that at some point Callie finds the traits of her mother are part of her. To know her mother, she only has to look in the mirror. And that makes the grief . . . more manageable.

Do you have just ONE thing to say? And if so . . . what is it????

Power

My crit group is, I think, getting a new trial member this week. So it's a good point in my work-in-progress (which is divided into two--possibly three--distinct parts) to bring my revisions from all of "Book I" over the next couple of meetings. And one of the elements that my revision has to have is an increasing menace from a Halliburton-like mega corporation, unseen in most ways, but rapidly gaining total power.

And as I'm working through this, I realize how much my own feelings about institutions and power weave through it. And for that I am grateful to my father.

It's an odd thing in an overwhelmingly Judeo-Christian American society to be raised by an atheist. It colors how I feel about prayer in school, "moments of silence," even the pledge of allegiance. And since he has very, very strong feelings about corruption in religion (and government), I was raised to distrust any church, any priest or minister, and even more, the people who hypocritically stood behind the robes, finger-pointing in judgment. It reminds me of the scene in A Christmas Carol when the Ghost of Christmas Future pulls his robes back and reveals Want and Ignorance--the starving children beneath his robes.

My father believed in education . . . but not blindly. I was never to take a lecture or lesson at face value. Confirm things myself. Dig deeper into history. I was revisionist before revisionism was in textbooks. Question all power.

And don't even get started on government, the military, and certain presidents.

Now that I am somewhat grownup, I wish I could say that powerful people and institutions have proven my father wrong. I don't know WHY I wish that, since it's hopelessly naive. But I can't say they ever have. And I wish I could say that the people who lurk behind the robes have proven me wrong, but they never have either. In fact, at least powerful people are often unafraid to be perceived as the ruthless souls they are . . . the rest often wear masks of banality as they cater to the wishes of the real power. Lock-step. Lemmings.

So I find myself weaving dark themes in my novel . . . frightening ones, based on how I perceive power. I find myself seeing the themes emerging--which it a totally cool part of the writing process. I am revisiting Orwell. Big Brother . . . he's watching.

And I see two levels of conflict. The personal ones my characters face. And a larger conflict with the way the world is constructed.

Thoughts? Anyone else have wips with a fight against something WAY bigger than a mere character?

Redemption

I have been thinking about redemption as a theme lately. As usual, I go to the trusty dictionary:

1. an act of redeeming or the state of being redeemed.

2. deliverance; rescue.

3. Theology . deliverance from sin; salvation.

4. atonement for guilt.

In real life, I have found, for much of my life, that most situations in which people talk about redemption, they think it means an "apology." Generally, both in real life and in fiction, nothing could be further from the truth. I can think of two situations, one which occurred 12 years ago, and one which occurred just a couple of months ago, in which people I knew said such ugly things that they can never be taken back. I suppose that is one of life's lessons--and I often wonder about both celebrities and ordinary people alike who go through nuclear meltdowns as a matter of routine, the people who fight with the meanest things in their arsenal. Don't they realize once it's said, in essence, it's said forever. Like an everlasting echo.

In most religions (all?), there is a model of forgiveness. Christians have a Savior who took on ALL of the worlds sins and redeemed them, for example.

But in fiction, the dramas of redemption are that there is (1) no apology, and (2) no way to "take back" what occurred. So redemption is about #4 much of the time. In real life and in fiction, since you cannot TAKE BACK what happened all you can do is MAKE IT RIGHT. But the tricky fact is some things can never be made "right." So the next best thing becomes atonement, or it becomes about--that "next best thing." It's the hero looking at the landscape of the book, and realizing it can't be fixed--not perfectly. But it still has to be somehow repaired.

In Magickeepers III, the hunt is on for a chalice of immortality. I realized, mid-way through the writing, that it was less about the hunt and more about Nicholai's mother. What happened to her wasn't right . . . and she is long dead (not a spoiler, you find that out in the first chapter in the first book). In my books, unlike a Judeo-Christian world, or a Buddhist rebirth, or a Hindu one . . . there is no way to "undead" someone. No zombies here. No immortality of the religious sort. So the entire book is really about somehow atoning for what happened.

Thoughts? Anyone have books rich with redemption themes? (I'm already thinking of one.)

Themes and Variations

It's prompt time over at Lurker Monkey's. Last month I wrote a comic flash fiction story/dialogue. And this month . . . well, we'll see when I turn it in and it posts.

But suffice it to say, I found myself in the a recurring theme yet again, different variation. Went in a direction unexpected from the prompt. Yet maybe preordained. Same theme. Different variation.

And in my work-in-progress . . . say again? Same theme, different variation.

Look at Freudian Slip . . . same theme . . . broken record.

Grief.

Even FUNNY, I write about grief.

But as I was writing yesterday for the Monkey Prompt . . . I was surprised at how I felt myself sinking into my character's grief. And I wondered . . . what the hell is WITH this theme in my work?

On occasion, I find myself grieving. At odd moments, my mind drifts to people I have loved, now gone. I talk to them in quiet moments. I carry some of their things with me--my gandfather's keychain, for example. I carry little funeral mass cards with me in my purse. I don't know why. I will dig through looking for a pen, and come across a half dozen of them, some thirty years old. I almost compulsively won't throw them away. They move from purse to purse. But maybe I find it a fascinating theme because every person you or I will ever love . . . we will say good-bye to. It's either them first . . . or you. And that facet of the human condition is so astounding to me, that we come into this world . . . and we gain much but then face its eventual loss.

Yet . . . meet me (Lurker? Back me on this?) . . . I'm not the grieving type. I throw lots of parties. I laugh--too much maybe. I like the Clash. All right, the occasional dirge . . . but really? Other than wearing black all the time, I don't see this facet of my personality.

I have a friend who says I am a Russian writer just discovering that now.

Either way . . .

It's my theme and variation. And not one I intentionally seek.

What's yours?

Themes

This Christmas will hereafter be called the Christmas of the Great Slide Project. My parents have THOUSANDS of old slides and my Significant Other bought me a slide converter. All day long, my mother pries the old slides from their metal case, and I load them into the converter and make JPEGs. The top picture is my first birthday in our old apartment in Yonkers. Middle picture includes my great-grandparents and bottom picture my grandparents (and me in the bottom left).

It is weird to revisit the past around the holidays. I am consistently struck by how poor we were, and by how HAPPY we were. Which makes me wonder if "getting ahead" is all it's cracked up to be. But more than that . . . .

The theme of my work-in-progress is memory as a repository of the soul. Without our memories, we are nothing. Memories are the stuff of existence, and yet they reside solely within each person, utterly unique. And here I am floating around in memories for days on end.

It isn't the first time my life seems to echo my themes. Maybe I gravitate toward the themes that mean something to me. Maybe the themes choose me. I don't know. But I find the circumstances of this holiday eerily reminiscent of my main character and her documentary films.

So how about you? Do you ever find your real life has decided to veer into the oncoming path of your novel?

Fascinations

For a time, looking back on my writing, I was fascinated by the grey areas of criminal life. I was fascinated by criminals with families, by people who walked the line for good even though parts of them were bad. Or people who appeared to walk the line for good, even though they actually were very, very bad and it was all a lie.

Now, I am not so fascinated by that. Maybe I explored all there was I wanted to explore. But I am on to new themes and new variations.

My new fascination seems to be missing pieces. As I look through all my wips, all my recent books, that's what I am gravitating toward. Even in the half-finished stories and bits of ideas . . . somehow that's what I see. Characters who know something is horribly missing from their lives, but they have no idea what it is. I have characters with amnesia, and characters who are lunging toward doppelgangers in a search for their past. I have characters who are searching for actual physical evidence of missing pieces in their lives. I have characters who cannot even articulate that something is missing, but they are empty and lonely. I have characters who don't even realize something is missing until they find the missing piece and then their whole world makes sense.

So what area of fascination is currently your theme or big picture idea?

A Little More

I will post the winners tomorrow (Baby Girl and Demon Baby are still asleep . . . so technically, anyone leaving a comment on post 1,000 below has until about 11:00 a.m. EST today). But this morning, for post 1001 . . . I'm thinking of Ferris Bueller.

You see, the re-run was on last night on AMC (and can I bemoan for a moment, that AMC is no longer "classic," as in my fave old B&W movies?!?!?!). I remember the first time I saw Ferris Beuller's Day Off. Who doesn't love Ferris? Remember this bit of dialogue by the squeaky-voiced Grace who worked in Ed Rooney's office?

Grace: Oh, he's very popular, Ed. The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, wasteoids, dweebies, dickheads — they all adore him. They all think he's a righteous dude.

And it was written and directed by John Hughes, who, for a certain generation, seemed to "get" high school kids. (Did you know he's now a recluse?)

BUT . . . you know, it can be deceptive when you write for YA, write comedies, write a little book that seems to tidily solve a crime. Whatever it is . . . there should be a "little more." Because as I watched the movie last night, there were four or five separate moments, when the music changed tune, when it became quieter and softer, and each of the three main characters (Ferris, Cameron, and Sloane) spoke about "next year." Because "next year" they would each go off to college and "next year" nothing was going to be the same . . . and "next year" they would no longer be together . . . and things would change. No one worried about Ferris. He was going to rule the world someday. But for Cameron and Sloane, no longer being with him every day meant . . . something very special was lost. They were at a crossroads. And loss was a part of it.

It was sort of amazing to me to see a theme emerge amidst the hilarity. But there it was . . . this poignancy. And I realized that the books and movies that resonate most bring that "little bit more" to the table. It can be wrapped in hilarity or fun or even some blood and guts . . . but watch it or read it a second or a third time, and there it is.

A little more.

Thoughts? What book or movie do you read or see now that actually resonates on a deeper level? And what "might" someone take at face value in your manuscript? But if they scratch deeper? There's a theme in there somewhere.

Same Territory

You know that adage "write what you know"? I do follow that for the most part. I write about colorful fathers, and loyal siblings. I write about NYC. I write about people who don't take no for an answer. I write about the people and places I know. And sometimes, though the characters change from book to book, I do return to the same SORTS of characters.

I am working on a new proposal . . . and there are ELEMENTS--bits and pieces--that remind me of territory I've covered. As we on this blog call it, if I hop on The Couch, I might say that perhaps I return to those elements because there are still parts of my life, my past, my present, my psyche that haven't put to rest some of those themes. On the other hand, I might also say the themes I write about . . . I love them. So I write what I love. I might also think that I find my groove as a writer when I write about grief and betrayal and family secrets and bonds and the clan of dysfunctional love.

And I wonder . . . At what point do you put "those kinds" of books to rest? At what point is a writer just rehashing the same old sh*t, and at what point is it still fresh and creative? Why do some writers return to the same sorts of stories over and over successfully? And some it seems stale? How are some authors able to keep recurring characters fresh and some ho-hum?

AND . . . drum roll . . . why do some readers get angry to see a writer branch out . . . or vice versa . . . get irritated by the familiar? Can a writer with a successful series ever win?

Thoughts?