Pictured Left : “Slumming in Paris, Part Two, The Children” – In Progress
Expected / hoped for release : August / September 2013
Part One, Arthur & Gricinda, a fun romantic novella in my “Slumming in Paris” series, available now in eBook and paperback.
“the intent of this blog is to incrementally build a body of thought that works toward integrating various topics, yoga, fitness, and the arts – it’s a process…”
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Processing My Fiction -
Or Why Does It Feel Like I’m a Teenager in Love, Again
My Writing Process
Some of it anyways
I am about 2/3 of the way on my read-through of my next book, “Slumming in Paris, Part Two, The Children.”
So what does that mean? A read-through?
It’s something, as I go through the process, I’ve often found myself asking – even of me!
Well, the book is written, but in the sense that my outline was fleshed out with description, dialog, and a good idea of what the book’s about.
This read-through is where I sit down with the rush and flush result of letting my imagination go, within the general guidelines of my outline, and just read my book. Can be fun, can be scary.
So how do I know when my book is done?
When I can sit down and read the entire manuscript, with minimal corrections, and enjoy the experience. Then I’m done!
This happened this week when I re-read “Slumming in Paris, Part One, Arthur & Gricinda.” Even Sheila was asking me why I was chuckling loud enough to catch her attention.
So, in Part Two, as I mentioned, I’m about 2/3s the process getting to that fun to read finished product.
Details don’t matter much, of the process that is. All the usual stuff, add dialog, cut dialog. Extend emotional feel of a setting. Clarify who said what, show why. That stuff.
The stuff, though, that makes me feel like a teenager in love again, thrilled, uncertain, determined, and willing to take the risk of expressing myself, is creating the long term relationships in the novel.
People. Places. Points of interest. Even platitudes.
When I wrote, and still write, poems and short stories, the exertion is, by definition, shorter.
Not necessarily less intense, important, or enjoyable. Just, shorter.
A novel, hmmm, boy, geez, whew!
That’s a long term relationship.
And my teenage flutters, I’ve had to remind myself, do better morphing to my nearly sixty-three year old (generally) more patient self.
Or was that simply because I’m more tired?
Letting more of the moments wash over me more slowly, so I can catch a glimpse of that fleeting heartbeat.
Then wait for the wave to wash back over me going the other way, and notice how the hair in my arms mat and clump the other direction.
And the air’s cool against my wet skin, as I hear my wife come down the stairs, asking if I’d like some ice tea.
“A hundred six, today,” she says, taking the last step slow, giving her new right knee, time to adjust.
I’m at the frig before she can object.
“Good idea,” I say, pulling out a cut lemon with the tea jar, cold air rushing out, closing the door to save electricity. “You want some too?”
“Here you go.”
“I was gonna get it.”
“Oh, this so good!”
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namaste´- con dios – god be with you
*** INTEGRATING YOGA FITNESS AND THE ARTS