I'm Embarrassed to Admit This, But...

I've got an unfinished novel gathering dust in a drawer. Okay, it's a series of computer files, but that doesn't have the same ring to it.

It's an albatross, this novel, so personal, quirky, and long that it may never be marketable. Yet it was what started me writing fiction. I also happen to love it. Those close to me who've read the first two thirds are very enthusiastic, but that isn't related to actually selling the thing.

Occasionally I prepare for the battle: "I'll revamp it," I declare. "I'll rework the first part into its own novel." "I'll change basic elements of the premise so it's more accessible."

But I never actually do that. It's my first born, albeit specially challenged, and it's beautiful to me just the way it is. Still, I'd like it to be able to grow up and have a life of its own someday outside of my hard drive...

Argos the Reader

In ancient Greek mythology, Argos is the original peacock, a creature with hundreds of eyes on his tail. Athena put them there so he could watch over her treasure. Recently I found a new job for Argos: as a story draft-reader.

I'd read my new story over and over, of course. Then I sent it to some of my trusty guinea pigs to see what they thought. I'm blessed with a cadre of smart, literate folks with good critical skills whom I can call on to look at my stuff. Three of them read my story and loved it, just catching a couple of typos. I was ready to send the story out. Then reader number four sent an email.

"This character seems to be a split personality. He has two different names."

Sure enough, in my indecision, I had named one character twice with two similar names. I'd used those names alternately throughout the story. No one else had caught it!

So, friends, be sure you have an Argos of a reading team, with as many eyes as possible looking from all different angles. You'll be amazed what they can see.

Frankly Cosmic

I hearby dedicate this micron of cyberspace as a digital shrine to Frank Cottrell Boyce. He is the ideal children's novelist. His whimsy verges on madness, his jokes ring true, and the tear-jerking love realized by his characters is deeply warm and never sappy.

Come, pilgrim, and join the Sect of FCB. Jump in feet first by reading Cosmic, and you'll never be the right way round again.

Prithee, Why?

I just aborted an attempt to read a novel (which I shall not name) based in "Medieval Germany." No century was specified. Seriously? By the most conservative reckoning, the Middle Ages lasted 600 years. Shouldn't a historical fiction novelist narrow it down a bit?

And then there was the typical problem of language. The novelist had the main character speaking (and thinking, since it was first-person POV) in a kind of Shakespearean knock-off. Remind me, what part of the Middle Ages did Shakespeare live in?

One of the issues my, er, purported publisher has with my medieval mystery novel is that its language is too modern. I have tried to impress upon him that, in early 13th-century England, people weren't speaking modern English at all, but Middle English, the language of Chaucer. And it didn't sound precious and exotic to the 12-year-olds of the time, but as slang-filled and modern as our own language sounds to us. And it certainly wasn't the language of Shakespeare.

I stand by my belief that, so long as historical periods are presented as esoteric instead of normal to the people who live in them, we will limit the way kids can relate to the past and recognize themselves in it.

Happily Out of Focus

I just learned that my first-ever read-aloud story for for little kids will be published in the relaunch issue of Stories for Children Magazine. They're the experts on that age group, not me. Although I liked the story, I wasn't expecting much. Even my former ICL tutor thought that the plot of "Slug and Snail" was too mundane to sell. I'm just delighted to find that I've crafted it into something worth publishing.

While this is good for my self-esteem, it's not very good for my focus. Now I'm wondering whether I should write more for the youngest readers or listeners. Oh, well. One story at at time. (Okay, six stories at a time...)

Absent Laughter

I just read Ursula K. Le Guin's The Left Hand of Darkness and was, as ever, knocked out by her layered sensitivity to the human character and the endless depth of detail in the worlds she creates. Yet I noticed once again an element missing from her work: humor. This is not to say that every novel I read must make me laugh, only that I am aware of the seriousness, the earnestness of Le Guin's writing.

This struck me, I imagine, because I've been disturbed by a dichotomy in my own writing. I can either write funny fiction or I can write historical fiction. For all my background in history and love of research, I can't lighten up much when I'm re-creating a historical world. But when I'm not burdened with that task and am writing about a contemporary setting, I can let loose with some attitude and raise a chuckle.

Eventually I need to figure out how to combine these skills.

A Fictional Commitment

Looking back on old posts, I see that I struggled to walk away from non-fiction work. Since non-fiction is what I have by far the most experience in, it was tempting to turn to writing articles in hopes of getting published.

But now I no longer get that urge. I'm a writer of fiction. That's what I do and, when I'm lucky, that's what I publish.