Mumble Herder

The novel was moving along swimmingly for a couple of months, there. Then I got stuck. At first I thought it was because I couldn't decide what to do with the Mississippi River, but it's really this scene with the guns, here. Right now I've got eight characters in a room waiting for me to decide what happens next. They are asking me things like, "Are you sure I need to get shot?" and "Doesn't all this tension seem a bit manufactured?" and "Do we need to keep pointing these things at each other while you figure this out?"

So there's your update.

So I've been writing again, in case any of you were aware I wasn't. For about 3 1/2 months I didn't write a word. This was supremely frustrating but also, I think, necessary. It's the first significant time I've spent not writing since 1997, so it was probably overdue.

What I'm interested in now is figuring out how my writing has changed due to this gap. I'm sure it won't be anything too dramatic, but it definitely feels different. One thing is that I think, despite the fact that I feel pressure to produce quickly, I am learning to be more patient.

Structurally I tend to work in one of two ways: flaky and semi-rigid. Think baklava* and aluminum sheeting. The aluminum sheeting stories have definite agendas, either thematically or structurally or both, and nearly everything that goes into them is intended to support those agendas. They're built on specific ideas and have definite goals. I usually know what the ending's going to be without knowing exactly how I'm going to get there. The Sun Inside is like this. (The dinosaurs are ballast. Or something.) Sometimes I worry that they are didactic.

The baklava stories, like Escape to Bird Island and the one I'm working on now, are usually built more on images and off-the-wall scenarios than on specific ideas. I don't have a goal in mind when I start them and I usually don't know what the ending will be. I don't start them until I feel like I have enough dots to connect. These are more scene-by-scene constructions; I have to stop often to think about what happens next, and gradually plot points start to stick together until an ending takes shape. These are more dreamlike stories, without specific foundational arguments. Sometimes I worry that they are indulgent.

I tend to think of the flaky stories as writing from my subconscious (which is why they are flaky), and my brain is not always in a hurry to tell me what it's up to. Some days I get a couple of lines; some days I get nothing. Partly this has to do with getting back into the habit of writing, or struggling with same, but another reason is that if I am too quick to write down the next line it is not always the right one. The right one might come to me ten minutes after I've put down the pen, and I'll be glad that I waited.

The other thing I'm excited about right now is firmly in the semi-rigid category: a novel that plays with the history and demographics of St. Paul, the town where I was born and live now. But here, too, I'm having to be patient. I've done a lot of research and I have a lot more to do; it may be months before I feel grounded enough with the characters and their settings to start this thing. It needs more in the way of structural work because there are many more ways to go with it, and I need to widen my base of knowledge in order to narrow my focus. (Or focuses. Focii.) With Superpowers it was easy, because I knew about superheroes and I knew contemporary Madison, Wisconsin, the United States. It wasn't difficult for me to ground that book. This one is going to take a lot of time, and while I have moments of frustration about this, I am learning to be patient.

I used to work really fast. I used to write short stories in a day or two, never longer than a month. (The revisions usually took quite a bit longer.) I always thought I'd be turning out a novel a year, at least. But if it's going to take longer for me to produce something that really challenges me, something that I feel really good about it, then I'm OK with that. So much of this business is waiting anyway, I may as well get used to waiting for myself.

* I could have said "croissant" but baklava comes in pans so there's more room to move around. Also I prefer croissants because baklava is usually so sweet it gives me a headache. None of this has anything to do with writing.