Tuesday, March 31, 2009
and then there were crepes.
How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.—Annie Dillard
Remember that list of resolutions I made? I finally made crepes from scratch last night—why oh why didn’t I do this sooner? They’re every bit as easy as pancakes, but are 100 times more fun. (Sorry, pancakes. You know we’re still friends.)
And I’ve only ever had crepes with my closest friends and always under the best circumstances. Not a bad crepe memory in the bunch. So, cheers for reminiscing, for a fantastic dinner, for the first strawberries of the year, and steaming hot crepes.
how lovely are we?
Monday, March 30, 2009
“verrrrrry nice weather we’re having…”
Is not life a hundred times too short for us to bore ourselves?—Friedrich Nietzsche
The other day, out running errands. Waiting for the cashier to print up a receipt, and he looks at me and my dad. Says in that good-cashier voice [I know, because I can whip out that same voice], “SO, how about this weather? Yeah?” Great small talk starter, the weather. It’s probably the single thing that you know you have in common with a stranger.
So why am I mentioning it? Because I was suffering from blog-neglect, and thought hey, it’s turning spring-like, and then it snowed the other day, and then it’s beautiful again today, I can talk about the craziness of spring… And then got a grip, laughed at myself for a moment, and realized that 1) this blog is not a stranger. 2) I am not a good cashier; I’m a writer. 3) So why on earth would I talk to you about the weather, as if you’re a great-great-aunt of mine that I’d never met before, or some customer I was never going to see again?
I wouldn’t! So I’m not. (Though it is gorrrgeous outside.) Will come back when I’m not going to say something trite.—jl
Saturday, March 21, 2009
what a week’s absence means
1) That the newly revised character never did stop talking.
2) That he rallied two more characters to his cause, and along with the protagonist, my head has been filled with chatter.
3) That two long days devoted to setting resulted in an enormous map now covering my bed.
4) That a familiar itch set in on Thursday. A very familiar itch.
5) That I decided to finish my outline one week sooner ...
6) I start writing on MONDAY and not a week from ...
7) I am panicking and feeling a bit overworked and resenting myself (as my sister pointed out: You’re your own boss, you decide when to do things, you don’t have to rush like this) ...
8) but the characters are still talking and pulling at my sleeves, and so maybe I can do this? Maybe I must?
Maybe I can be ready a week early after all? It seems that they always know better than I do when to take the plunge.
And the last things I want are characters who have spent all their words already. Others might know how to write fascinating novels about mutes: not I.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
the pound cake philosopher
Two weeks until my outline is “due,” and I’m feeling better. About everything.
After some quality time yesterday with my main characters, I’ve realized how different Part Two needs to be. (And Part Three. I’m not philosophical about that yet. It hurts, plain and simple. So we won’t think about it.)
Part Two’s enormous changes make sense—you can’t shift the roots of a story without those changes shaking their way out. And all the characters (and the writer!) are pulled along with the shockwaves. Well, that’s okay. That’s how it goes. No one said writing a novel would be easy; in fact, everyone said it would be hard.
Yesterday, though, was brilliant. The character I had to work with? He woke up for Part Two completely changed from who he used to be. Changed for the better. Much better.
Talking so fast, and being so darn funny, and I know my heroine is going to hate him. Perfect. All I have to do is bring the two of them onto the same page in my Word document, and I can’t type fast enough. (Oh, they argue about everything!)
So maybe it will be okay, maybe Part Two will come together quickly. Maybe I can be philosophical with this after all.
It doesn’t hurt that I found a recipe for a cardamom vanilla bean pound cake. That’s where my afternoon’s going, then: to the kitchen. I’ll put my characters to work measuring flour and scraping mixing bowls, and I’ll write down everything they say (or shout, as the case may be).—jl
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
does anyone really know what time it is?
I’m a little disappointed with spring—yesterday it was 82 degrees, and today it’s 34. What? We’re rocketing between summer and winter, and I was hoping for a string of days in the sixties…
The birds are undaunted, though, and they’ve set about filling up their dance cards. I watch them as I make my coffee. The males are all strutting around, their beaks in the air, and then they pause and puff themselves up. I bust out laughing every time—inflatable birds!
And I can’t help thinking: wouldn’t that have saved us ladies some trouble back in the dining halls? It would take some of the guesswork out of social interactions…
“Hey, hey I think that guy is trying to get your attention.” “Yeah? How do you know?” “Well, his face just went to twice its usual size.”
Oh, what could have been.
Monday, March 09, 2009
i don’t have words yet
I heard about this in Bible class Sunday morning. These things usually happen so far away… this was a mere six miles down the road. I think our whole congregation was stunned… I certainly am.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
my last barista was a prophet.
I just got back from a ladies’ event at my church—a fun time, but it had an early start. So after lunch, I did something I once promised myself I would never do: I actually sought out church-basement coffee.
Ever since first smelling church coffee, I knew I’d never drink any. I was in seventh grade, and it was before my conversion to coffee, but even I could tell that this wasn’t the good stuff. Church-basement coffee smells more like shoes and tiles and pipework, less like something you should drink. More Boiler Room, less Bean of Earth. I would look at the people drinking it, and wonder if they had any tastebuds left to rebel against it. I didn’t want to become one of them…
But today, I had no choice. My younger sister was presenting a talk at an afternoon session, and I wasn’t going to doze off while she was speaking.
Pushed to my limits and blinking sleepily, I groped my way over to the brown folding table in the corner. The man behind it leaned forward. “Regular or decaf?”
For the love of goodness, it had better have caffeine. “Regular, please!”
He lifted the Styrofoam cup full of brown liquid. “Last cup,” he said darkly. At the time, I thought he meant the last cup of regular coffee.
After tasting it, I knew better: he doubted I would survive.—jl
Thursday, March 05, 2009
white knuckles, red capes, and the next phase of revision
Events conspired to overtake our heroes, as events often do.—Peter David, Tigerheart
Sometimes heroism is nothing more than patience, curiosity, and a refusal to panic. —the unbelievably brilliant Leif Enger
Well. It was a lovely break, a wonderful few days off. There was tea, there was knitting (a gorgeous blue scarf with cables! oh I’m so proud of me!), there was reading.
I am pleased to report that The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society was every bit as fantastic as I had hoped. It’s so good—please do drop everything and read it. It made me want to write a dozen letters, to run away to the Channel Islands, and to be Juliet (the plucky writerly heroine). Basically, I would like to fall into this book and not come out.