tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26424838038132317152024-03-05T17:18:52.950-08:00One Writer's WorldSusan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.comBlogger228125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-23566045953004138112022-05-20T08:14:00.000-07:002022-05-20T08:14:07.041-07:00A Neglected Aspect of the Writer's Life<span style="font-family: "New York", serif;">The last two years with the pandemic and the changes it brought about has forced me to confront one aspect of life as a writer that I've mostly ignored. Every writer I know is careful in the area of craft. We think hard about word choices, sentences, paragraphs, and the arc of the story. We read widely and carefully, learning from our peers and colleagues and sharing our expertise when asked. We support each other as beta readers, at book events, and in online groups. We swap books and share reviews. But there's one area I tend to neglect, and I know I'm not the only one. </span><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">After two years with no place to go but the computer, my shoulders are no longer shaped the way nature intended. Instead of exercise classes or running to catch a train after visiting friends in Boston, I get my exercise holding the dog in check when he wants to lunge after a rabbit. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">I used to meditate twice a day, first thing in the morning, and last thing in the evening before I closed up the house. These days I feel like I'm in a state of suspended fuzziness. I'm not sure my brain is strong enough now to meditate. (I exaggerate, but you get the idea.) The thought of cooking a real meal makes me want to take a nap but after two years I think a lot about where I can go to eat or the best places for ordering in. I still sleep well at night but bad news about Covid or anything else (war in Ukraine) can disrupt that. The pandemic has taken its toll, and like many others I didn't notice until the damage was done. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">Self-care is a very real aspect of doing any job well. Working hard at anything takes a toll, and once the burst of energy has been used up and it's time to rest and refill the well, any one of us may want to take a nap, grab some junk food, and fall onto the sofa for a few hours. This is not self-care.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">This spring has been all about getting back into a better way of managing my care as a writer. Walking the dog is an exercise now in deportment, bringing those shoulders up and back, opening up the lungs, and taking longer strides. Instead of sitting at my desk for hours straight, I make a point of getting up and doing odd bits around the house. Meditation can be only ten minutes, and it's still enough to bring the mind home. And taking time for a decent meal pays benefits in many ways.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">When I dropped in on a painter friend several years ago I found her lying on her back on the floor of her studio. "My body is a tool for my art," she said. "It needs to be restored now and then."</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p><span style="font-family: "New York", serif;">In the beginning I thought of creative work as something that came out of my head. But that is too simple. I use my imagination, of course, but I use my body also, and not only body memory. Creativity draws on how we feel in the morning and throughout the day, the weather that shifts us one way on the street or another, the taste of food and the fragrances in the air. Ambient noise seeps into a scene, and an idea that was barely linked to an incipient philosophy shows up in a character's monologue. We need good health to be fully in the world, from which we draw our stories and develop our abilities to tell them well. Self-care allows us to feed ourselves, which in turn feeds our work. It feels good to be back on that familiar path.</span> </p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-41144272400851124402022-04-29T06:49:00.001-07:002022-04-29T06:49:38.496-07:00Story and Plot<span style="font-family: "New York", serif;">Every now and then I pull off the shelf one of my favorite books on writing. Recently I've been thinking about John Gardner's observation that it's better to be a little slow in making up your mind if you're going to be a novelist. Don't rush to find an answer or fill in a blank in the story line. Slower is better than speed when it comes to letting ideas develop. When I first read this, I was relieved because my mind does take a while to bring all the threads of a narrative together.</span><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">One of my bad habits is thinking a story is done before it is. The original idea excites me, so I rush to get it down on paper, but near the end I tend to falter and wonder about the ending I've come up with. Instead of setting the story aside at once, I tend to tinker a little and then write to the end. Sometimes that works, but often not. I'm liable to come up with a much better ending if I set the story aside for a couple of weeks or wait until a better idea comes along. That can take months. This is a lesson I have to remind myself of every time I think I've finished something.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">Katherine Anne Porter said she didn't begin a story with intent for its meaning or significance, but discovered it at the end. She's talking about finding the organic wholeness of a story rather than imposing one on it. Some call this theme or "meaning" of a story, but whatever the term, it is the vision we see when we step back and see the whole. I too hang out in the camp of the discoverers, waiting to hoist my binoculars for the grand view after I've reached the top of the mountain.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">My copy of Stephen King's book <i>On Writing</i> is dog-eared (and don't complain to me about marring a book by turning down corners; a book is to be read and used and loved). I especially like his discussion on the difference between plot and story. "Story is honorable and trustworthy; plot is shifty, and best kept under house arrest." He goes on to describe an exercise that is designed to force the writer to be as honest as she or he can be, knowing that without honesty no story is worth the time.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">When I'm working on the final draft of a novel I have to ask myself how honest have my characters been? Have they admitted, if not to others, then to themselves what their deeper motivations are, their goals and what they're willing to do to get there? Have they admitted to something unattractive, even offensive in themselves? Have I shown them in every aspect, letting the reader decide how to feel about them? We are heavily socialized in this society, and sometimes getting to the truth is harder than we imagine. We're not used to it in daily life. But we have to find it in fiction if our stories are not going to fall flat.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">These are my thoughts as I contemplate 312 pages of my current WIP. I know the whole "plot" is there, and that all the threads come together. What I'm wondering about is something deeper, more organic. Have I captured a vision of an authentic life, and will readers recognize it? This morning I'm standing on the top of the mountain, binoculars raised, scanning the landscape.</p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-55344367531062040772022-04-13T06:37:00.001-07:002022-04-13T06:37:10.368-07:00Staying Focused<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;">I envy my dog his powers of concentration. I walk our chocolate lab, Rob, three times a day, and sometimes I let him run through our unfenced and ungroomed back yard. But the walk is the more interesting exercise for me.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;">Dogs have focus, and Rob is no exception. When he gets a scent in the middle of the street I assume he'll track it to the nearest tree, since this attention usually means a squirrel or, less likely, a rabbit. But he has to follow each meandering, circling path, and that often means I'm going around in circles trying to keep up with him and not get tied up in the leash. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;">Day after day I follow this short, sturdy five-year-old down the street. It takes something major to break his concentration and let go of whatever he has found. He breaks off only when he's ready. Or sees another dog.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO05D4fx82kJB1BJMYcl2Uz38uDLJS39BMUMJRJJJkvS8lK7HSZdU4Z9XDBL_3rtqeQpKxEM3iNe_LY5hSy2laFfCIgvxAZjtIvdzAm-YkVDFgsFfs6StTC8ZSyyaT2bCFXUduOcEOigdE-YE0pgihNqSgIXJDZcBJP1MxYDq42jX75icDQ8rXFAJ4aw/s2016/Rob%20tracking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO05D4fx82kJB1BJMYcl2Uz38uDLJS39BMUMJRJJJkvS8lK7HSZdU4Z9XDBL_3rtqeQpKxEM3iNe_LY5hSy2laFfCIgvxAZjtIvdzAm-YkVDFgsFfs6StTC8ZSyyaT2bCFXUduOcEOigdE-YE0pgihNqSgIXJDZcBJP1MxYDq42jX75icDQ8rXFAJ4aw/s320/Rob%20tracking.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>As a writer I envy that total commitment to the moment and the task at hand, to the ability to block out everything else to learn everything he can from that spot on the neighbor's lawn. I'm easily distracted by email, especially if I'm having trouble with a scene. Worse, all I have to do is look up from my computer and let my eye wander to the bookshelves and I can think of a hundred reorganizing jobs waiting for my attention. And then there's the window looking out on the sidewalk and street. The parade of life is always more fascinating than my faltering plot. These moments add up so that at the end of the day I wonder why it has taken me so long to write fifteen hundred words.<o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;">I'm a big believer in daydreaming, letting the mind wander until a solution shows up. That's one excuse for not forcing myself to focus. But it isn't always good enough. I've learned to shut down the Internet while I'm writing, turn off the phone, and tell friends my writing time is not a good time to call. This works a lot of the time but not all of the time.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;">I've accepted that I'll never have the total focus my pup has. But then he has no interest in creating anything more important than a soft bed at the end of his walk. Even this I occasionally envy. Time to get back to work.</span><o:p></o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-58793845819931127162022-04-01T07:48:00.003-07:002022-04-01T07:48:55.728-07:00Trimming the Text<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaMvYV8ApcF7tE-6yhjrTIN8r0Okqo42FDNqMN7YyHTujj9qNZx7ssme71qONVVwC1fTS8bKjvQcuqKDEa4VHhJ5IqcIiVizpr1tDpVRDTSr48wAvfQGhuK_diiKvDhUB-zbm4krD6G3Gfgz4FhPAr0dBrmM1pqcMo3OH9Xx0uGdcyRf30o_AcFoexMQ/s1920/mistakes-1756958_1920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1439" data-original-width="1920" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaMvYV8ApcF7tE-6yhjrTIN8r0Okqo42FDNqMN7YyHTujj9qNZx7ssme71qONVVwC1fTS8bKjvQcuqKDEa4VHhJ5IqcIiVizpr1tDpVRDTSr48wAvfQGhuK_diiKvDhUB-zbm4krD6G3Gfgz4FhPAr0dBrmM1pqcMo3OH9Xx0uGdcyRf30o_AcFoexMQ/w267-h200/mistakes-1756958_1920.jpg" width="267" /></a></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br />One of my flaws as a writer is writing too much. I confess to overwriting, adding in long descriptions because I'm not sure the reader will understand if I'm terse. Sometimes I add a short paragraph to flesh out a setting or a character, how they behaved in an earlier moment to give the reader a sense of this person's identity, quirks, or ways of dealing with others. Unfortunately, I really like some of these paragraphs and they tend to survive repeated revisions. When I reach the trimming stage, I go after them. It isn't always easy, but I know I have to cut them.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;">Most of us have learned to skip, omit, erase adverbs. They slow down the reader, entangle her in an unnecessary stop along the way, and add nothing that isn't better expressed by recasting the sentence and revealing character or behavior through action. Adjectives can be useful, but, again, if they show up too often I rewrite the sentence and remind myself there are better ways of getting the point across.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;">Now that I'm an editor for a new anthology I'm more conscious than ever of overwriting, one of my bad habits and apparently one that a lot of other writers suffer from. This is too bad because some of the stories I read would be good choices for the anthology if the writer had trimmed the text, removing unnecessary words and overlengthy paragraphs.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;">George Saunders recognizes this weakness in himself as well as the rest of us, and addresses it in his book on short fiction, <i>A Swim in a Pond in the Rain</i>. Saunders includes an exercise in an appendix that asks the writer to cut a six-hundred-word passage down to three hundred words. It sounds easy but it isn't. Of course, anyone can slash three hundred words but the goal isn't just to reduce the number of words but to remove the clutter and let the essence of the piece emerge, stronger and clearer. I think about this whenever I think I've finished a story and have arrived at the final stages of editing. I think I'm looking for typos and missing words, but really I'm looking at all those unnecessary lines, the extras that I couldn't let go of. I reread and trim, I read aloud and trim, I read again looking for more words to trim. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather; font-size: 10.5pt;">Trimming forces me to find the essence of each line, the core idea and expression. When I do the story moves swiftly and clearly, and the point of each line is made, sharp and quick. The reader doesn't know what has been taken out. She or he only knows how well the story moves, how precise and exact the telling. At least, that's what I hope happens.</span><o:p></o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-21876460808969327222022-03-12T06:38:00.003-08:002022-03-12T06:38:57.549-08:00Writers and Predators<p><span style="font-family: "New York", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcMPVQfhmaehPJBGTnfu8YK__SoAwWyguJKAQniRACC-2YK2OElwOam54F7m6kF53VZsAFZVrlA6U3r6yyjT4Ag9B17DKW9Gg7MPawhRxscgo0uv_ZH5sMYGkgd8PgFNYEkWpEy_xCBt48DcuWSvFvul6dZ-uyVq4vCvwAMsL-yGCGTgO4T4mlJaFSvg=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="931" data-original-width="1280" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhcMPVQfhmaehPJBGTnfu8YK__SoAwWyguJKAQniRACC-2YK2OElwOam54F7m6kF53VZsAFZVrlA6U3r6yyjT4Ag9B17DKW9Gg7MPawhRxscgo0uv_ZH5sMYGkgd8PgFNYEkWpEy_xCBt48DcuWSvFvul6dZ-uyVq4vCvwAMsL-yGCGTgO4T4mlJaFSvg=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br />Over the last several months I've listened to a writer friend talk about the challenges of working with a small press. He's an excellent writer and tells gritty stories based on his experience as a lawyer. I wasn't surprised that he was able to sell his novel, as hard as it is today to get published, but the press that picked him up has turned a high moment in his life into a nightmare.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">This post isn't about how bad a predatory press can be when the purpose of the offer is to reel in a new writer who will be pushed and prodded and almost forced into hiring their editors to "fix" and "finish" and "polish" his novel. Before signing with them, the writer did everything he knew he should do, talking with others published by this press, reading the contract carefully, and considering other possibilities. He knew I was skeptical, and I understood how much this meant to him. After signing, he approached the entire process professionally, met all the deadlines despite the editor's tightening the screws on him. Near the end he had to face down a patently illegal rights grab, and did so. But in the end, the experience was worse than anything he could have imagined. (Well, maybe not. He's got a pretty good imagination.)</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">The reason I'm talking about the experience here is because on my FB page another new writer announced with great joy that she had just signed with the same press for her first novel. She's over the moon. She's not someone I know personally—I only see her comments occasionally on my page—but all I could think about was what was in store for her. Since many writers are beaten down by a bullying "editor" in one of these predatory outfits, I wondered if she'd stand up to them, meet the absurd deadlines for rewrites, etc., or cave in and pay for their "editors" to do the work. The goal of many of these small "presses" is to get income from writers, not to publish and promote work so that the writer earns royalties.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">This country is full of people preying on writers. Every week I get a few "offers" from PR outfits who have found my second or third or tenth novel on the web and want me to know that this book is just ripe for a break-out—with their help, of course. I also hear from "editors" who are expanding their line and my books seem just "perfect" for their house. I'm sure they have cousins in Nigeria or wherever those generous people live who want to give me a few million dollars just for helping them out with my banking information.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">I did not contact the second writer in question and tell her what I knew about the press. I've thought about this, and I don't know if I am right or wrong. She has signed the contract, so she's committed. But my heart goes out to her knowing what she's about to experience.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">So, two rules if you are a writer looking for a publishing house.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">First, the publisher gives you money and pays you royalties. The publisher pays for the editor, proofreader, designer, and publicist. You do not pay them and you do not do their work for them.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">Second, if you are thinking of signing (or have signed) with a small press, visit Writer Beware (link below), type in the name, and read everything that comes up. If what you find concerns you, be prepared. Get out of your contract if you can. Otherwise, be ready to write fast, sometimes needlessly, to meet absurd deadlines. And don't expect any warm and fuzzy lunches with your "editor."<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">And if you're a traditionally published writer or successfully published indie writer, I have a question for you. Would you have contacted the woman who had just signed and told her what you know? Let me know what you think.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">https://www.sfwa.org/other-resources/for-authors/writer-beware/<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">In the future, after they finish their new site, also check out Preditors and Editors. Follow their progress on FB. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">https://www.facebook.com/prededitors/<o:p></o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-59970622564762603032022-02-18T13:15:00.002-08:002022-02-18T13:15:19.224-08:00Picking up on Hints<p><span style="font-family: "New York", serif;">One of my steps in revising the already partly revised first draft is to catch all the hints and suggestions for ideas to develop that linger in the text. These usually are ideas that could have been developed and taken the story in a different direction, or hints for clues to be planted or red herrings to be dragged through the next twenty scenes that were never used. They have all been rejected if not consciously then de facto. I catch them as I read through, and usually don't think about them again. In any story the options are many before we begin writing, but with each scene they are narrowed. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: "New York", serif;">In my current WIP, however, I've taken them more seriously as astute suggestions from my unconscious, and not to be ignored. As a result of thinking about them harder, I've solved some problems that I was lazily going to just read past (until the final draft, of course, one of my bad habits). Ginny Means, a social worker whose caseload focuses on teenage girls in foster homes, has already appeared in two short stories in</span><span style="font-family: "New York", serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: "New York", serif;">Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine</i><span style="font-family: "New York", serif;">, with a third in the pipeline. The one hint I grappled with the hardest is the idea of giving Ginny a rescue dog.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjF_S0WZQSD9VuZBov-GP6HdytquTbdWmrI22GLQa3qW7a8dHggasXrRa-cEbiwzgsx7TsyBlwuGUC9qwriXSSvZFC5hzKTvjJqYXaX8gMWYBVO5GciIrpdO-QWix0hF0-EJHJOUbQtJpVDGwQi_ulZrOEoPd0hfBbcCivpGsFeeeuMab78Ht3V7d6P9Q=s2400" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1571" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjF_S0WZQSD9VuZBov-GP6HdytquTbdWmrI22GLQa3qW7a8dHggasXrRa-cEbiwzgsx7TsyBlwuGUC9qwriXSSvZFC5hzKTvjJqYXaX8gMWYBVO5GciIrpdO-QWix0hF0-EJHJOUbQtJpVDGwQi_ulZrOEoPd0hfBbcCivpGsFeeeuMab78Ht3V7d6P9Q=s320" width="209" /></a></div>In <i>Below the Tree Line</i>, Felicity O'Brien is given a rescue dog after she finds signs of someone getting too close to her barn and house late at night. Virtually every farm has a dog, and here was my main character, owner of a farm, without one. Writing one in was easy, and I enjoyed getting to know Shadow, a little black-haired mutt.<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">In my current WIP I thought the idea of a dog seemed too cliched, since the main character was a single woman who worked, so when I scribbled the line in the first few chapters that Ginny fostered dogs occasionally, I thought I'd just leave it like that. There wasn't really any reason to develop this, so I let it just sit there while I focused on the plot and other characters. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">As I kept going I had the usual plot holes to fill, motivations to figure out, and details about her life to clarify. In one instance the presence of a dog could be a crucial clue, and I thought about giving her one of her own. But that posed other issues. She needed to be someone who could roam late into the night without worrying about a dog in the back seat barking loudly at shadows or others in a passing car or walking along on a leash on the sidewalk. But Ginny also had to be seen as compassion outside of her work as well. The idea of the fostered dog reappeared, and once I began to look at this more seriously, I could see all sorts of possibilities for her character as well as another pivotal figure. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">I was slightly worried that I was creating another character who had to be seen in part as a villain who had some good qualities. He felt like a cliche and I wasn't sure how to deal with this. I didn't want it to be easy for the reader to dislike him, so somehow he had to be shown to be a decent guy. He got a dog, and Ginny was sympathetic. The foster dog was in.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">When I talk about writing as a process of discovery I'm usually thinking about the personalities and quirks of specific figures in the story, their appearance and family relationships. I'm not thinking about dogs determining clues and character, but that's what happened in this WIP. Giving Ginny a foster dog to care for occasionally doesn't change other aspects of her life given in previously published short stories, and remains a feature I can use or not depending on the plot. Those hints and suggestions I usually eliminate have turned out to be important sign posts in this WIP and I'm reading them more carefully now. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-45310550812510040672022-02-11T09:31:00.000-08:002022-02-11T09:31:14.797-08:00Graphomania?<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">Over the years I've subscribed to probably hundreds of websites, but only a few have survived my decluttering process. One of these is wordsmith.org, and its A.Word.A.Day. I enjoy the etymology of rarely used words, and especially of those that are arcane. But today's word caught my attention more than most. <i>Graphomania</i> isn't rare, but the description was a little different from what I expected. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEga58G-08li4umtDcgM8M-AEmlsNAhMWMiDFOmUNOs6txFPuAY_PIo325FruBT6usVFk-zQV13j46I0fkKZwTVnOPfWCpDTf95ndzxkV6WQ0w6XsGc4W05ToLLalsfyPj9KSquQifP4G5SG-87CXPSQxOPZUy6zpp0YnzZeheKvv4ealJNRXfoJbDc0Lg=s1920" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1175" data-original-width="1920" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEga58G-08li4umtDcgM8M-AEmlsNAhMWMiDFOmUNOs6txFPuAY_PIo325FruBT6usVFk-zQV13j46I0fkKZwTVnOPfWCpDTf95ndzxkV6WQ0w6XsGc4W05ToLLalsfyPj9KSquQifP4G5SG-87CXPSQxOPZUy6zpp0YnzZeheKvv4ealJNRXfoJbDc0Lg=w304-h196" width="304" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by Nile from Pixabay</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">The definition, "an obsessive inclination to write," seems obvious from the term's construction (graph + mania), but the description after that seemed less so. After describing Leonardo da Vinci's passion for filling thousands of pages in his notebooks, the editor added this:<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Do you carry a notebook and pen with you at all times? Do you wake up in the middle of the night to write? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">And my first thought was, Doesn't everyone? I know the answer to that is no. I know not everyone carries a notebook or wakes up in the middle of the night to jot down a good idea for a story or a perfect line for a certain character. My desk is littered with scraps of paper for story ideas, scenes to add to my WIP, a pad of paper filled with notes that will remain with the printed ms after I'm truly finished, and stacks of notecards that I add to as I go along in the story. But does this mean I'm really a graphomaniac?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Once in a while I stop to wonder how it was that I knew as a teenager that writing was my life. I don't wonder too hard because I'm honest about this—beyond the question is the recognition that I felt early on the compulsion to write. I was never someone who "wanted" to write. I was someone who wrote, made up stories, reworked them, and wrote more. I sent them out and, sadly, they came back, but that didn't matter too much. I just wrote more and sent out more. I also learned early on to be careful about uninvited commentary from anyone, since most people think young ones should have a practical career in mind. I ignored them because I knew, beneath it all, writing was a compulsion and the wise response was to give in and work at it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">In India I often spent time with a British couple. The husband was an artist whose work, small sculptures, funded their annual trips to India and other countries. His wife asked me one day why I wrote. I was about to launch into some explanation about liking mysteries, or whatever, when I stopped and said, "It's a compulsion. I just have to." Her husband nodded and said, "Yes, exactly."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">The reader who occasionally asks the writer why she does what she does probably wants to hear something grander than "It's a compulsion," but that is the truth. I would be miserable if I didn't write, and so would most of the other writers I know. So which is better? Graphomaniac or compulsive? I don't really like either one, so I'll just jot that question down in my notebook as something to think about. How about you? Do you have a preference?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"> <o:p></o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-64002068385193790382022-02-04T14:54:00.002-08:002022-02-04T14:54:43.835-08:00Authenticity in Fiction<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">I've been thinking about the details used in historical novels to create a sense of time and place a sense of authenticity. The 1950s seems to be an increasingly popular period, but it is the period of my childhood so I look for the details that tell me this is in fact written by someone who understands the period and pulls out the just-right details. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">We lived near the ocean and much of my early life involved heading to the beach, sailing with my family, or hiking in the nearby woods. Just about anyone who could get to the water had some kind of boat, and sailing out of the harbor meant waving to a wide variety of ocean goers. Managing movement on the water is a great leveler—the fanciest boat in the world means nothing with a poor skipper. This is still true.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">As children, we were outdoors most of the summer day, off riding on our bikes without much thought given to the kinds of dangers adults worry about today. As long as we were home by dinner time, no one seemed to care where we went. We walked or rode the bus to school; parents didn't drive us as a rule. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">Other details also seem to be missing. In a TV ad for something now forgotten, the female voice over said, "This generation has known nothing but war or the threat of war or talk of war." I'm not sure what the point was but it came on regularly. The other TV ads that were so common were for cigarettes. It may seem absurd but when I went for a checkup before getting married, my doctor actually said, if you're going to smoke try something bland like . . . and he named a particular brand. Seems unreal now, but I remember the conversation well and only later learned that he smoked. Most historicals set in the 1950s select the TV shows as the authentic detail, but skip the ads and ignore the test patterns that ran after the station ended programming. A cousin visiting from New York City in the 1960s was shocked to find that Boston stations ended programming at 1:00 a.m. What was he going to do all night?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">The story might be taking place in a small town or city, but the big events of the time touched everyone. The McCarthy hearings in 1953 and 1954 led to the well-known black lists but they also explain why some writers of nonfiction felt it necessary to include passages clarifying their opposition to Communism. I came across this in a nonfiction book on mental health. It's an oddity in American publications that I haven't encountered in any other period. McCarthy frightened a lot of people. The other background hum came from the Korean War, which is now mostly remembered through the movie and TV series <i>MASH</i>.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">That decade also saw the widespread introduction of antibiotics. The 1950s have been called the golden age of antibiotic discovery, and up to half of all drugs commonly used today were discovered in that decade. Of course, our overuse of these drugs may have brought us back to the original problem—diseases with no treatment, but now with treatment ineffective because of growing drug resistance.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">We may think technology is the defining feature of ages since the 1950s but I'd point to something else: the level of trust, which was taken for granted. We knew our neighbors and expected to be able to call on them when needed. A car accident brought sympathy and help rather than an automatic lawsuit. Pizza was a treat and not a regular one, and people rarely went out to dinner. And there was fewer of everything—fewer cars in the driveway, fewer clothes in the closet, fewer (many fewer) telephones in the house. But there were lots of jobs. Unemployment hovered between 2.7% and, briefly, 6.2%, the same rate as today when businesses are complaining about finding enough workers. We thought transistor radios and TV were amazing. Except for Ray Bradbury and his colleagues, most of us couldn't imagine what was coming in the future.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">What decades do you feel more familiar with? What features do you look for in an historical novel in that or any other time? What makes the story feel authentic? </p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-54016898780836362442022-01-28T14:16:00.001-08:002022-01-28T14:16:20.019-08:00Getting through the First Draft<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Recently I posted a comment on FB that I had reached 57,000+ words in my work-in-progress and now, at last, knew how it was going to end. This sounds absurd to anyone but another writer, and has become more and more likely in my work.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">When I began writing the Mellingham series in the 1990s, I knew who the killer was, the motive, and how the final scenes would play out. The problem was getting there, how did I begin with a killer and a sleuth and keep them occupied through 70,000 words. My first step was to decide on ten chapters with ten scenes each. This idea had flaws, which I discovered in chapter one. Some scenes were long and others were short and some were repetitive because I was determined to get those ten scenes into that chapter. By the end of the book I might not even have ten chapters; instead I had eleven or nine. Sticking to a rigid plan was harder than I expected. I dropped the ten-chapters idea.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy3xxzOgDcdpLHWgEMH_7g7NbJX6HJUM6n1jHgkoXar_nAfgchIWPFiNz30Rc-5REdWZjXbm9C9vjfIJKrjIQlydeZzJDuT5NVlfuDwWiIjjmfnm3kPC3YWT_q65hmenCJS9U-wp-xt76QMOSUeZmQloY0eBeSXQnNUaM-8-v0etTBb8z7ebi537URUA=s1546" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1546" data-original-width="1000" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhy3xxzOgDcdpLHWgEMH_7g7NbJX6HJUM6n1jHgkoXar_nAfgchIWPFiNz30Rc-5REdWZjXbm9C9vjfIJKrjIQlydeZzJDuT5NVlfuDwWiIjjmfnm3kPC3YWT_q65hmenCJS9U-wp-xt76QMOSUeZmQloY0eBeSXQnNUaM-8-v0etTBb8z7ebi537URUA=w192-h297" width="192" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p>By the time I began the Anita Ray series, set in a hotel in South India, I wanted my scenes to be of somewhat even length, approximately three pages or fifteen hundred words. Confident in my new plan, I scribbled along happily until I found some scenes running fifteen pages and others barely one. I once asked another mystery reader what was the shortest chapter she had encountered, and she replied, "It was one word. 'Help!' " It's nice to know another writer has won that competition and the rest of us can stop worrying about it. The only conclusion I was ready to draw was that each chapter should have more than one scene, but I soon had to abandon that rule also.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgCZVe3hiEAIj2H7LKUJjTjaVAhLSY3rwZ875vWE1ydybLOG6a3JIjvZ9KGA9Wwoczwmbav68UPbIBQWZqzjCwudttTg3g5r335KC10EPIAG7AWg97hKQdZpAC2XlhKIY2UQi45smtpPYGtjyYKpvZnulp3_oJqxmWY5pQADj2DWzz9IMG5sowUsqblHw=s155" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="155" data-original-width="100" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgCZVe3hiEAIj2H7LKUJjTjaVAhLSY3rwZ875vWE1ydybLOG6a3JIjvZ9KGA9Wwoczwmbav68UPbIBQWZqzjCwudttTg3g5r335KC10EPIAG7AWg97hKQdZpAC2XlhKIY2UQi45smtpPYGtjyYKpvZnulp3_oJqxmWY5pQADj2DWzz9IMG5sowUsqblHw=w184-h284" width="184" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I once read a short story that went on for almost fifty pages without a single scene break. (Some of you may know this story, and if so, leave me a note in the comments.) I read with one part of my brain watching how she did this, how she managed to keep the pace and scenes threaded together without exhausting the reader, who usually expects a moment of rest for a deep breath and assimilation. I'm not likely to try this approach in crime fiction.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">My current approach is to give each day a chapter regardless of how many scenes that involves. In a busy day for my MC, that could mean up to nine scenes. My tendency is to mark a scene change when the emotional tone of the action changes, and this can be even in the middle of a conversation. My Beta readers often comment on this in negative terms so I've had to revise my thinking, but I do so somewhat reluctantly. I like my placement of scene changes because I think they signal something to the reader.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">After I have a completed first draft I expect I'll have to go back to the beginning and reorganize the scenes into more logical chapters, but right now this is the structure that gets me through the writing and keeps me moving forward. I didn't say it was logical. It's useful. And as a writer I am always practical. What devices do you use to push your way through the first draft?<o:p></o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-8025858918141388812022-01-20T12:01:00.003-08:002022-01-20T12:01:32.243-08:00Time Away<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Since my first book,</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><i style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">A Reader's Guide to the Classic British Mystery</i><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> (1988), I've stuck to the basic rule of writing every day, which for me has also meant developing a story idea, doing research, revising, rounding out characters, and working out ideas for the narrative. That's been a pretty good guide for all the years since my first mystery, <i>Murder in Mellingham (</i>1993), though I haven't published nearly as much as more prolific writers. I also include in my writing history hundreds of grants, essays, reviews, and other nonfiction work. But this month, I found I'd taken a hiatus of almost ten days. Was it a disaster? Did it ruin my WIP? (And where did the time go anyway?)</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">When I took the time to assess where I was in the ms along with my list of questions about the plot, I found that the ten days' respite had given my unconscious time to resolve the issues, and the narrative gaps and bumps had been filled in and smoothed out. It was a relief.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I didn't expect this to happen, and I'm not convinced it would have if I'd planned it. Writers learn to trust the unconscious, our intuition, to solve story issues. Would this character actually do this? or say this? Does that sound like him? Would she really want that to be the end of it? If I let her do this, can she really follow it with that? Sometimes I can't answer these questions until the end of the first draft, and then I have to go back and pull scenes into line, straighten out the wobbly character or fill in the missing dialogue. But this time none of the resolutions were forced, and each seemed exactly right.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The time away from writing while I was absorbed elsewhere served me well, but I'm not going to make a practice of it. When the first draft is finished, I generally set the ms aside for two or three weeks so I can come to it fresh and see more clearly where it falters, when something is missing or a passage sounds clunky or confusing. But I avoid taking time off in the middle of the first draft because it feels risky. I'm afraid of losing the thread of the plot, or the energy propelling the story forward. But I'm glad to know I can survive a hiatus if I have to.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Do you have the same worries, or is taking a break in the middle of the first draft easy for you?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-49684495593318566422022-01-13T12:18:00.000-08:002022-01-13T12:18:04.985-08:00 Exploring Narrative Form: Review: Celestial Bodies by Jokha Alharthi.<p><span style="font-family: times;"><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">As part of my reading around the world in the company of women, my project to read a book by a woman from every country, I read <i>Celestial Bodies</i> by Jokha Alharthi. Those who expect a linear narrative will find this novel challenging. Several characters move to center stage and give us their view of their life. In the end we have a vision of the people of Oman, the impact of significant changes since the 1920s, and the web holding several women together.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Translated from the Arabic by Marilyn Booth.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">First published in Arabic in Oman in 2010.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Published in English by Catapult Press, 2019.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Winner of the Man Booker International Prize.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0jTrSC_g98T4wX1JKGqwFJuXrG5ohtSKT13Q1Pgk1478dyC_bF1tIHQTQQENVJ4bWE9fUjY94ZLVhlz2kNBIMOIz_jNquKXXw0CKc1Eqpew4k9NOS1E8IcY4dhiFwxCeGLUYpHrJK9Uh3wYX9dSGJ8V_94XlXX11WxHvMPWgjIZpDDOVkOEaKWlZsmA=s944" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="944" data-original-width="626" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg0jTrSC_g98T4wX1JKGqwFJuXrG5ohtSKT13Q1Pgk1478dyC_bF1tIHQTQQENVJ4bWE9fUjY94ZLVhlz2kNBIMOIz_jNquKXXw0CKc1Eqpew4k9NOS1E8IcY4dhiFwxCeGLUYpHrJK9Uh3wYX9dSGJ8V_94XlXX11WxHvMPWgjIZpDDOVkOEaKWlZsmA=s320" width="212" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><br />Mayya is a young girl, silent and devoted to her sewing machine. Around her swirls the life of her large family, her two younger sisters Asmi, who hoards books recovered from the trash, and Khawla, who fixates on her beauty and the cousin who promised they were to marry; her mother, Salima, and the girls' father, Azzan; the servants and newly freed slaves; and the various relatives and neighbor women who come in and out of the house, visiting, paying condolence or congratulation calls. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">Told in the setting of a deeply conservative culture, sprinkled with historical turning points and Arabic poetry, the narration explores the family members, each one getting short chapters of his or her own. The narrators circle around the mysteries of their lives: Mayya, Abdallah her husband, London, their first daughter given an unusual name that elicits distress from others; Asma, Mayya's younger sister, who wants an education but is too old for the early grades; Qamar, a Bedouin woman who has carved out a life of near-total freedom for herself among her people who live camped outside the village and turns her desire on Mayya's father; Zarifa, a slave who was sold and forced to marry, who takes it upon herself to defy her slavery by sheer force of will and who challenges her son who insists now that he is free he can violate all the traditions if he wants to, but she knows secrets; Masouda, a wife locked into a room, cared for by her daughter, who may or may not be mad; Khawla, who is determined to remain true to her childhood sweetheart; Salima, the girls' mother, who grew up neither slave nor daughter of the house; Ankabuta, a slave woman and Zarifa's mother; Khalid, Asma's husband; Fatima, Abdallah's mother; Marwan the Pure, who isn't; Sulayman, a young merchant who founds a long family line with his wealth from the slave trade beginning in the 1890s.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The author only hints at linearity in the narration, and yet the stories hold together, the lives intersect, and mysteries are answered.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-20475757287835990362022-01-06T11:18:00.004-08:002022-01-06T11:18:58.113-08:00Goals 2022<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I've been thinking about setting goals and whether or not it's worth the effort. I can't even remember what my goals for this past year were, and I'm not eager to check and see if I met them. The pandemic has thrown everything off for me as well as many others, but as I look forward into the new year I admit that I have hoped to get certain things done.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">First, the fifth Anita Ray is ready to go, so one goal is to publish and promote <i>In Sita's Shadow</i>. This means promotion, so . . . </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Second, I will try at least one new promotional approach in sending Anita Ray out into the world again so I can feel I'm not stagnating in that department (I won't mention backsliding).<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Third, I've enjoyed doing more with my blog, so I'll continue that (or this).<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Fourth, a certain magazine continues to reject my stories, even though I sometimes get a nice note from the editor. I'll keep trying to place one story in that magazine. Maybe I'm becoming obsessive, but at least I'm motivated.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">That's enough pre-planning for one year. I'll leave world peace and ending poverty to those more powerful than I am.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">What about your goals? Are they simple, practical steps or are they larger, more abstract?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-70518996053855166642021-12-30T13:42:00.004-08:002021-12-30T13:42:59.872-08:00Five Words<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Part of the process of writing is improving one's craft. The more I write, the more I learn, and the better I become. I assume this is true of other writers. Even so, I encounter fairly often a few slip-ups that grate on me, so I'm closing out the year with what matters most to me—words and how we use them.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>Presently.</i> This word does not mean now, at present. It means soon. <i>Currently</i> means now. Currently I'm reading Catherine Dilts, and presently I shall be reading John Floyd. And now you should be able to guess what I'm reading.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>Uninterested/Disinterested</i>. These two words do not mean the same thing. <i>Uninterested </i>means to lack interest in something. You don't want the judge in your case to be uninterested in what's happening in the courtroom. You want him to be <i>disinterested</i>, without selfish or personal interest in the court activities; without bias; impartial. You definitely want the judge to be impartial. Ignore the suggestions in dictionaries that the words are beginning to share a single definition. There are some of us who will be massively confused by your writing if you do so.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>Indifferent</i>. Just to confuse things, we have the word <i>indifferent</i>. This word can mean the same as uninterested, but with nuances that make it less than a good substitute for it. The word means something that is neither good nor bad, or someone who has no interest in something, apathetic, or doesn't care. The word leaves us with a shrug.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">And now a pesky reminder about I and me, she and her, he and him. In each pair, the first is the nominative case and the second is the objective. She and I gave weapons to him, and then he gave ammunition to me and to her. There is today among many speakers as well as writers an effort to sound correct. Hence we hear sentences like "Will you go with he and I?" I cringe. I hope you wouldn't say, "Me cringe." Talk (and write) as though you're with an old friend, or your grandmother, and let the words flow unselfconsciously.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">As one of my favorite grammarians said in relation to the objective case, Use it with confidence. And so I do, and urge you to do so too.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-68079590409073665732021-12-23T12:13:00.003-08:002021-12-23T12:13:34.030-08:00My Notebooks<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The holiday season is a time for getting together with family and friends, and this year though different has already brought out moments to be treasured and recorded. And, as I do year-round, I pulled out my notebook and began to jot down a few comments to remember—a book title that someone mentioned, an idea for a story that popped up when an interesting-looking stranger passed me on the street, a plan for a spring get-together, the name of a shop I wanted to return to. No one comments when I pulled out my little composition book, and I doubt anyone who knows me well even registers what I'm doing.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxpoCbbvn6gsRDfmtgaacDlBZuCE_0HE-_BHc0hT1fsZBgX_O3rA-vQ-E5eGqR6P-MsC_6gQNducUR_OIQjj__RLoiMiChLvrvwahSqwxANpCGZ0U-1dcCPMmHYZisYXTX9JTGKLF-YuTMs7T0wAbQrULtN6VcUEnJdIQSE-iaEiq_GWCiL7XuydNRsw=s2016" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxpoCbbvn6gsRDfmtgaacDlBZuCE_0HE-_BHc0hT1fsZBgX_O3rA-vQ-E5eGqR6P-MsC_6gQNducUR_OIQjj__RLoiMiChLvrvwahSqwxANpCGZ0U-1dcCPMmHYZisYXTX9JTGKLF-YuTMs7T0wAbQrULtN6VcUEnJdIQSE-iaEiq_GWCiL7XuydNRsw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I have stacks of them. Each one usually covers about six months. The stacks are high enough to prevent the desk from closing properly, so I'm wondering about where I'll put them. Curious, I pulled out one from June 1998, when I attended a city planning meeting and noted the statistics someone gave. What would our little city look like if every lot were built on? This was all part of the city's master plan, and giving residents a chance to debate the proposals. I can't remember why I went, but the notes are evocative. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">A few pages later I had notes on <i>Emotional Intelligence</i> by David Goleman (1995), along with the Boston public library and its call number, followed by a few quotes.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">In the beginning of one book is a short dialogue with two gay men, recorded moments after the fact.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">First man to second: "You're a goodlooking guy. Here's a hug."<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">And then to me: "And you too."<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Me: "I'm a distant second."<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">First man: "It's in the reading, not in the text."<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">This dialogue hasn't made it into a story yet, but other snippets overheard have. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">One of the best locations for catching dialogue is on Amtrak (sometimes even the Quiet Car), where riders are comfortable enough to shout over the rocking and clacking of the train. Coffee shops seem to be overrated for eavesdropping, but a hair salon is still a good spot along with certain grocery aisles. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Sometimes I'm recording minutes of a meeting or drafting a grant proposal (when I was still working) or working out the idea of a letter I'm drafting. Lots of pages are filled with trial sentences. If the topics have changed over the years, my handwriting hasn't.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">A colleague noticed my note taking one day and commented that she did the same thing. I asked if she reread her booklets at the end of the year. She said no, she threw them out. She never kept one.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">My notebooks are inelegant, subjective, personal, and practical. They reflect my life and way of doing things, and I can't imagine throwing them out. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Do you keep a journal? Any kind of record? Would you throw it out when it was filled? This is the kind of quirk that could lead to an interesting story character.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-9324563438806442272021-12-16T08:17:00.000-08:002021-12-16T08:17:27.360-08:00Characters not from Real People<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">A few weeks ago a friend taking a writing workshop was given the assignment to write a piece that included a description of someone she knew. She gave me part of the essay to read, and asked if her description of me seemed accurate. I was sure that it was, but I read it anyway.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Friends of writers have different reactions to hearing that we're working on a story and developing certain characters. Some are worried that they'll pick up a copy of the finished book and find themselves in it, and not appearing in a flattering light. Others pick up a copy of the same book and are blind to their appearance. I know one writer who regularly includes a sibling she's dislikes who never recognizes herself in her sister's work. And then there's the acquaintance who barely suppresses the hope that she is in the book, perhaps as the heroine or as a brilliant walk-on. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Maybe it's the nature of the traditional mystery to attract this kind of fevered attention, emotions seesawing between avid desire for a moment of fame—or infamy—and a chilling, nearly paralyzing fear of being exposed, put on display for the babbling reviewers on social media. I haven't encountered the same concern highlighted to the same extent from thriller or romance writers, but perhaps that will change.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Fortunately, I've steered clear of including anyone I know in my fiction, but that hasn't stopped numerous people from quietly turning to me at a party or a meeting, when they think no one is listening, and asking, "Is that so-and-so?" Sometimes I'm shocked at the question because it tells me more about how the questioner see so-and-so than the idea that I might include him or her in a story. Usually I can't see the connection, and it's easy to say, "No, the character you're asking about came strictly from my imagination, except for the shoes. I saw a man wearing those on the T one day and never forgot them." And that is the truth.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">During a reading at a book group populated mostly by older women, one guest asked after I finished reading a particular passage, "Is that your mother?" The question surprised me because I had never seen my mother act at all like the woman in the story, and said so. But thirty years later, as she coped with aging, my mother did indeed act exactly like the woman in the story. Either the guest was prescient, or I had given something away without realizing it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Fiction is about creating a world in which characters the writer has invented behave in a way that is so true to life and their character, their personality and beliefs and expressed principles, that readers accept and follow them as though they were as real as the local mayor or postman or neighbor out mowing his lawn late on Thursday night. Fiction is a lie we believe because we can see that it is true to life as we have lived it. We take from people we know the off-hand remark that reveals a deeper sense of the person and give it to our protagonist at a crucial point in the story. We borrow a hair color, strawberry blond, to make a woman more distinctive. But the person we create will be nothing like the person borrowed from. She doesn't have to be; she only has to be true to her fictional self.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">In her essay, my friend composed a revealing portrait of me, so much so that I winced, surprised that she had been so perceptive and able to express what she saw and felt so clearly. But if this had been fiction, the rest of me would have disappeared behind a new personality designed to carry an action and trajectory that I would not have taken. No matter how close some people think we might be getting to a real person, the writer borrows only details and remakes their significance to support a larger understanding in her fiction.<o:p></o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-90645849897544322632021-12-09T13:46:00.000-08:002021-12-09T13:46:09.250-08:00Naming My Characters<p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-family: times;">Most of my fiction begins with an image of a man or woman engaged in some act, caught in a freeze-frame of intent and purpose. I can see him or her, usually her, moving forward, the goal just out of view but I know it's there. This person's identity is only partly unknown. I don't have a name or full view of family and friends but I can see how she or he behaves. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">I spend time thinking about the names for my characters. Only once, after writing most of my first novel, in college, I had the bizarre idea that the main character's name was wrong for him, and decided to change it. The student who was typing my handwritten drafts was surprisingly upset. She said the story just didn't feel the same. And she was right. I took the lesson to heart. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEic7dDWyumX7bMg2TZX32X6Sq01R_9I4cjsRAhqVOBPt5tg9RmAgZYKxEd97comCXa5WYTgQeBwLhu7Bk63x08ZdTQTxAPrjuBnhucPI7egXXmnJFcdq_sAEMYiUR8s3AdWjYPdHDm0DhRhVqhnc1ejEsm369-MhJ2_FD-bbH2fZAS3RvYgXf4Izv0BfA=s1546" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1546" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEic7dDWyumX7bMg2TZX32X6Sq01R_9I4cjsRAhqVOBPt5tg9RmAgZYKxEd97comCXa5WYTgQeBwLhu7Bk63x08ZdTQTxAPrjuBnhucPI7egXXmnJFcdq_sAEMYiUR8s3AdWjYPdHDm0DhRhVqhnc1ejEsm369-MhJ2_FD-bbH2fZAS3RvYgXf4Izv0BfA=s320" width="207" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: times;">The name for any character may come as a sudden inspiration or after several minutes—or days—thinking about it. The name for my first series character, Chief of Police Joe Silva of the Mellingham series, reflects the Portuguese heritage of the area, as well as his approachability. Silva is a common Portuguese name in the towns and cities around Boston, and Joe, from Jose, underscores his basic amiability and implies all that he brings, from the Hebrew meaning "God will add." It also sounded very familiar, as typical of the Portuguese I encountered growing up.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">In the second series, featuring Indian-American photographer Anita Ray, I wanted a name that could be both Indian and American, as well as having the lightness and cleanness of sound that most Indian names have. (This is just my bias.) I wanted the last name to also sound both Indian and American Irish, and gave considerable thought to both. When a friend casually remarked that another writer had once said her name was perfect for a character, I knew I was on the right track, and Anita Ray was born. Auntie Meena, who in India would be addressed as Meena Auntie, came easily after hearing a child call out.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJKsERmvi7rbfe5ETgXmNufzXgvbB-Jn0j_lSUFUdQVCXRhEvY31dN_8dP2IxamSbLhf1k5p5omvZdmlt7Z39Dtx_ry8-egS21-L6i6bmN1BWL1IoKCUPVyHWFZzSOSrT6k0EQqX9CbzioHGSdyxcpPQ6KGGANUYkxiJfnGqMFNMd9_hQECYFZFIJSZg=s773" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="773" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJKsERmvi7rbfe5ETgXmNufzXgvbB-Jn0j_lSUFUdQVCXRhEvY31dN_8dP2IxamSbLhf1k5p5omvZdmlt7Z39Dtx_ry8-egS21-L6i6bmN1BWL1IoKCUPVyHWFZzSOSrT6k0EQqX9CbzioHGSdyxcpPQ6KGGANUYkxiJfnGqMFNMd9_hQECYFZFIJSZg=s320" width="207" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">The main character in <i>Below the Tree Line</i>, the beginning of a new series, had to express her Irish heritage but also her particular heritage of the female line, as a healer. The women in her family tree carried names that are mostly forgotten today—Justice, Charity, Faith—but I wanted one that expressed her character. Felicity O'Brien inherited the family farm, and practices her healing gift among friends. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWqJERIRp5IqGhlZFLn5rHJ78pw-oOrlow98LyWPjBeGIne8P5CKuTZ5btWDF1-wkE9ijCHXInbys9xP3k9aNH5TBBNKIu8ik_mXg7M1jS3vu0kwrTf76OLNTpo_UopGvhwqFOEE6BXgW44RTox4LL7xP6aHEeMU1puhgoRwiy3aOKzjk1BuY9ieXv-Q=s2048" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1341" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiWqJERIRp5IqGhlZFLn5rHJ78pw-oOrlow98LyWPjBeGIne8P5CKuTZ5btWDF1-wkE9ijCHXInbys9xP3k9aNH5TBBNKIu8ik_mXg7M1jS3vu0kwrTf76OLNTpo_UopGvhwqFOEE6BXgW44RTox4LL7xP6aHEeMU1puhgoRwiy3aOKzjk1BuY9ieXv-Q=s320" width="210" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">In a short story that first appeared in AHMM ("How Do You Know What You Want"), a social worker in child welfare delivers a teenager to a new foster family. It's a walk-on part but I knew who she was and her name just popped into my head. I didn't expect to deal with her again, but she has shown up in two more stories and is now the protagonist in a novel I'm working on. Ginny Means is forty, unmarried, and devoted to her work, but she has a secret that she carries uneasily, but someone else wants it exposed. In an online discussion I mentioned her and another participant said, "That's a good name for a social worker." <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">When I struggle with naming a character, I think of Dickens, who was brilliant at this along with just about everything else in composing stories. Capturing the right name, one that doesn't feel "wrong" or "ill-suited" two months or two years later, takes time and effort. It doesn't have to be unusual or startling, like Sarah Strohmeyer's Bubbles Yablonsky or Atticus Finch in Harper Lee's <i>To Kill a Mockingbird</i>. But it should be like the name Nurse Ratched in <i>One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest</i>, able to tell you about the character on some level. The right name lifts the story and carries the personality.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><o:p><span style="font-family: times;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;">That's where my thoughts are now as I ponder naming the minor characters in my current WIP, beginning with the various villains (and there are several) and the townspeople who encounter them.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(14, 119, 68); color: #0e7744; font-family: Roboto, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: nowrap;">https://www.amazon.com/Susan-Oleksiw/</span><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">website: http://www.susanoleksiw.com<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">blog: https://www.susansblogbits.blogspot.com<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/susan.oleksiw.author/" style="color: purple;">https://www.facebook.com/susan.oleksiw.author/</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Twitter: @susanoleksiw<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><a href="https://instagram/susan_oleksiw" style="color: purple;">https://instagram/susan_oleksiw</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Pinterest: <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/susanoleksiw/" style="color: purple;">https://www.pinterest.com/susanoleksiw/</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;">Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/susan-oleksiw<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/SusanOleksiw" style="color: purple;">https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/SusanOleksiw</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-87137406527945327242021-11-11T14:24:00.000-08:002021-11-11T14:24:00.412-08:00 Getting It Right on Page One<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">A couple of weeks ago I began a working on a new mystery featuring a series character who has shown up in a number of short stories. The opening scene told the reader everything she needed to know and moved the story forward, but I wasn't happy with it. I kept writing scene after scene, exploring the characters and pleased with the ideas that came to me as I was writing farther into the story. I kept notes, deepened the characters and complicated the plot. But still, though I could feel the story was developing the way I wanted it to, I wasn't happy. I made more notes.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">When a story idea feels like a good one to me, little pieces of the plot, snippets of dialogue, visuals show up waiting to be put in place. I don't try to force the ideas to come, sitting down and deciding this is the motive or that is the backstory. I let the ideas unfold. It's a slow process in the beginning but I pick up speed once I have the basic idea. The problem I was having was with the beginning--the scene that tells you what's going to come sooner or later, the promise and the expectations. I trust my process and I trust my ideas.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">We've had wonderfully warm days lately, so my midday walk with the dog is especially enjoyable. A few days ago as we strolled down a quiet side street a helicopter flew overhead. This isn't terribly unusual here. Occasionally a news copter shows up and we all wonder what's been going on. I looked up and watched it hover and move on, not in any great hurry, as though the pilot were looking or perhaps teaching someone how to fly. Watching the copter from below as it flew nearly directly overhead I thought it looked like a tadpole. And just at that moment I had the opening of my new mystery--a young woman racing to get home before curfew who sees a copter flying overhead and stops to wonder why.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I won't tell the rest of the opening, but I knew I had it right by the the scene that took shape in that minute and the eagerness I felt to get to my computer and get to work. Because I had things I had to do at the end of the dog walk, I couldn't go back to work, but the idea stayed warm and grew warmer, with little details coming along to vivify the moment when the main character looks up and sees the copter overhead.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Because of the actions of the main character in the new opening scene, some of what I've already written needs to be recast. This is not unexpected, and I already know how I'll change a few things, adding and deleting. But the relief and excitement at having found the perfect opening for this tale is buoying. It feels like a different mystery now, and it is.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I need this kind of energy to keep the story flowing so the writing, the construction of the story, doesn't start to feel mechanical. The total narrative now has a somewhat different arc from my original intent, but the new one is much better. My desk is now littered with notes, a map of my fictional town, and research tidbits to work into the story. The month of November promises to be productive.<o:p></o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-76236874781285894992021-10-15T08:49:00.004-07:002021-10-15T08:49:59.485-07:00My New Series Character<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Over the summer I came up with the idea for a new mystery, a stand-alone I thought, but as the story line itself evolved, the woman at the center of the investigation or conflict grew hazier and hazier. I couldn't seem to get a handle on her. I let the idea sit and germinate, and one day, while I was straightening out my husband's studio, onto the stage of my stalled novel walked a character I knew, a woman who had already appeared in two short stories with a third on the way to publication. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Social worker Ginny Means first appeared in "How Do You Know What You Want" (<i>Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine</i>, March/April 32017) as a walk-on. Her job was to deliver a teenage girl to a new foster home, and not much else. I didn't think about her again for a while until I got another idea for a story, and there she was, ready to introduce the setting and problem in "Just Another Runaway" (<i>AHMM</i> November/December 2019), and now scheduled to appear again in <i>AHMM</i> in "The Deacon's Mistake." <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Ginny Means has evolved in each story. The details of her life appeared as needed, but I kept track of them, and now as I look over my notecards I can see she's ready for her own novel. She's the middle of three girls, unmarried and childless, and prone to casual attire. Her mother and sisters are yard salers, scouring the countryside on weekends for their "finds." Her case work focuses primarily on teenage girls in foster care. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">When my imagination plucked Ginny Means from the list of possible main characters I was reluctant to consider her because, after all, who really wants to read about teenage girls getting in and out of trouble all the time. Aside from being depressing, it could also be monotonous. Ginny needed more in her life, and that turned out to be easier to solve than I at first expected.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">In Massachusetts at least whenever there is a severe budget crunch, the state lays off vast numbers of social workers. Many never return to the field, and others limp along on part-time work. Ginny became one of those, supplementing her reduced hours with a small counseling business on the side. With a MSW in social work from a major university and several courses toward her PhD, she earned for a license as a counselor. Now a LICSW, she comes into contact with a much more varied population of troubled and troubling individuals, mostly adults. And that's where my novel stuck in a ditch climbed out and began to move forward.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">But not all my problems are solved. A character who works in a short story may not expand well into a novel. I have yet to spend enough time with Ginny Means and her family to know her well and anticipate what she'll do, how she'll face other problems and challenges. Her thoughts and inner life are still mostly unknown. An additional consideration is that I located her and her work in the Pioneer Valley, where my short-lived third series featuring Felicity O'Brien is set. I'm not inclined yet to move her (a decision that can be made at almost any time), since I like what I've seen (created?) so far. The most important element, however, is my new-found enthusiasm for Ginny as a lead character. I like the way she thinks and confronts people and problems, and I like spending time with her. It's time to let her take over the story and see where it goes.<o:p></o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-32673415386364660202021-10-07T14:14:00.000-07:002021-10-07T14:14:10.347-07:00Definitions of the Cozy Mystery<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">A spirited discussion on the Short Mystery Fiction Society list led to several short or longer definitions of the beloved cozy mystery. I collected most of them, and list them here. Some are tongue-in-cheek, some are serious, but all give insight into the genre. I've omitted the writers whose definitions are quoted and edited lightly.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">A cozy mystery is one in which the blood is dry before it hits the page.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">They are a place for the reader to escape, a place the reader will like being. The language used is soft, not harsh, the people are those the reader would like as neighbors, and the killer has a very good reason--at least in their own head--for doing the deed. That pleasant place where order will be restored.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #26282a; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">A cozy is a mystery in which someone gets killed but no one gets hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #26282a; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I think of the word cozies as mysteries to which the word "cozy" applies in two ways.<br /><br />First, cozy in the sense of comfortable. They're not disturbing to read. Violence happens offstage, sex is only suggested, the language is mild.<br /><br />Second, cozy in the sense of close and contained. The story takes place in a community of limited size, such as a small town and there is only a handful of suspects.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">Life as it should be with a little excitement added in (murder).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There’s a lot of hairsplitting over the definition of a cozy and the difference between cozies and traditional mysteries. The lines are definitely blurred. Basically a cozy has no on-page sex or violence, with little or no profanity (preferably none). They often take place in a small town. I never heard the bit about no one getting hurt. Traditional mysteries are grittier and perhaps more realistic. I would put Agatha Christie’s Jane Marple in the cozy category. Sayers more traditional.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I would also note that cozies have a strong element of female empowerment. The protagonists are busy making a life for themselves, often a new life after a tragedy, and often against the odds. They run businesses and libraries and community theaters, and sometimes families. Their world is disrupted, and they do everything it takes to put it back together. They get sugar done.<span class="apple-converted-space"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">"Cozy" is essentially synonymous with "traditional mystery."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">I do want to say that although the cozy genre is very heavily weighted towards female protagonists, there are some authors who have done a great job making male protagonists work in a cozy as well. I’m thinking about M.K. Wren’s Conan Flagg series, Jack Ewing’s Primed for Murder, Stephen Humphrey Bogart’s R.J. Brooks mysteries, Matt Witten’s Jacob Burns mysteries and many more.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Cozies have nothing in them that will upset *anybody,* even the most strict reader.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">For traditional mysteries, the most important thing is the puzzle. <br />The level of action and danger varies, and we don't always like the protagonist that much, but the puzzle needs to hang together. The reader gets intellectual satisfaction from the solution of the puzzle.<br /><br />For cozies, the most important thing is that the reader feels that the protagonist is a friend, and they feel comfortable in their company. <br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Cozies can have some mild action, and some danger, and they have a puzzle, but all of that is subordinated to creating an emotional bond between the protagonist and the reader.<br />The reader gets emotional satisfaction from having spent an enjoyable few hours in the company of their friend.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">A cozy is a book you can read before going to sleep at night, and still be able to go to sleep at night.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Both cozies and traditionals: no excessive, graphic, gratuitous sex or violence on the page, plus very little or, preferably, no “expletive deleted” words. Usually a small-town setting. Emphasis on backstory, character development, whydunit as well as whodunit.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />Difference between cozies and traditionals: in a cozy, the sleuth is always an amateur, generally female. In a traditional, it is a professional, sometimes a police officer, but more often a private investigator, and more often male. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />Christie’s Poirot books are traditional; Miss Marple books are cozies. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">Someone dies, no one gets hurt.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">There’s a lot of hairsplitting over the definition of a cozy and the<br />difference between cozies and traditional mysteries. The lines are<br />definitely blurred. Basically a cozy has no on-page sex or violence, with<br />little or no profanity (preferably none). They often take place in a small<br />town. I never heard the bit about no one getting hurt. Traditional<br />mysteries are grittier and perhaps more realistic. I would put Agatha<br />Christie’s Jane Marple in the cozy category. Sayers more traditional.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-39437821820034447122021-09-13T11:14:00.001-07:002021-09-13T11:14:37.989-07:00Sunburn by Laura LippmanLaura Lippman is one of my favorite writers, so much so that I have to remind myself not to give away too much, so no spoilers here. <div><br /></div><div>Sunburn by Laura Lippman
William Morrow, 2018 </div><div><br /></div><div>In Belleville, Delaware, in 1995, a man and a woman meet in a bar. Both are just passing through, but each one for different reasons decides to stay. Polly gets a part-time job in the Heigh Ho bar, and Adam signs on as a chef who turns out to be creative enough to draw customers from beyond the small town. They are soon enmeshed in each other's life. </div><div><br /></div><div>But both are lying about who they are and why they are in that small town in the first place. Gradually their histories--or parts of them--are revealed, and at each stage one or the other faces the challenge of accepting this unexpected truth about the other. As the passions deepen, the seesaw increases. </div><div><br /></div><div>Told from multiple points of view, the story moves through Polly, Adam, Adam's secret employer, and Polly's abandoned husband. Each character is focused on one goal, and through that focused determination Lippman explores their character, the twists in a life that have brought them to this point. Polly, who at first seems the worst of the lot for abandoning her husband and three-year-old child, grows on every page into a complicated woman whose goal isn't fully realized until the final chapters. Her husband, Greg, also turns into someone he probably didn't expect to become. </div><div><br /></div><div>The writing is graceful, the pace steadily increasing, and the twists and revelations very satisfying. Highly recommended.
</div>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-74442326277187038112021-07-15T08:41:00.002-07:002021-07-15T08:41:28.847-07:00Here's the Thing about Stuff<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8eVv57kveQRaXbIWHp6PiCTym5aADwF7zl2k7FPUT15qjlWHiTJZtbZaWg2XwL75g5wZ_CtE6Q7xGOQSC2Onn-iCLkSwKL6algR9BgGRB346ZSgWazeSnrVm0YFBPPjoItDgYCEC7NsqO/s1920/dictionary-1149723_1920.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1920" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8eVv57kveQRaXbIWHp6PiCTym5aADwF7zl2k7FPUT15qjlWHiTJZtbZaWg2XwL75g5wZ_CtE6Q7xGOQSC2Onn-iCLkSwKL6algR9BgGRB346ZSgWazeSnrVm0YFBPPjoItDgYCEC7NsqO/s320/dictionary-1149723_1920.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />Back in the late 1980s, when Reagan left the White House and it was evident he was in decline, a journalist reported that others had noted the mental failing much earlier because the president began using the word <i>stuff</i>, dropping it in more often rather than developing the rest of the sentence. Instead of being precise and clear, he used the word as a shortcut, making his sentences sound informal rather than incomplete. This, apparently, is a sign of declining mental skills, and an early sign of dementia.<p></p><p>Well, that got my attention. With a grandmother who died with Alzheimer's, and later a mother in the early stages before she died, I took note of the signs I could look for in my own speech. When the use of the word <i>stuff</i> and others like it turned out to be one of them, I hopped on that bandwagon and have been riding it ever since. I have long been uncomfortable with the sloppy use of the word <i>thing</i>, and avoid it whenever possible, so now I had two words that made me cringe when I heard them skidding into place in a sentence.</p><p>Changes in contemporary American vocabulary are obvious to anyone who reads an old newspaper from the 1950s or earlier. I'm not convinced this is a sign of the shrinking of our language skills, but it is certainly an indication of their changing. Our writing and speech are much simpler, more casual, blunter in many cases, more often laced with slang. Linguists may argue about the size of the English vocabulary--half a million words or fewer than two hundred thousand if most of the inflections are skimmed off--but in daily transactions our chosen words are few. The ever-present <i>stuff</i> and <i>thing</i> may be a sign of change and nothing more.</p><p>A professor in graduate school, in the 1970s, remarked a few times on the tiny vocabulary of a particular Slavic language. I haven't been able to track it down, but I did come across a language thought to have the fewest vocabulary items. Toki Pona is a language created by Sonja Lang, and has 123 words. It takes usually about thirty hours to learn and the speaker must rely heavily on creating metaphors to get his or her point across. I can't say it appeals to me. Even though language grows through metaphor and borrowing from other languages (one of the reasons English vocab is so large and rich), I think I'd be frustrated at not having more words to play with, especially technical terms. This particular language strikes me as replete with versions of <i>stuff</i> and <i>thing</i>.</p><p>A writer who captures a character's linguistic oddities--speech patterns and rhythms, vocabulary and inflection--wins my eternal admiration. This doesn't mean the author demonstrates a vast vocabulary; only that she captures the peculiarities of an individual in words. The first time I read George Higgins I felt like I was in the room with his characters and at any moment they'd be menacing me as though I were in the story.</p><p>The news about Reagan may have startled me out of a complacency I didn't know I had. But in the end it made me a more conscientious writer, alert to moments of laziness in thinking and writing that can be corrected and thus perhaps improve the work in ways not imagined. Whatever challenges me to be more alert is good, regardless of the original motivation.</p><p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-23535744131930770432021-06-11T08:24:00.028-07:002021-06-11T08:36:26.574-07:00The Writer Wasting Time<div style="text-align: left;"><p>There was a time in my life, not so long ago, when I could say that I never wasted time. I couldn't because I simply had so much to do. I worked full time, produced a semiannual literary journal with a colleague and later an anthology of crime fiction with two other colleagues, ran a monthly writers' group, critiqued friends' mss, and oversaw my mother's health care during a critical time. And I wrote.</p><p style="text-align: left;">My focus was on crime fiction, novels in two series with a few short stories based on the main character in one, Anita Ray. I wrote both stories and novels during the brief interlude between arriving home from work and dinner, after taking snatches of time during lunch or while walking to a meeting or waiting on hold to think through what I wanted to write in the next scene or passage when I got home. When I could I attended writers' conferences and participated in a few volunteer projects. And then I retired.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I have long felt that writers' block is an indulgence. I may not feel like writing, but once I sit down and begin, the words come. No matter how bad the writing might seem at the moment I know I can always return later and rework it. The point for me is to keep going. Once I retired I didn't feel the same pressure, but I also didn't stop writing. While working I had to use every minute I could find but now I could begin earlier in the day, whenever I wanted, and take more time working through what I was trying to say. I might still sit down unready to write, as it were, but I still wrote no matter what. I wasn't at my desk to play solitaire. Nothing changed in retirement, just my attitude to time now that I had more of it. I let myself daydream more, stare out the window more, talk to the dog more.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Did having more time make a difference? Did I write more? Did I write better? Did I think more deeply? The only question I'm sure about is the latitude retirement gave me to try new things--new characters, new settings, new problems. And then last year I began thinking differently about how to construct a story, and that produced a very different novel from my usual fare. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Last summer I set aside the reliable and much enjoyed cozy/traditional format and pulled up one character and got her into trouble in the first line and kept her there. The story is obviously suspense and not a cozy. I learned a lot about a different style of writing but in the end I also learned about me. I see the world in a certain way, and even in a suspense novel with danger in every room, threats at every corner, the main character is going to have a certain world view and certain beliefs that might be shaken but won't be destroyed.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Writing suspense meant going deeper into certain characters but it also meant uncovering the roots of principles, the drive leading to the goals that can be misdirected, and inchoate beliefs that can underlie a life and be twisted before being recovered in a truer form. I spent a lot more time thinking about these issues before I began writing--weeks, even months.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Being willing to take the time to explore these discoveries in fiction might not have happened in earlier years when writing another cozy seemed the obvious choice, the easier path. I might have ended up wasting a lot of time--months if not years--in producing another series that was okay but not much more. But in the end I finished with a novel that is different from my usual work and a level above it. And now comes the test. My agent has it and now I wait. Once again, the issue is time. Waiting time. </p><p style="text-align: left;">And also thinking time, thinking about the next character who will be in trouble in the first line and stay there until a few paragraphs from the end. Time is set only as we choose to set it.</p></div>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-20730191472239620732021-06-03T12:34:00.000-07:002021-06-03T12:34:07.588-07:00Out and About in the Neighborhood<p></p><div style="text-align: left;">Various forms of social media now bedevil just about every writer I know. We have to decide what to participate in from among the many options, how to participate, and find the discipline to maintain the effort. All this is in the service of promoting ourselves and our books. It sounds ludicrous and it is. So, how do I, for one, go about it?<div><br /></div><div>About a year ago I signed up for Instagram. It was obvious at the outset that most writers were using the site to post about their books—lots of covers and writer selfies. I have occasionally posted the cover of a book or a magazine containing one of my stories, but that pales pretty fast, at least for me. I enjoy posting pix of stacks of books I’m reading, or a photo of strangers deep in a book at a local park, but I’ve learned Instagram has more to offer. </div><div><br /></div><div>With the pandemic worsening, I wanted to enjoy what I could do and not think always about promotion. I used my walk to entertain myself, and I’m very glad I did.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the beginning of the pandemic people in my neighborhood were learning to hunker down, avoid the playground, and find ways to entertain themselves and their children. First, a group of over three dozen families settled on decorating front doors for spring and Easter. I photographed a number of them, and posted those. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtVcseydihQ1TcJaxRnMn9MkEKJdM5upXVCfW6MJqOHQgydXQqgRq6JAZqW_n3LtDwRLUSQEEXR8-JnOoBHwvQSFL81S_aadWfZqiZK93h6j7lfxytW6Q8ttfBVdcUqTJzi_6jDX5mhQ7j/s1632/Door+5_3.24.20_IMG_3875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="1224" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtVcseydihQ1TcJaxRnMn9MkEKJdM5upXVCfW6MJqOHQgydXQqgRq6JAZqW_n3LtDwRLUSQEEXR8-JnOoBHwvQSFL81S_aadWfZqiZK93h6j7lfxytW6Q8ttfBVdcUqTJzi_6jDX5mhQ7j/w150-h200/Door+5_3.24.20_IMG_3875.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>Next came the teddy bears and other stuffed animals propped up in windows for children to spot on their walks or bike rides. Not exactly a treasure hunt but close enough. I had a good time finding those, including some life-sized bears settled on porches and rows of stuffed animals filling windows. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5jk42SyE9eQF1i70dHx1QVdRJiZMpA4KRIgdKOcPp6tiap-7_gu1DqgRy7pfR_YYT9-W0cxxjYrOarxQob-vrJRfMQmOrWxTByutDBtNeF6HO3Q5WppV6LPbWGWidEvqaDXWMR_HKrvqu/s1632/Bear+in+Window+1_IMG_3926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5jk42SyE9eQF1i70dHx1QVdRJiZMpA4KRIgdKOcPp6tiap-7_gu1DqgRy7pfR_YYT9-W0cxxjYrOarxQob-vrJRfMQmOrWxTByutDBtNeF6HO3Q5WppV6LPbWGWidEvqaDXWMR_HKrvqu/w200-h150/Bear+in+Window+1_IMG_3926.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div>Gardens bloomed and animal statues popped up under the azaleas and by the tulips. I’ve never been one for garden creatures but I’ve come to enjoy the hunt to find them in other people’s gardens, and I have pulled out an old sprinkler in the form of a tin frog to use in mine.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGKk1Mm_odGnXhpEN3hct0EWh2EzloyUx9We9Wi0hQ8XlDgW35w5Hc2nn0upajG4AdxVi3eZPx8yRaB7hXRKTxie75FApP7B6h_z-eG-0zvxvbmX4OdNwGJqyix8hB61Hhpsi65DVzks3/s1632/Scultpure_garden+owl_IMG_3968.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="1224" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGKk1Mm_odGnXhpEN3hct0EWh2EzloyUx9We9Wi0hQ8XlDgW35w5Hc2nn0upajG4AdxVi3eZPx8yRaB7hXRKTxie75FApP7B6h_z-eG-0zvxvbmX4OdNwGJqyix8hB61Hhpsi65DVzks3/w150-h200/Scultpure_garden+owl_IMG_3968.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><br /><div>But my favorite of all my discoveries during this time are the flamingos. A woman several streets away has nine plastic flamingos which she presents in various poses—dining out, dancing around a maypole, going on vacation, sitting around a campfire. She puts time and effort into these tableaux, and I love them. We have never met but occasionally if she’s there when I walk past, I tell her how much I enjoy her work.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLnlX60Qbq2-wn32rtkYVA7dIdQs_MLDqn9sdzURa22QW5Xh7LePNZz5c7vE7-pAxQ_jIPcv7Vom9-UW3tsFe83Hp4OIXlVwwjNvr1Xt5_Nf6Mv5h0JqjRrxegx6X9nR8z7FIOdt5tT_r/s1632/Flamingo+maypole%2529IMG_4025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLnlX60Qbq2-wn32rtkYVA7dIdQs_MLDqn9sdzURa22QW5Xh7LePNZz5c7vE7-pAxQ_jIPcv7Vom9-UW3tsFe83Hp4OIXlVwwjNvr1Xt5_Nf6Mv5h0JqjRrxegx6X9nR8z7FIOdt5tT_r/w200-h150/Flamingo+maypole%2529IMG_4025.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div>I have spent years walking around India with a camera, looking for interesting shots and unusual perspectives, but the flamingos have taken a special hold on me. And I’m not the only one. In staid, reserved New England, no one would expect bright pink plastic lawn toys to become popular, but they’re popping up now throughout my little city. I’ve come across three other “families” of the birds but no one else has animated them in scenes as creatively as the first neighbor. The original nine are still the standouts.</div><div><br /></div><div>Why does this matter? The last year didn’t seem a problem for me and my husband. We’re both retired and engaged in our long loved creative work, he with photography, and me with writing. But the limitations on our activities have forced us, just like millions of others, to stay close to home and that means noticing more of what is happening around us. Unexpectedly I learned a little bit more about myself this past year. I have liked my neighborhood since we first bought our home in the late 1970s for practical reasons—location. I can walk to the library, restaurants, the train, and friends. But now it means a lot to me for other reasons—for how people live and interact, how much creativity goes into their ordinary lives that we don’t always notice, and how closely neighbors who don’t know each other well will reach out to collaborate and cooperate during unusual times. In previous years, being wrapped up in my job and my fictional worlds, creating stories and meeting deadlines, has meant paying less attention to the worlds around me, those of my neighbors. Walk two to five miles every day along the same streets, past the same houses, and you are guaranteed to see and learn more. And what you pick out from among the thousands of images that pass in front of your eyes will tell you even more about who you are and how you see the world. But it will also teach you a lot about the people around you. Some are more creative than others, and some are far more houseproud than others. </div><div><br /></div><div>Community, humor, joy, generosity come to the fore in this collection of streets and homes. And I intend to keep looking for how it is expressed long after the pandemic has receded.</div><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-33959594615069071412021-05-08T13:46:00.005-07:002021-05-08T13:46:42.076-07:00Reading around the World (6)<img border="0" src="https://www.blogger.com/img/transparent.gif" /><br /><div>Quiet in Her Bones, by Nalini Singh</div><div>Berkley 2021</div><div><br /></div><div>Set in modern New Zealand, this mystery depicts the multicultural world of the contemporary rich. I hadn't meant to read a mystery for this country, but when I picked this up to read as a mystery I found its depiction of the modern New Zealander vivid and interesting. The author drops in cultural details about the country that move the story occasionally beyond the mystery.</div><div><br /></div><div>Aarav Rai remembers his mother as beautiful, glamorous, devoted, if sometimes outlandish. But what sticks in his mind most is the memory ten years ago of a scream and then his mother’s car driving away into the rainy night, never to be seen again. Now twenty-six years old and a best-selling writer, Aarav returns home to recuperate from a car accident, home to the cul-de-sac he left years ago. Half a million dollars went missing from his father’s safe that night, and Ishaan Rai is convinced his wife stole it and ran off with her lover. But life goes on in the exclusive cul-de-sac until the police arrive ten years later to inform Mr. Rai that they have located his wife’s Jaguar deep in the bush, concealed within the fast-growing forest. The car holds the body of a woman but no money. When Aarav learns that his mother was in the passenger seat, everything changes. He is determined to find out who was driving that night.</div><div><br /></div><div>Throughout his investigation of his mother’s last night and the private lives of their neighbors in the cul-de-sac, Aarav recalls his mother, Nina, in all her extravagant ways, her wild fights with her husband, her ever generous and loving relationship with her son, her loyal friendships, and her secret transgressions. Aarav is a determined investigator, struggling to recall those days despite his migraines and erratic memory. One day he is the unreliable narrator of his own life, and the next he is a hard thinking avenging angel. Through it all he seems to live on Coca Cola and candy, and the occasional decent meal provided by his sweet stepmother, one of the few characters whose façade doesn’t crumble under the glare of reality.</div><div><br /></div><div>The son is well positioned to watch the goings-on in the homes around him, as men or women sneak out of one house and into another, hopefully concealed by the night while others indulge their secret, sometimes illicit passions.</div><div><br /></div><div>The solution to the crime resolves all the questions, but it feels less satisfying than it should considering the number of less central questions that are resolved and leave the reader with a greater sense of completion. Nevertheless, this is a rewarding page turner.</div> Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2642483803813231715.post-51566122487403030262021-04-13T08:47:00.002-07:002021-04-13T08:47:34.169-07:00Reading Around the World (5)<p>This is my fifth post about my project to read a novel by a woman from every country. This week it's Morocco. I'm learning a lot about how non-English and non-European writers conceive of the novel form and purpose. The language of composition undoubtedly plays a role.</p><p><span style="font-family: "New York", serif;">Year of the Elephant: </span><span style="font-family: "New York", serif;">A Moroccan Woman’s Journey toward Independence, and Other Stories, b</span><span style="font-family: "New York", serif;">y Leila Abouzeid</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">Translation from the Arabic by Barbara Parmenter<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">Introduction by Elizabeth Warnock Fernea<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">University of Texas at Austin, Austin, Texas, 1989<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">In the tightly constructed novel of the title, Zahra returns to her home village after a sudden divorce. This is 1950s Morocco just after Independence. Her husband informs her she will receive whatever the law allows, which is one hundred days of support. After the years of fighting shoulder to shoulder with her husband and others for independence from France, the woman is stunned and angry, feeling betrayed and lost. Childless, she can return to live with a sibling but chooses instead to live in the room of the family estate she inherited from her father. The various rooms inherited by relatives have turned the old estate into an apartment building, but at least she has a place to live. A holy man in the local mosque listens and advises her as she recalls her years in the resistance, her many visits home bedecked in jewels and fine clothing, and her plans for a new life once the colonial power was driven from the land. She is unprepared for life as a divorced woman—no money, no skills, no family connections that she wants to submit to. A few friends attempt to aid her but there is little they can do and she wants her own life of dignity and position. She navigates this new world, assessing the changes in her old collaborators as well as her husband, but in the end she makes peace with the new nation of Morocco and her new self, and grows well beyond the woman her husband divorced.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">Also included are eight short stories that are glimpses of life in Morocco as it struggles to transform itself from a traditional culture ruled as a French colony into a modern nation on the world stage. In most cases they read more like scenarios than fully developed stories but the view of a traditional culture clashing with the modern world is clear.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;">This is the first novel by a Moroccan woman written in Arabic and translated into English. As such it marks two important trends—the growing use of Arabic instead of French or English in literature and the rise of educated women in public and literary life. Although some reviewers have enjoyed the writing style, I didn’t find it admirable. The novella moves along well, and the ending is both ironic and hopeful.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "New York", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Susan Oleksiwhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02693057997469296068noreply@blogger.com2