Not Much to Report

Hello All on this lovely day here in Missouri. This past week, I polished the generic query letter, the synopsis, and the first fifty pages of the manuscript.

         But somehow, no matter what plans I have upon awakening, I never get done all that I need to do in order to start sending out queries. As the saying goes, “Life happens.” And while it’s happening, I’m napping, walking, dealing with a headache, doing errands, simply staring off into space . . . or reading mysteries!

         I did go to a number of agent web sites this past week and read them carefully to determine exactly what materials each agency wants beyond the query letter. Also, I read the lists of authors each agency represents. If I discover an author whose books I’ve read with pleasure, I can add that to my query and personalize it.

         So now I have a list of 8 agents to whom I hope to send queries this week. I’ve found 104 agents who represent historical fiction and I’ll write to all of them if need be in my search for someone to represent The Reluctant Spy. My hope of course is that several will ask to read the entire manuscript. That may be an unrealistic goal, but I’ve always believed in dreaming big.

         I won’t be posting again on this blog until I have something to report. That may or may not be next Sunday. Please just keep those fingers crossed for me. 

        No need to take your treasured time today to leave a comment. I know—

and so appreciate—that you'll rooting for me. Peace.

A Novel, Cat Fantasy, and Letter

Hello All, on this rainy Sunday here in the Midwest. The two-year drought has ended with waterlogged soil. Forecasters predict two sunny days this week, so while farmers plow, I’ll weed the shrub garden. Before doing that, however, I’d like to share three things about my writing life.

         In March, I read the draft of the Bronze-Age Greece manuscript Three Roads Diverged, which I began to write back in 1994 after a three-week trip to Greece, financed by my earning from A Cat’s Life: Dulcy’s Story. This draft used up nearly 70, 000 words and yet represented only a third of the story.  Given that, a completed first draft might comprise 210,000 words. That’s twice as long as most presses want to publish for a first-time novelist.            

        Considering that, I’ve decided to write three shorter books. By this time next year, I hope to have completed the ending to Book 1 and to have edited, rewritten, and polished it.  

A 1996 photograph of my cousin Mary Ann (right)

and myself by the flower garden

behind my home in Stillwater, Minnesota.

Note the T-shirt I’m wearing.

I’ve completed Book 1 of a cat-fantasy trilogy and have half of both Book 2 and Book 3 done. Fortunately, Judy King—the gifted artist who captured Dulcy’s sweetness in A Cat’s Life—had the time to do the art for Book 1. Each of the seventeen pencil sketches she sent me yesterday displays her creative wit. And the cover she’s designed is as inviting as the one she did for A Cat’s Life.

Last week, Judy Healey, the twice-published historical novelist and friend who is reading The Reluctant Spy, sent me an e-mail that made my day. As I’ve explained before, I started the Palestine novel thirteen years ago and Judy read an early draft. After reading the first few chapters of the present draft, here’s what she had to say:

Dee:

 At long last I'm reading your book...about 40 pages in.

          It is very engaging and I'm hooked. It is slow going because I am making notes on pages . . . all pretty minor stuff. But the writing is very good and I think the book has improved 100% from an earlier version I read some years ago.

          I'm going to do the first 100 pages and mail them to you. At the end I'll also have a short memo on overview stuff. . . . It will be into next week when I mail the first set. But congratulations.

          We can talk publishing strategies later. Love, Judy

You can appreciate why I’m pleased. Judy is an accomplished historical novelist. If she sees some worth to this draft then I’m content that I’m growing as a writer. That doesn’t mean of course that any agent will want to represent it or any publisher publish it. However, the fact that Judy praises it helps me know that my writing does have some merit.

For most of my adult life, I’ve considered myself a hack. My writing seemed so prosaic next to the writers I read. To my surprise, many of you have complimented my writing as seen in my on-line memoir blog. So because of you, I’ve stopped comparing myself to the fine writers I read and simply accepted that I am a storyteller and that my stories speak to others. I thank you all for this gift you’ve given me. Peace.

Researching and Writing a Novel

As you know from my past postings, I’ve completed the manuscript for a historical novel entitled The Reluctant Spy. During the thirteen years I’ve worked on this manuscript, it’s gone through four incarnations. The first version—written in the late ’90s and entitled “Who Is He for You?”—was a series of monologues spoken by the characters who peopled the Gospel of Luke. Friends described these monologues as “spiritual reflections” or a “devotional” book. No viable novel here.

Ancient Gospel manuscript page.

            In 2001-2002, those reflections became “almost a novel,” when I introduced a character named Ephraim. The twenty-seven monologues became its ribs. Ephraim’s crisis of faith was the musculature holding those ribs together.

            A wondrously kind editor, Susan Tobias, praised the writing, but turned down the manuscript, which was entitled “The Jesus Interviews.” She said that it was too predictable because most people know what happened to Jesus. Moreover, the manuscript too closely followed his life as an itinerant preacher.

            Judy Koll Healey, a friend and published historical novelist, helped me understand what I needed: dramatic tension. She noted that the manuscript was about a man finding his way with the focus on the way. To create a novel, I needed to focus on the man.

            It took me the rest of 2002 to understand what Judy was trying to tell me and to devise a plot that would put Ephraim squarely into a dramatic situation that would reveal the depths of his character and his struggle through a crisis of faith. To do that, I had to move away from Jesus and let the manuscript become Ephraim’s story.

            In 2003, while writing version three—“The Yeshua Spy: The Plot to Kill Jesus”—I had trouble with Jesus, whom I was now calling Yeshua (his Jewish name). He tried to take over the second half of the book. I had to wrestle the manuscript away from him in order to keep the dramatic tension and suspense provided by Ephraim. Readers know what happens to Yeshua, but not to Ephraim who is wholly fictitious. It was in Ephraim that I had to find the story arc that would keep readers reading.

            After completing this third version, I asked Vince Skemp, a professor at the College of Saint Catherine in Saint Paul, Minnesota, to read the manuscript and advise me as to its authenticity. While helping me realize how little I really knew of the first century and Yeshua’s Jewishness, Vince thoughtfully provided me with an extensive reading list. The books on that list impelled me to write the fourth incarnation: The Reluctant Spy.

            Wanting to steep myself in first-century Judaism, I spent most of 2004 and 2005 reading Jewish and Christian biblical scholars. However, The Reluctant Spy is a novel, and I’ve taken many liberties in presenting Ephraim the Pharisee, Daniel the Sadducee, Chaviva the Jewish wife, John the Baptizer, Yeshua of Nazareth, Hashem the Almighty, and Miryam of Magdala.

Icon of Mary Magdalene.

            One such liberty involves Hanina ben Dosa, a first-century Jewish Hasid. A real person, he was born about ten years after Yeshua. However, for purposes of the novel, I had him be a contemporary of Yeshua. Another liberty I’ve taken enables Ephraim to travel freely throughout the Galilee without worrying about the purity laws embraced by the Pharisees.

            If this manuscript—the fourth attempt to “get it right”—ever gets published, the biblical scholars I read may not recognize their own expertise. Yet what they wrote inspired me with a desire to show Yeshua as both Jew and human being: a man who walked the roads of the Galilee and believed that Hashem called him to proclaim the kingdom.

            My reading also dramatically changed the bias I’d always had against the Pharisees. The Gospels present them in a negative light because of the times in which the evangelists wrote. Modern scholarship has definitively shown that the ordinary people of Palestine in the first century of the Common Era admired and respected the Pharisees, a small group of devout Jews who sought to make holy their own actions for the good of their people.

            Among the books I read, the following proved most helpful in understanding the Pharisees, Judaism of the first century of the Common Era, and Yeshua as a Jew: Jesus of Nazareth: King of the Jews by Paula Fredriksen; Jesus the Pharisee by Hyam Maccoby; The Historical Figure of Jesus, Jesus and Judaism, Jewish Law from Jesus to the Mishnah, and Judaism by E. P. Sanders; and Jesus in His Jewish Context, Jesus the Jew, and The Religion of Jesus the Jew by Geza Vermes.

            For the Epilogue, I relied on Wanderings: Chaim Potok’s History of the Jews. In it, I discovered what might have happened to Ephraim late in his life. Several other scholars provided food for thought as I tried to put myself back in the time in which Yeshua lived. I also consulted multiple reference books for names, maps, Roman and Jewish culture, and biblical background.

The Galilee circa 50 CE.

            All this research took time. Writing, editing, and polishing the manuscript has taken more time. And now—in December of 2012, thirteen years after I began working on this proposed novel—has come the time of looking for an agent. 
             Next Sunday, I’ll share with you what searching for a literary agent entails and what’s happening with my own search, which began this past Monday. Are any of you seeking representation from an agent? If so, I'd so like to read what's happening in your search.

Postscript: I just reread last Sunday's posting and realized that I'd said that this Sunday I'd tell you about my spelling woes in high school. Oophs. When I sat down to write today's post, I totally forgot that commitment. So next Sunday, I'll post on spelling and the nun who said, "Stop putting me on, Dolores!" Then I'll return to researching background for novels and writing them.

All art and maps from Wikipedia.

Sentence Beginnings

Last week, ten of you left comments favoring Sample 1. I, too, favored it. It was more immediate and, I think, more lyrical. It situated you, the reader, in the scene.

            Now the question is “What happened between Draft 13 and 19 that made me change my writing style?” The answer is that I began to pay attention to the way contemporary mystery novelists write.

            In an earlier posting, I examined the way I was taught to write with a variety of simple, compound, and complex sentences. I quickly fell into the habit of beginning many sentences with a subordinate clause that established a timeframe. After she decided to write about the craft of writing, the dismayed writer realized she knew nothing about that topic. Or I’d begin with a participial phrase: Sitting at the computer, the dismayed writer tried to compose her post for the day.

            However, last year I began to examine paragraphs in the mysteries I read. Most were straightforward, that is, the novelists put the subject of the sentence as close as possible to its beginning. They didn’t avoid complex sentences that began with the subordinate clause, but they didn’t favor them either—as I did. With this writing style, a plot moved forward quickly. These novelists built a paragraph of simple, compound, and complex sentences that were simpler in construction than the ones I wrote.

            Some of them seemed to be shooting bullets pointblank at the reader: bang a sentence with subject/predicate at the beginning. Bang, another sentence. Bang, a third. But more often, the novelists were gifted at establishing transition without using the link of a beginning phrase or subordinate clause. I admire this skill.

            So for Draft 19, I edited to rid the manuscript of sentences in which the reader had to slog through a number of words before getting to the subject and its predicate—the “meat” of the sentence. Unfortunately, I do not yet have the ability to write that way without sounding stilted. I need to work on the craft. When I simply write what I’m thinking and the way I'm thinking it, my writing is much more like the 19^th century than the 21^st.

Here’s a painting by Goya of a Spanish writer with the tools of his trade.

            I’ve now merged the two samples from last week into the following sample. You will note that it illustrates the way I wrote as I grew up. It's not an example of the way many novelists write today.

Burdened with shame, I trekked down to the Jordan to spy on John. By the time I arrived at Elisha’s spring, the sun had already climbed the heavens' vault. Cupping my hand in the rush of its chilled water, I drank deeply, then rose and headed southeast.

      Warily, I descended steep ravines and forded wadis swollen with water rumbling through the steep gorges on its turbulent journey to the Jordan. Only a trickle would reach the winding river when the dry season began.

     As the sun drew the early morning rain back into the heavens, the day grew muggy. Heat shimmered like a spider’s dream as chirring locusts scoured the well-worn path to the river. Rivulets of sweat trickled down my back and soaked the hair massed in the hollows of my armpits. Thistle from low-growing brambles and sweet-smelling acacias snared my tunic with bristled burrs. Thus it was that I arrived at the ford of Bethabara stinking of sweat.

     Beyond the plumed reeds, chattering pilgrims thronged the embankment, chewing figs, spitting out pomegranate seeds, telling overblown tales. Besides subtle phrases spoken in Hebrew, I could hear the musical cadence of Greek and the more familiar Aramaic, spoken with a deep twang by peasants from the Galilee. Amidst the dissonance, I longed for the quiet of my courtyard and the tools of my trade.

Do you think this opening is getting better? That is, does it draw you into the scene and make you want to read more?

“The New Novel” by Winslow Homer.

And would you rather read fewer words or would you rather live in the scene? Some writers can manage both feats. I’m still working on that.

All the photographs are from Wikipedia.

Polishing a Manuscript

Continued from last Sunday . . .

I delete fewer and fewer words as I go through draft after draft. For the novel I now have ready, I first wrote 212,000 words; then cut 86,000 in nineteen drafts.

            Much deleting occurred between 1999 and 2005 when I completed Draft 13. However, earlier drafts were on “floppy” disks that aren’t compatible with this computer. Thus, the two samples presented here are much closer in form than I’d like to show you. Still, if you compare them sentence by sentence you’ll see the refining I did.

2005—Draft 13—245 Words

Early the next morning, I trekked down to the Jordan to spy on John. As the sun began to climb the vault of the heavens, I came to Elisha’s spring. There I knelt to dip my hand into the fresh water welling up from the red clay and drank deeply. It was now warm enough to remove my cloak.

Rising, I headed southeast, descending steep ravines and fording wadis swollen with water, which rumbled through the steep gorges seeking the Jordan. When the dry season began, only a trickle would reach the winding river.

          As the sun drew the early morning rain back into the heavens, the day grew muggy. Heat shimmered like a spider’s dream as chirring locusts scoured the muddy path to the river. Beneath my tunic, rivulets of sweat trickled down my back and soaked the hair massed in the hollows of my armpits. Thistle from low-growing brambles and sweet-smelling acacias snared my tunic. Thus it was that I arrived at the ford of Bethabara stinking of sweat, with burrs puckering my clothes.

Pushing aside the plumed reeds, I joined the chattering pilgrims sitting on the embankment—chewing figs, spitting out pomegranate seeds, telling overblown tales. Besides subtle phrases spoken in Hebrew, I could hear the musical cadence of Greek and the more familiar Aramaic, spoken with a deep twang by peasants from the Galilee. Amidst this dissonance, I longed for the quiet of my courtyard and the tools of my trade.

Wikipedia photograph of the Jordan River

2012—Draft 19—180 words

Elisha’ spring gurgled forth from red clay. I splashed its sun-dappled water on my sweaty face, then refreshed my parched throat. Removing my cloak, I headed southeast, descending steep ravines and fording wadis swollen with water rumbling through the steep gorges toward the Jordan. Only a trickle would reach the winding river when the dry season began.

           Heat shimmered like a spider’s dream as chirring locusts scoured the rutted path to the river. Rivulets of sweat soaked the back of my tunic. Thistle from low-growing brambles tangled my dusty tunic. Thus it was that I arrived at the ford of Bethabara stinking of sweat, with burrs puckering my clothes.

I pushed aside the plumed reeds, draping my cloak over a shrub. Chattering pilgrims thronged the embankment, chewing figs, spitting pomegranate seeds, telling overblown tales. Some spoke subtle phrases in Hebrew; others, the musical cadence of Greek. The multitude used the more familiar Aramaic, spoken with a deep twang by peasants from the Galilee. Amidst this dissonance, I longed for the quiet of my courtyard and the tools of my trade.

Now what can happen with that kind of writing—that is, going over and over a manuscript to delete words—is that the writer can suck the juices out of the words. They become stale. Not only to the writer, but also the reader. And that may be what has happened with this manuscript. Attempting to tighten, I may have removed the story’s savor. I’m interested in what you think.  

Next Sunday I hope to explain how I arrived at the final draft after reading many contemporary novelists and studying how they craft their sentences.

Writing, Cutting, Polishing a Manuscript

Effective writing takes both time and effort. It can, however, be a labor of love. At least that’s what it is for me. When I write, I feel centered and aware of Presence. For me, writing is a form of prayer. So today I’d like to share with you my method of writing/praying a story or an extended manuscript.

            In 1989, I channeled the manuscript that was later published as A Cat’s Life: Dulcy’s Story. Originally, Dulcy gave me 42,000 words. In 1991, Jane Meara, an exceptional Crown editor, asked me to cut the manuscript in half by concentrating only on the relationship between Dulcy and me. The result was Dulcy’s first book. The words I deleted became the main part of Dulcy’s second book: A Cat’s Legacy: Dulcy’s Story.

 The scene reflects what the first draft of anything I write looks like.

            The key to cutting was the word relationship. With that word I was able to ruthlessly delete extraneous words and incidents from the original draft. We writers need something to keep us grounded in the thrust of what we are writing. That something may be a keyword or it may be a question, such as “What did the character do that led to this or that effect?” Or “What do I need here so as to build suspense?”

            In an earlier posting, I explained that for thirteen years I’ve worked on a novel that takes place in first-century Palestine. The first draft of that novel boasted 212,000 words. Ultimately, I deleted 86,000 of them. How did I cut so many? By repeatedly asking myself, “Is this word, incident, character necessary to telling the story?” “Does it advance the plot?” “Does it build suspense?” “Does it show the reader something necessary?”

            I simply kept chipping around at the rock formation of the manuscript until I arrived at the “sculpture” that revealed scene, plot, character. Something like the photograph below.

A sculptured face that illustrates the classic Veracruz culture of 600 to 900 CE.

(From Wikipedia)

            As with Dulcy, I tend to be wordy. My writing style is to simply sit at the computer and let the words come—willy-nilly. I write until I’m written out. Word after word. Scene after scene. Lines of dialogue followed by more dialogue.

            I do that in writing my on-line memoir. Often, I’ll write 1,200 words on a Wednesday morning. Then I’ll assiduously cut to fewer than 600 words. Thus, I need two and a half hours to write, polish, and edit a story and then a half hour to select photographs and post. Three hours in all.

            And yet Friko, a blogger whom I read faithfully because I enjoy her attitude toward life, once shared that she needed only twenty minutes to write a posting. My first attempts simply aren’t that good. I must decide what is the essence of the story from my life: what do I hope to communicate? Then I must delete every superfluous word no matter how clever or revealing it is. Anything that does not advance the story to its ending has to go.

            I try to do the same with this blog. I ask myself, “Does this word, phrase, sentence help explain my topic?” If it doesn’t, it’s deleted.

            Now, how about you? Do you write everything down and then judiciously delete? What’s your secret of success?

Postscript:

I hope you’ll share the crafting of this blog with me. Let me know with your comments what you’d like me to write about. One of you has already requested that I write about the use of which instead of that as well as the use of commas. I hope to write that post soon, perhaps as early as next Sunday.

“Landscape with Trees” by adamr from freedigitalphotos.com