Finishing the First Draft of BROKEN
· · · · · · ·

Finishing the First Draft of BROKEN

A post on Finishing the First Draft of Broken.

Things were bad in Occupied Paris and getting worse.

Then the first draft was done.

I’m always strangely nerved up when I finish the first draft of a novel. I’m wired and chomping at the bit and high strung. I need my husband to rub me down and I need a warm, lavender-scented bubble bath with Mozart and Enya playing in the background.

There’s still so much work to do on the manuscript–see Annie Lamott’s beautiful book Bird by Bird for a discussion on the value of shitty first drafts–but a first draft is something complete that I can work with. It’s a whole fabric that I can tear into and reweave as needed.

So I’m happy and excited because I’ve made my vision concrete, and because the end is in sight. I’m keyed up because I’m going to gallop to the finish line. Then, of course, I’ll saddle up for the next marathon. But for now I’ve made progress. That is joyful indeed.

I get a little blue when the novel is actually done, when it goes to the book designer to be laid out in book format. Then it’s over, and it’s time to leave that world that I created so lovingly.

Time to move to the next world that lies dreaming in my imagination, waiting to be spun onto the page….

 

Brené Brown on Love, Respect, Kindness, and Vulnerability
· · · · · · · ·

Brené Brown on Love, Respect, Kindness, and Vulnerability

A post contemplating Brené Brown on Love.

Of late I have been thinking deeply about these issues of the human heart. It’s partly because of a dark and difficult book I’m writing, and partly because someone to whom I’d turned for help, someone I trusted and respected and liked, has let me down.

This person is powerfully and deeply defended, and isn’t the kind of person who can own their own stuff. Rather, it would be a situation of lack of truthfulness and unacknowledged projection—as it has been for a long while.


So there will be no resolution for me with this person. There will never be a moment when that person can look me in the eyes and own having taken advantage of my trust and vulnerability. It’s not going to happen. And that’s life, so often unresolved.

It happens, right? I sometimes think that we’ve all been subtly trained by sappy television shows and trite movies to believe that there’s always a neat ending that fits our preconceived notions of right and wrong. I also see in our culture a growing entitlement and refusal to take personal responsibility. It dismays me.

Then this morning I encountered this quote:

We cultivate love when we allow our most vulnerable and powerful selves to be deeply seen and known, and when we honor the spiritual connection that grows from that offering with trust, respect, kindness and affection.

Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them – we can only love others as much as we love ourselves.

Shame, blame, disrespect, betrayal, and the withholding of affection damage the roots from which love grows. Love can only survive these injuries if they are acknowledged, healed and rare.

Brené Brown The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are

I took from this passage that I can continue to nurture and grow love, trust, and respect within myself. I can soften and I can open my heart, even when the other person doesn’t. I can own that in myself: my willingness to be vulnerable, respectful, and kind.

It doesn’t mean I have to be vulnerable to everyone I meet.

There’s a myth that’s prevalent in our society that blames both parties for the behavior of one party, as if two parties equally participate in one person’s treatment of another. All you have to do to understand the falsity of that notion is read history. Categorically, the Jews had nothing to do with the way Nazis treated them. It works in the microcosm, too, in dyad. One person can behave well and the other not so much.

There’s another liberal culture myth that I call the Great Narcissism, which goes like this: If we are tolerant of them, they will be tolerant of us. People want to believe that. They want to think that the world is a mirror that will reflect back their own kindness and tolerance. It’s just not so. It’s a very dangerous myth, in fact.

Plenty of extremist groups will use tolerance to hurt the more tolerant groups.

But Brown has a point: we can each nurture love within ourselves, not demanding and expecting that it will be universally reflected back. But sometimes it is, sometimes the other person can and will nurture their own inner love, kindness, respect, and trust, with mutuality and reciprocity.

Then there is transformation and healing.

 

Method Writing
· ·

Method Writing

My husband told me last night that I was “method writing.”

I was posing for Sabin, as I do several nights a week. He’s sculpting a bust of me and at this point I am convinced that the work will never end. It’s been a year and a half and he tells me there’s still a lot to do before he closes the piece.

Maybe it’s just that he’s never had a free model before, so he’s finishing the sculpture to a level he always wanted, but could never before indulge in?

Anyway, I was wiggly and introspective last night, unable to focus on the television and hold the pose. My face kept moving and changing in thought, my fingers fluttered, and I pulsed up and down my spine like a jack-in-the-box. I simply could not summon my usual discipline.

“It’s this book you’re writing,” Sabin said, in a matter-of-fact tone. “You’re method writing.”

It’s true that I write from the inside of a story and that I am writing a very dark novel set during World War II. It weighs on my heart. I have been walking around the house muttering to myself, inquiring of myself about the nature of good and evil, man’s inhumanity to man, and the role of a good God in a world filled with corruption, vice, cruelty, and genocide.

The days that I research the Geheime Staatspolizei, familiarly known as the Gestapo, are not pleasant. For me, writing is an arachnid process: I pull stories out of my gut. Writing historical novels requires painstaking research, which I love to do. But to take in the information I need about the Nazi Secret State Police, I have to internalize things that are probably better left unconsumed, undisturbed.

But if I don’t do it, who will? I believe that novelists have a duty to their readers to metabolize and transform information; a historical novelist has to make the past fresh and relevant.

Else we repeat the past, right?

The problem is that the genocide of Jews and the murder of gypsies, homosexuals, and Poles during the second world war wasn’t the only genocide of the 20th century.

And evil is still afoot: think about the abducted girls in Nigeria. Boko Haram extremists took more than 200 girls from their school. I can not imagine how their families feel. Holocaust survivors can.

The necessary end to an insistence on purity is terrorism. Whether that purity concerns Aryan blood or Sharia law, it must needs end in terrorism.

The Blacklist with James Spader: Good Television

The Blacklist with James Spader: Good Television

A review of The Blacklist with James Spader.

Am I really the only person who is half enamored with, and half appalled and terrified by, Raymond Reddington, the criminal played by James Spader on NBC’s The Blacklist?

He had me at “Our country is run by corporations and criminals.”

Don’t get me wrong, Reddington is a very bad guy, killing and hurting with nary a flicker of conscience. He’s also exceedingly smart. Clever, strategic. And he’s played by Spader with superb delicacy and nuance. When Spader is onscreen, you don’t want to look away. He’s mesmerizing, at one moment genteel and courteous and empathic, and at the next throwing a knife to land deep in his target’s thigh.

It’s too bad the actor opposite him, playing FBI agent Liz Keen, is so dull and wooden. I can imagine what a Jennifer Garner or better yet a Reese Witherspoon could do, someone capable of equal delicacy and nuance, acting opposite Spader. It would be a riveting pas de deux. It would be great television.

As it is, this show is good fun, worth watching. And Spader is hypnotic in his portrayal.

The Blacklist with James Spader

 

“Amazing roller coaster ride” BookieNookie reviews FAR SHORE
· ·

“Amazing roller coaster ride” BookieNookie reviews FAR SHORE

On the rather wonderful and lively BookieNookie book review blog, reviewer Tickled Pink for Book Ink had fun with my After Series, which warms my heart to its deepest, tenderest, most innermost core.

She reviewed all 3 books of the series, most recently writing about FAR SHORE:

Reading this series has been exciting and awakening. I have never asked myself so many of life’s big questions due to a book, but the AFTER TRILOGY was clearly written with that experience in mind. In FAR SHORE, we learn much more to the workings of the mists, but more questions arise as well…

She emailed me a few days ago asking if it really was a trilogy, and I explained that it started as a trilogy but there was story left over to be told at the end of the third book, so it was now a series. She commented on that, also:

 Here’s the best news yet. IT’S NOT OVER! At the end of the FAR SHORE, I freaked out a little because I thought, “Oh no! That can’t be it, but it’s a trilogy so it must be!” I was more than a little upset so I went a little stalkerish on Ms. Slatton and searched her website and blog and finally just emailed her asking if there would be another book. Her answer was there would be a book four and maybe five! YAY!! I really want to hear about the group’s next journey and the plan to eradicate the mists forever.

So, to be clear: The After Series is not done, it’s not a trilogy, and there is a book 4 and likely a book 5. Stay tuned!!

Find BookieNookie’s FAR SHORE review here.

Find BookieNookie’s COLD LIGHT review here. “One thing is for certain, I am totally enthralled with this series. I can barely stop reading long enough to write a review….”

Find BookieNookie’s FALLEN review here.

 

 

Magnificent music: Rodrigo y Gabriela at the Beacon!
·

Magnificent music: Rodrigo y Gabriela at the Beacon!

A review of Rodrigo y Gabriela at the Beacon

My sweet, sexy husband asked for only one thing for his birthday: tickets to Rodrigo y Gabriela‘s concert at the Beacon.

So Thursday night we were there, both of us keyed up for a live rendition of the music we play so often at home.

The opening band was pitiful. Boring. Sabin was puzzled about why the dynamic Spanish musicians would have that act as an opener. “Listening to these kids is like highway hypnosis,” he said. “They’re in flatline all the time.” He decided that Rodrigo y Gabriela chose them as contrast, so they would sound even better when they came on stage.

Sabin’s grandfather was a concert pianist, his 77-year-old father still plays piano every day, and Sabin grew up with music permeating every aspect of his life. He attended concerts all the time and he took music lessons. He has fine discernment about musical skill and talent.

The lady next to me put her head on her husband’s shoulder, closed her eyes, and snoozed during the opener. The lady in front of me poured herself into her iPhone email. Most folks just chattered, because that opening band was a lot like muzak, but less appealing. I couldn’t stop giggling at Sabin’s dismay. When the valium-esque opening band said good-bye, everyone cheered enthusiastically.

Then heaven opened its gates: rich, gorgeous, astonishing sound poured forth. It was exuberant and it was full and it was structured and it was excellent. That’s what Sabin and I talked about for the next few days: Rodrigo y Gabriela’s excellence. Their intelligence.

I’m not just saying that because one song was a Dostoyevsky tribute!

These are two virtuoso musicians whose fanatic discipline and dedication to their craft shows. They embody the hard work and uncompromising devotion that goes along with art at a stratospheric level, and they play with the passion and delight and joy that is immanent and infectious in art of that caliber.

They are also consummate entertainers. Lovely Gabriela’s hand looked like a hummingbird, it moved so inhumanly fast over the guitar; I couldn’t believe how much sound she got out of her instrument. She was an abiding pleasure to hear. Rodrigo was funny and warm-hearted and masterfully in command, not a single note out of place. The musical dialogue between their guitars was awe-inspiring, mind-blowing. They gave 178% of themselves to the show–they gave everything, and it was evident.

It was a great show to be present for, and did what great art does: it transformed and elevated us, the viewers. It changed our state-of-being.

I am very grateful for Sabin’s choice of birthday presents, which was as much a gift for me as for him!