Writing Woes and Woozles

I spent yesterday trying to integrate the voice of Madame Lenormand into the first chapter of my book. It's not easy. In fact, it's downright intimidating. I have a writing group that I share this stuff with and I've given them the opening chapter twice, plus I read them Madame Lenormand's prelude. The prelude was a hit, but it's such a different approach to the book, that it's no small task to wrap my head around what it means.

It seems to provide the freedom to be quirky in the telling of the story. I had, for example, a couple of "arrant cabbages" that "took advantage" of a tipping peddler's cart and rolled off. The fact that I anthropomorphized the poor things caused a couple people problems. One person liked it. The discussion eased toward "authority"... have I, as the author created enough authority on the page to get away with that?

In the end authorship is about authority, it seems to me. That's why I always tend toward the belief that you can do whatever you can make work. Making something work is about creating a relationship with the reader that gives you the authority to do something unusual like anthropomorphize a cabbage. I was struck that part of the objection one of my group raised was that it seemed comic. Comedy is such a difficult attainment for me, so unusual, that someone reading it is warning me of achieving it? Perhaps because it was not obviously intentional? And that because it is so rare in my writing? Fact is, I am looking for a more comedic voice in this writing.

The picture is of Gertrude Stein working in Paris.

Another critique came in the form of a back-handed complement. Someone said that I am capable of writing "magic" and this wasn't "magic," only competence. Actually, the reference was to Chapter One, which is realism... a scene unfolding in real time in third person. The comparison was to the original opening prelude which is a kind of poetic piece among the tombs of Père Lechaise which was criticized at the writers conference for not having action or character development, for not telling the reader anything about the story. Both the workshop leader and the voting audience said they wouldn't bother to turn the page on my "magic."

For my writers group, on the other hand, the story wasn't enough—the development of the action and characters didn't provide enough "magic" to open the book, even though it doesn't open the book. (Maybe that wasn't clear, even though I said it.) In any event, I find critiques about magic almost useless. I walked away assuming the only way to rework the piece was to start over. I mean, if something isn't "magic" what do you do to fix it? Wave a wand? Shall I—like the quote about amateurs waiting for inspiration while the rest of us work—wait around until magic strikes me again?

Perhaps my sour mood about all this is obvious? I did, in fact, rewrite my competent, but not magical piece. It also lacked (or had lost its original) passion. Originally there had been concern over the clarity of the piece, people literally couldn't tell what was going on. Now it seemed that at least for one reader, the clarity had destroyed the immediacy and with it, the breathless nature of the piece. (That breathless quality had been suspect for some in the first read-through.)

Yikes!

Anyway, I had a good conversation about what was better in my first effort—where the breathless, passion of the piece seemed to carry it. I applied that to the rewrite. I changed the placement of the information I'm delivering. I do have a tendency to want everyone to know up front what makes something interesting to me, and because of that, I like to tell the reader what I think they need to know kind of ahead of time.

For example, when I walked the streets of my Paris neighborhood—Nouvelle Athènes—it was more exciting and interesting to me when I knew what was there and what to look for. It was more interesting to hear about Chartres Cathedrale when I was there than just to look at it. It was more interesting to hear about a Picasso's cubism and what he was trying to accomplish than to just look at a painting. I'm like that. I like information and background. I'm always trying to get the significance across.

But doing so slows the action so there's always got to be balance. Convention has the modern novel moving very quickly. My writing doesn't want to move quickly. I'm trying to create a 19th century novel, which by its very definition and nature, moves slowly. Like fast food and slow food: I'm trying to start a new trend here—a slower story. Hmmmmm. Is that possible? How much can I teach a reader? Doesn't most of it have to do with whether I'm telling a good story?

I was so thrilled by my discovery of the "plot line" for my story. There's been very little enthusiasm from my writers group, most of them seem hardly to notice, one commented on the loss of the original story... how it's hard to engage because it's not the same story. All in all, it's disappointing. I've even heard that whatever happened to me in Paris is probably what's causing my discontent, like I want/need something now, from being back, that I didn't want/need before—excitement one person said—that I just can't get and the group can't provide. That doesn't seem like the problem to me, but I have wondered what it would be like to share my story with people who didn't have an expectation about what I was going to write based on what I was writing before I left... it has changed and if I keep going with Madame Lenormand's voice it's going to change a lot more.

Madame Lenormand was a hit speaking in first person, but that's not what I want either. I'm not writing a book where she tells her story in first person. I'm still telling a story about Louise and Tori Farrenc and the artists of their day that surrounded and shaped their life. Madame Lenormand doesn't get to take over. She has a roll to play that's very specific: she's the narrator. She moves in and out of the story. Maybe what I'm trying to do isn't going to work, I don't know. I know it seems radical. I wish I could get feedback from someone who is curious about what I'm trying to do.

So what's next? Well, I don't know. I see that my entry here today has taken on a completely different tone, but it is where my process is right now, and since this blog is really about me writing a book, then I have no choice, but to use this space accordingly. I'm not exactly stuck. I spent a long time working yesterday and I think I made some interesting and perhaps important forward movement. I'm not sure I'm in control of my prose yet—primarily because the change I'm making is intimidating to me. It's not something I'm all that familiar with, this use of a narrative voice. It's new territory and feels extreme. Oddly, it also feels right.