Blog Tour – Writing Processes

A giant thanks to Josh Bennett, who invited me to take part in such a great blogging project!  Josh is not only one of the most creative and inspirational people I know and a splendid writer, but also my cousin and essentially the big brother I never had.  He has a fascinating futuristic novel in the works, and I’m absolutely giddy to read it in its finished form.  If you’d care to read his addition to the blog tour on writing processes, click here!

What are you working on now?

What am I not working on?  I write this blog, and try to write interesting articles for LinkedIn.  I’m also currently working on two short stories for grad school, and a fantasy novel, as well as any other little literary doodlings that pop into my head, such as this.

My novel-in-progress, tentatively titled “Namesake,” follows the tale of two humans with opposing purposes in a supernatural battle between Destiny and Freewill.  The book follows their thoughts and choices regarding which is the more ethical and humane system, and whether or not they will attempt to defy their own destinies.  Destiny gives humans a purpose and direction, even though they’re not aware of it.  Their very lives are woven into the fabric of destiny, which their failures or successes will either tear or mend.  Freewill, however, gives humans power over their own life paths and choices, with no outside “pull” towards any expectation of the gods.  Alternatively, is Destiny nothing more than supernatural slavery and oppression of human nature?  Or with no purpose, is Freewill sure to break down into anarchy, with chaos and confusion reigning over the human race?  Given the choice, which would you defend?  Eh?  EH?

How does your work differ from others of the genre?

I often find myself drawn to giant ideas and concepts.  I like to explore the massive what-ifs of the world, and create characters really to carry out possible scenarios in entertaining ways, somewhat how Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings series was really just a vessel for his constructed languages.  In a recent story I wrote, I took the concept of dissatisfaction with one’s workplace, and created a character to embody that.  So many people sit in a 9 to 5 torture every day, and so many believe that they have no way out.  I wanted to make a story for those people, so I created a girl who I hoped would relate to those in a depressing work environment on an extraordinary level.  One of my short stories that is currently in progress encompasses the idea of childlike imagination, and the other story explores the idea of subconscious mental processing of stress.  Having said that, I’m not typically one for metaphors and indulgent abstractions.  I like writing in a more grounded fashion — clear, easy to follow stories that are still interesting and very human.  None of this, “and then the butterflies in the woods danced a tango, much like the back and forth wrestling of her own thoughts.”  Blech.

In the fantasy genre specifically, I find I tend to focus more on relationships between characters than I have normally seen in popular novels.  While the relationships are there, the emphasis is generally more on the oddity or mysticism of the constructed world, the purpose of the main character, and whether or not he succeeds in doing the thing he needs to do.  While those are all vital elements, I often find myself wondering what the characters really think about each other.  If two characters have been perfectly cordial throughout an entire book, regardless of hardships and obstacles, I think, “but does she hate the way he chews?”  Barring the common and expected dissension between protagonist and antagonist, I often find relationships between characters to be lukewarm at best, which seems to suck the human experience out of things for the reader, whilst the author just points to the distance and shouts, “but look!  There’s a DRAGON!  Because it’s a fantasy book!  See?!”  If I’m not led to be concerned about how the characters consider each other, in addition to the ultimate outcome of the plot, it feels a lot like drinking flat Sprite.  Interpersonal carbonation, I say!  That’s always something that has been an important focus for me.

Why do you write what you do?

Because I’m not very good at writing other things, I suppose.  I believe that writers write in their particular genres and styles because those are the ones that best fit their individual writing voice.  I write things that seem natural for me to say, and since I’m an imaginative and emotional person, I tend to come up with fantastical things, and try to create characters that are very “real.”  Not in the sense that they’re always honest and genuine, but in that the character could remind you of “that guy” that you work with, or “that kid” that kicked the back of your seat for 6 hours while flying over the Atlantic.  But if I tried to write a story about technological advancement, or a courtroom suspense novel, it would be absolutely wretched.

I also just happen to have a lot of thoughts, and an overwhelming desire for other people to hear them.  So I suppose I also write what I do because I believe in those thoughts, and it’s likely that I may violently combust if I don’t.

How does your writing process work?

Wait until one week before deadline, then panic.

No, not really (but kind of).  I have an Idea Journal that I keep with me at all times, and I record concepts and story ideas whenever they pop into my head.  It’s been a really great method for me because I only write down the ideas if I’m terribly, irrationally excited about them.  Then when I need new material, I open my journal and can choose from several story ideas that I was already thrilled about.  I rarely find myself at a loss for story ideas thanks to this method.

After choosing a story idea, I take a notepad and do a lot of brainstorming/scribbling.  For larger story ideas, I might continue to scribble pathways and options for the story for several days, until I have a stock of possible outcomes, characters, ways the characters could affect the story, plot twists, scenes, etc.  It often looks a lot like this:

image (1) scribble

Believe it or not, the information is highly organized in my head.  I have tried so many different kinds of outlines, grids, checklists, forms, etc. for molding a story into something coherent, but they just confuse me and I get very frustrated with more formulaic methods of story planning.  There is something important about letting my mind wander wherever it would like to for a while, where there are no boxes to fill in and no threat that I will run out of space.  That’s very distressing, the fear of running out of space.  From this seemingly aimless method, I can construct a general outline and main points that I want to make sure are included in the story.  And then I begin to write.

I am a pantser, through and through.  My characters create themselves within the story as I’m writing, and I go back and revise if need be, and the same goes for action and events within the story — I need to be sitting at my computer, fingers drumming (but not pressing) on the keyboard, my head tilted upward and slightly to the right.  Only then will I devise what happens next, to whom it happens, and what that character’s reaction will be.  I do have a giant 4′ x 8′ whiteboard in my living room which I use when I get stuck, as a more expanded version of the above brainstorming method.  So I continue writing, and pansting, and drumming, and gazing, and scribbling until there’s a story.

Oh, and there’s usually lots of coffee involved.

Blog Tour’s Next Victim: Paul Elwork

Besides writing fiction, Paul Elwork edits archaeology/historic architecture research reports and teaches creative writing in the Arcadia University MFA program. He’s also a dad and a fair hand at scrambling eggs. His fiction has appeared in various literary journals, including SmokeLong Quarterly, Philadelphia Stories, Short Story America, Word Riot, and Johnny America. His novel The Girl Who Would Speak for the Dead was released in hardcover by Amy Einhorn Books in March 2011 and in paperback by Berkley Books in 2012. He lives in New Jersey, not far from his hometown of Philadelphia.

As he is one of my graduate school professors, I’m very excited to see Paul’s addition to the blog tour, which will be posted on July 14th.

Check out his blog here:  http://paulelwork.typepad.com/blog/#tp

 

 

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The Emerald Isle: Part 5

My vacation was coming to a close, and I had some hefty decisions to make as I pointed Seamus to the East in preparation for the drive back to Dublin.  Should I swing south and visit Cork?  Do I try to make it all the way to Waterford in one day?  Or do I go inland to see Kilkenny Castle?  There were several other options at my disposal; hundreds, actually, because Ireland is absolutely teeming with things to see and experience.  It was at this moment in my trip that I realized how much I still had yet to see in Ireland, and that I would most certainly need a return trip in the future.  Considering the Waterford Crystal factory no longer functions in Ireland, it seemed silly to make the longer drive to Waterford just to shop and read a few placards about the crystal making process I wouldn’t get to see.  As for Cork, I was advised not to go unless I had a lot of time to spend there, and I only had an afternoon.  Also, I was a little wary of running into my ex-boyfriend’s family, considering they are from, and still currently reside in Cork…haha…  Kilkenny it was!

I would have moved to Kilkenny in a heartbeat.  It is an adorable gem of a city that has just a touch of modern flair, and boasts history, culture, comedy, art, and great food.  I was deeply torn that I couldn’t spend more time there to see all the other attractions that were nearby, but ended up taking a lovely stroll to Kilkenny Castle and touring it in its entirety.  I’ve seen a few luxurious castles in my time, one of which was the Palace of Versailles, which is grand and ornate — bordering on ridiculous, really.  But Kilkenny Castle has a lovely, more down-to-earth vibe, nearly devoid of extreme narcissism.  I would dare even to call it “homey.”  It is grand, absolutely, and of course dripping in finery, but still holds onto the traditional Irish charm, and makes you feel as though the nobles would still have invited you to place your peasant ass on their gilded couch and share in a shot of whiskey.  Its architecture is more modest than some, given that its original purpose was to serve as more of a control fortress than a fancy noble dwelling.  There is a section of the castle in which the floor is see-through, through which you can view the original stonework for the moat, which ups the level of badassery considerably.  If you ever have the opportunity to tour Kilkenny Castle, I will warn you not to stare through the floor for too long, particularly when about to exit into the next section of the tour.  Directly at the end of the see-through-floor hallway, there is a menacing 7-foot tall suit of armor that seems to be strategically placed to scare the pants off of unsuspecting visitors who are too involved in what’s below them (I was one of them).  Aside from the real live history beneath your feet, Kilkenny Castle also boasts an impressive exhibit of one of the sections of Morpeth’s Roll, essentially a GIANT “farewell” letter to Lord Viscount Morpeth (a.k.a. George Howard) in 1841 after he left his position of Chief Secretary of Ireland.  Somewhere around 300,000 people hand signed the document, which has been digitized thanks to modern technology.  The history and circumstances surrounding this event are fascinating all in themselves, but particularly so if you believe you may have familial roots in Ireland.  After roaming the great halls and cozy rooms of Kilkenny Castle, I strolled through the masterful rose garden.  The drizzly, grey-clouded day seemed only to serve as a perfectly neutral background to some of the most amazing roses I’ve ever seen.

kilkennyrose

I departed from Kilkenny begrudgingly and headed for my last B&B of the trip, located in Rathcoole.  In the morning, I would depart begrudgingly from Ireland, land of good beer, good people, and gorgeous landscapes, and hop back across the Pond to Florida, land of rednecks who swear they’re not Southerners, suffocating humidity, and dirty diapers on beaches plagued with sand gnats.  Rather than mope for the last day of my trip, however, I decided to simply breathe as deeply as possible and really enjoy my last 18 hours in such a lovely country.  Having arrived in Rathcoole and checked into my B&B, I asked my hostess if she had a recommendation for where I could have dinner.  She informed me that aside from fast food, there was really only one pub within reasonable driving distance, and that it was quite good.  She said it was called Anposhunil.  What?  I’m sorry, I didn’t get that.  What’s it called?  Aumprashientail.  Aoanprasteentel.  Einpreshinshtil.  I asked her to say it probably twelve times, and each time it was as though she either said it faster or changed the pronunciation for her own amusement.  I am a linguist.  I have a 4-year degree in linguistics, with a focus in phonetics, and I had no idea what this woman was saying.  She finally wrote it down for me, and I said, “oh! Of course!  How silly of me,” although I still had no idea how to pronounce An Poitin Stil (and frankly, still don’t).

Regardless of my feeble American pronunciation of such robust Gaelic words, I found Aiprawshenteel with no trouble, and was engaged by a waiter who was terribly friendly.  *ahem*  Extraordinarily friendly.  It was truly some of the smoothest flirting I’ve ever experienced, and I thought to myself, “ah, this must be that ‘Irish charm’ everyone warned me about.”  His brazen overconfidence aside, he was very nice and quite pleasant to talk to, and happened to introduce me to what is still the best whiskey I’ve had to date.  Friends, if you are whiskey lovers, I beg of you to try Midleton Very Rare.  You won’t regret it.  A big thanks to the amiable bloke in the pub who allowed me to taste it, although I suspect he’s still disappointed that I didn’t join him for a nightcap.

The next morning I arrived at the airport and bid adieu to Seamus, my trusty steed.  Having slogged through two security checkpoints and customs, I settled aboard my flight to watch the patches of hunter green, fern green, and shamrock green fade away through the mist.  It was an exquisite trip, more than I could have hoped for, and I will absolutely return to Ireland one day.  But until the day that I can again experience the overt friendliness, the rugged green hills, the sheep, the thin places, the meat pies, the hurling, and the whiskey, I will simply encourage whoever reads this to go in my stead, where I’m sure you will receive céad míle fáilte.