The last blog post was all about slowing down, taking things easy, enjoying the unusually lovely weather, and yet here I am, only a few days later, reflecting on my default attitude to life which seems to be ‘Life is short, don’t hang around, make decisions, get things done, move on.’
I’m pretty sure I know why this is so: most of my immediate family members have died prematurely. Father went out to work one day when he was 45, died at work and never came home. Mother declined into Alzheimers in her mid-60s and died four years later. One of my older sisters died at 37 and another at 65. I think it was Dad’s sudden disappearance when I was nine that had the most profound effect. Suddenly my certainty about the future was fractured. If he could go without warning and with such effect, anything could happen, and the future could not be relied upon. If there was something I wanted to do, or to become, don’t wait. Just go for it. It may not be planned to perfection, but that’s OK.
Sometimes you need to ‘Ready, fire, aim’. If you think and dither around for too long it becomes ‘Ready, ready, ready.’
I was listening this morning to Michael Ondaatje, author of ‘The English Patient’, talking about his writing approach which involves twenty edits before he commits to print. The first draft is just a sketch, and it goes from there. What patience, I thought to myself. How does he slow down enough to let such snail’s pace iteration happen? Could I ever work like that?
Probably not! I’m 70 now, and enjoying every aspect of my life. I have many things to do and to learn, not just my writing. Worse, as soon as I start thinking about writing another book I start planning deadlines and put time pressure on myself. The urge to write too quickly is so strong that my first response now is to avoid that pressure altogether by not writing at all. There must be another way, surely, somewhere between Ondatjee’s caution and my usual recklessness.
The next step could be, consciously and deliberately, to dawdle. Just mess around for a while. I have some characters I’d like to play with, and I have a setting – it has to be Cumbria, nowhere else provides the same inspiration. Now what I need is a story, a real character-driven story, not just a series of twists and turns choreographed by some formulaic notion of ‘tension’. The story needs to intrigue me, and move me. The central character might be a police person but it’s not going to be a ‘police procedural’ or a forensic puzzle, both of which in the modern era require tedious technical research.
Maybe I should abandon even the pretence of ‘crime fiction’ and just tell a story about a person and a crisis. Above all, I need to drift and learn to use the first draft as a mere sketch. Only then will I know whether I’ve got something worth spending time on. ‘Ready, fire, aim.’
My temporary living space is looking pretty well organised now (check previous posts to see what this is all about). And my head is getting round the new situation too: instead of fretting about the necessary confinement I’m using the time to tackle something that’s been overshadowed by health issues for a a couple of weeks – starting the first draft of the new book.
The outline is pretty well sorted, apart from the final denouement which I want to leave loose for now. So first thing this morning I split my screen, posted the outline of Chapter 1 on one side and pulled up a blank document on the other headed, ‘Burning Secret Chapter 1’. The title may change, but it’ll do for now.
Immediately at this point the writer faces a choice about ‘point of view’. Whose eyes am I looking through in this scene? Whose head am I inside, and what does this person see, hear, do and feel? What are the implications of this choice, and is it significant for the reader? It’s a chance to clarify who is at the centre of the story, or possibly to catch the reader off-guard. Do you remember the film ‘Psycho’? For the first several minutes of that Hitchcock masterpiece the viewer thinks they’re being told a story about Janet Leigh’s character having an affair. All the action is from her point of view, until in an iconic shocking twist her character is gone and we are jolted into another story. The decision about the first POV the reader encounters is one the writer needs to think carefully about.
For this book I’ve decided that POV should stay the same for the whole of the first chapter. The setting, both time and place, is quite complicated and one POV is probably enough for the reader to manage. Perhaps at the chapter’s end the hook to draw the reader forward could be the introduction of a new POV, as the story begins to unfold.
I read an excellent Japanese crime story recently, – ‘Malice’ by Keigo Higashino – at the end of which there was an interview with the author about the techniques he’d used. One of these was to give the reader an early memorable snippet of information about a key character that would be crucial in establishing whether the character was trustworthy or likeable. With that impression established, the reader would interpret the character’s behaviour through that lens. ‘First impressions count’ is the message, and those impressions are manipulated by the author.
So, the choice of character for the first POV, the information the reader is offered, the source of that information and what it signifies, are all Chapter One decisions. However well I’ve planned, much of this subtlety only presents itself when the actual first draft is being written. And that’s what I started on yesterday. I couldn’t write for long because of the sore shoulder, and I’m writing this post early so I can rest for a while before going back to Chapter One later in the morning. Pacing myself like this is useful as it makes me think more about what I’m doing and why, instead of just racing on.
For those of you who are new to this blog, I’m confined to the house having injured myself in a fall, and trying to use this as an opportunity for achievement, not just a source of frustration. It’s Day 2 of a ten day confinement: I hope the good intentions can be sustained. While the rest of country is starting the busiest holiday weekend of the year I shall be quiet in my small space and live inside my head. And if I need distractionthere’s a cricket test match to listen to on the radio. What more could I want?
Things can certainly change pretty fast, especially when you fall down the stairs.
At around 1.45am on August 15th I was bouncing backwards down the steep staircase in my house. By the time I’d stopped moving and was lying in a heap at the bottom I’d torn my right shoulder ligaments and ruptured my left Achilles tendon, plus bruising and friction burns. The past week has been a blur of tests and visits to hospital and now I have a large boot, very like a long ski boot, wrapped tightly round my left calf, ankle and foot, where it will stay for several weeks.
I cannot imagine how someone without health insurance in a less enlightened society would access the expertise and care that has been so quickly been available to me at no cost, through the NHS.
The shoulder is improving, but using the keyboard can be painful and the physio recommends only 30 minutes maximum without a rest. And mobility will be an issue for 6-8 weeks while the big boot remains in place.
Being partially immobilised is – at its most objective – an interesting experience. Every movement has to be considered and planned cognitively, to find the most efficient and painless way of getting from A to B while protecting the damaged bits of your body. The processing as much as the physical constraints slow you down. Nothing can be taken for granted and done fast or automatically.
Clothes are an issue: getting trousers over the big boot is almost impossible, I hardly ever wear skirts or dresses, and the top half garments have to be donned without too much pressure on the shoulder. Even underwear takes time and care. And the key criterion is that all these necessary daily functions must be done without help. I have lived alone for most of the past 35 years and value being able to do so.
I know that many people have far harder challenges this to deal with all the time. My accident has brought temporary inconvenience and I understand how fortunate I am by comparison. Much of the necessary adjustment is in my head, to stay practical and positive and not sit around feeling helpless and old. And I’ll have to learn to ask for help when I need it, at least for the next few weeks, and not to demand too much of myself. I have no doubt I will make a full recovery. Being retired I have no work considerations or responsibilities to worry about.
Things happen. Unexpected events make you think, and jolt you out of assumptions and habits. In that sense dealing with the unexpected is probably a useful part of our human existence, as long as it’s not unbearably painful.
In the middle of Monday night, half asleep and in my own home after several nights away, I mistook my route to the bathroom and fell backwards down a flight of fourteen steep stairs. I recall the sensation of falling, pain, and the struggle first to kneel, and then to crawl back up the stairs to the bathroom. Mostly I remember my determination to get help.
Help came quickly from a wonderful neighbour, and from the incomparable NHS. I was back home three hours later, checked, X-rayed, diagnosed with snapped clavicular ligaments, strapped up tight and an appointment with a specialist for today. Pulled ligaments in my right knee are painful and I have bruises and carpet friction burns in various places.
I am right-handed. My right arm is out of commission for weeks and I have a novel to write. But it could have been worse, far worse. Last week’s blog post could have been my last and I have so much living still to do.
As it is, I’m realising already that I can manage most things, but much more slowly. Typing with one left finger, for example, means that I have to slow down both my ideas and the words to express them. For someone who’s done everything too quickly for the past sixty plus years, this is no bad thing, so long as I can accept it without fretting. I’ve moved in with a friend for a while to help me with the basics, and I’ve brought all my book writing stuff with me, determined to use my enforced rest to keep my mind and my left forefinger busy. I shall write, much more slowly than usual, and turn physical idleness into mental activity.