|White Viola from the garden 5/28/2012|
I'm on a vacation, using up my time before I lose it at the end of the month...some times the first day off is difficult to unwind from the days that came before...so I'm picking away at the knots in my head and thinking about what to do with my time...
|Leaf lace on stone|
I've been in the garden this morning, cutting bottoms out of paper cups to protect my little sunflower, morning glory and corn seedlings, dang critters won't leave them alone without the cups...I rescued some that were pulled out by the roots, I'm hoping they will settle back into growing...It's raining now so maybe they will recover from being so violated.
|Looking up inside Bill's barn silo|
I'm still working my way through Drinking from the Fishbowl, it's been an education...as always, I'm glad that I'm still learning what to do as I'm doing it...writing a novel is such rollercoaster ride of determined focus and flighty whimsey...anxious frustrations dangle off the reassuring hand of precise contentment. I was recently reminded about the reader's perspective, and pulled my head out of the swaddling cocoon of the words I'm crafting, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the work that still lays ahead of me with this manuscript. I'm sure it's going to be fine when it's done (whether that is two months from now or two years), but I'm also sure there will be the same Love it/Hate it see-saw reaction from readers that I receive, which is all right, I've gotten used to that in the way that authors eventually do, shrugging off the stars and numbers that rank my work, and then the words said about what I do (or didn't do). I have to trust that my books will be picked up by readers who are looking for what I'm writing about...like Steinbeck said:
"You know just as well as I do that this book is going to catch the same kind of hell that all the others did and for the same reasons. It will not be what anyone expects and so the expecters will not like it. And until it gets to people who don't expect anything and are just willing to go along with the story, no one is likely to like this book."
(from A Journal of a Novel, quoted from page 26, March 8, Thursday.)
I go back to Steinbeck and smile, I'm no where near this man's talent, but I feel the same way...I have a high bar for myself as a writer (and an artist)... I want to write what I feel is right, I want to write about things that matter...perhaps I'm wrong to expect readers to be savvy enough to come to a book (any book, not just mine) without expectations—at least, that’s what I was taught by my older siblings who were diligent readers, they shepherded me to the library and introduced me to such grand tomes like East of Eden, War and Peace, the Master and Margarita, To Kill a Mockingbird, Wuthering Heights and Wonderland, or maybe I just made it up in my own mind that that’s how it should be. Books are beautiful creations, I love going into a story blindly and finding the treasure buried within...and even when I don't particularly like how a book ends...it's the author's vision that matters to me...I appreciate the individual who sat down and wrote it...I appreciate this even more now than before I became a writer. I'm there...in good company.
|Popeye, May 2012|