A Christmas Memory

One Christmas day long ago, the whole family was gathered in the small apartment that my grandmother and great aunt shared. The overall feeling was festive and everyone was talking loudly, cheerfully and simultaneously. In her later years, my grandmother was hard-of-hearing; trying to distinguish any one conversation in the general din wasn't working for her that day.

Grandma loved to be the center of attention. She had earned the right to be there by being a great entertainer and storyteller. She had a quick wit, a dry humor and an undying curiosity about you and your friends and the world itself. To be stuck in an enforced silence on that day was not something to be endured.

A tinkle of music caught my ear. I looked over to see her slowly making her way around the room, winding up her collection of music boxes as she went.

She wound up angels, carousels, tiny Christmas trees and small jewelled boxes until the sounds they made took over the room, the talking slowly came to a stop and we all gazed at her standing in the middle of the room with a happy smile on her face. The center of attention.

I did it!!!!

I finished a 50,000 word novel in 30 days as part of a challenge from National November Writing Month. It was actually 51,705 words in the end. I woke up the next morning and felt like a different person. It's a pretty good story but now it needs a lot of rewriting, reorganizing, tossing cliches, adding spice. It was very hard work but a lot of fun at the same time. Yay!!

Only 20% of the entrants finished but a few of them wrote 75,000 to 100,000 words - I have absolutely no idea how they could do this. Here is what happened to me in the last week of the challenge:

The basement flooded (a live-in basement). The carpet was ruined and had to be ripped out. Relatives started arriving Tuesday night for Thanksgiving. Workmen came on Wednesday to put in a new floor, sawing and pounding from 7:40 am to 7:30 pm. On Thanksgiving Day, eleven people for dinner, the turkey was baking and the hot water heater failed and gushed water all over the floor. Had to shut off the gas and water. The burglar alarm went off in a deafening manner and wouldn't shut down. My 15-year old daughter took our Shetland Sheepdog for a walk and he was viciously attacked by another dog. The next morning, there was no heat. Later that day, there was no hot water. I ended up not writing for four days and really thought I might not make it to the end.

Why I am thankful:
We got the carpet out and fans going in time so there was no damage to the walls. The floor guys finished the floor in time for Thanksgiving and it looks good. My in-laws were understanding and helpful. I found someone on the 8th phone call to come right away and replace the hot water heater. He refused to take a tip. The turkey was delicious and only 2 1/2 hours late. I figured out the burglar alarm (we didn't install it and can't remove it). I got Diego to the vet in time, the very best surgeon was there that day. The neighbor did the right thing and paid the vet bill. The plumber came back and fixed the heating problem for no charge. The hot water was just set at "Vacation". And I finished my novel!!

Words, words, words

I have some words stuck in my head today: "First you must amaze yourself." I'm not sure who said them, maybe Roy Lichtenstein, speaking about making art. Anyway, even if I don't finish this challenge, even if nothing ever happens with my novel - I have managed to amaze myself. I have almost 30,000 words and fifteen chapters. And it's a story. And I am keeping myself entertained by it. I hope that someday it will see the light of day but for now here is another excerpt from "Get Lost":


It was a heavenly meal: roast chicken stuffed with fennel and garlic, penne in an exquisite ragu sauce, twice-cooked beets in a chianti glaze and, for dessert, a baked apple with cardamom and caramel drizzled on top with a little cream. I was warm and happy with the solace of good food and the kindness of strangers, although by now Willem and I had become good friends. As I was finishing, a young boy and a pretty woman dressed in black with a white apron came through the back door and started laying out linen napkins and silver and putting fresh flowers in the vases. Two couples came in the front door and took tables in the back.

I knew it was time for me to go but I sat there. I had a strong feeling that things would change for me and for everyone else once I got up and crossed the street. I got out my lipstick and mirror and painted my lips back to a ruby red.

Willem sat down across from me and laid a bill discreetly by my plate. We had talked of everything: art, the Web, fashion, books and food, of course. But now he said quietly, "How well do you know Maximilian?"

"I've just met him. It's not what you think."

"I'm not thinking anything. Just be careful." He lifted my hand and kissed it. "Thank you for a lovely evening. I hope I will see you here again. Tsokolom."

"Thank you. That was one of the best meals I've ever had and you will see me again — and all my friends." He gave my hand a squeeze, got up and went over to the door where several more couples were arriving.

I looked at the bill. It said only "No charge. For luck." I wiped away a sudden tear. I felt like it was opening night and I was about to walk on stage. I looked over at Willem but I knew better than to try and argue with him about the bill. He gave me a thumbs up and I smiled and laid 1000 forints by my plate. I picked up my bag and coat and went out the door. It was cold enough now to wear my coat just crossing the street, so I put it on.

As I got closer to the door of the club, the X started flashing again. The window was even more beautiful close up: tiny planets and their moons and clusters of galaxies spinning silently. I was glad Tibor knew how to express emotion and stay alive.

I opened the door and went in.

50,000 words by the end of November

So far, so good. Throwing words down on the page is exhausting, exhilarating, Things come up in my story that I hadn't thought about and my style has changed to something more freewheeling. There is a lot of stuff in there that I will have to clean up eventually: cliches, clues that aren't in the right place, more detail needed. But, for now, I'm having fun and it's a story. Today I wrote one of the steamier chapters and I wrote it at Panera Bread early this morning at a table next to a group of Christian guys talking about their missions. My heroine does the right thing in the end but she takes a few detours along the way. Here is an excerpt from Chapter Nine.

I looked away from him, gathered up all my wits and shreds of dignity and moved towards the door. I suddenly felt the weight of the whole day: death, desire, jealousy, uncertainty. It all pushed down on me and I felt unable to move. I looked at him once more. "But you said you knew where Bogi is." He brought a cigarette to his lips (where did it come from?) and blew out clove and nicotine smoke so that it obscured his eyes. I suddenly knew he wasn't going to tell me anything, had never intended to and that where his soul should be, there was only a black hole that drew things into it, including me. I felt my head start to spin and I struggled against a darkness at the edge of my vision. He looked at me and said very clearly "I slept with your mother." And then he laughed. It was a strange, high cackling sound. I thought, "His laugh doesn't match his clothes," as if I was observing everything from far away and then my thoughts spiraled out of me and I fell.

Excerpt from "Get Lost"

I have heard that certain groups of people such as artists, neurotics, and brain-damaged patients show greater susceptibility to color influences than the average person. Red toenails on my bare feet on the deck railing, a red cardinal high on a pine branch. Far below, a red kayak rests on the shore of a small, wooded lake. I feel a sudden happiness.

I close my eyes, lean back in my chair and let the sun and balsam-scented air work their magic; the knots in my stomach start to unravel and my body relaxes.

It's been six months since my mother died in a kayaking accident on Lake Superior, in a sudden storm. I quit my going-nowhere job in St. Paul makng maps for gas stations and kid's parties, quit my going-nowhere relationship with a harmonica-playing, almost certainly cheating boyfriend and moved into my mother's studio/treehouse in the North Woods of Minnesota.

My mother, Bridget O'Hara, was tall, red-haired and shimmering. she really did light up the room. She was an artist. She was impetuous. I am Ruby: small, dark and quiet. I think for a long time before acting and then I move quietly, in between the action. I like my life to be smooth. But now I have uprooted myself from everything familiar and I feel lost, as if the North Star is gone from the sky.

What Was I Thinking?

On Monday, I signed up with the National November Writing Month contest, otherwise known as NaNoWriMo. You commit to writing a novel of 50,000 words by the end of the month. On Tuesday, I got an e-mail from the director who had done the math: in order to write 50,000 words by November 30, I must write 1667 words per day. Huh. OK. On Wednesday, I wrote 1902 words but only because I had already written the first chapter. Now it's Thursday and I wrote about 25 words on the Metro on the way to work. So I only have 1642 to go. Ha Ha. What was I thinking??!!

I've been working on a mystery novel, Get Lost, for almost 10 years. I write in stolen moments: over coffee, on the Metro, in the car waiting for my daughters, at the doctor's office. My writing has improved with practice, criticism, writing workshops, classes, books on writing. But now I have to let go of any idea of perfection and just stuff words on the page. I think I can do it. I think I will be glad I did it. I may post excerpts here.

Speaking of writers, I just picked up the latest paperback novel by P. D. James, The Lighthouse. "She is writing at the height of her power." says the New York Times. "She writes like an angel. Every character is closely drawn. Her atmosphere is unerringly, chillingly convincing. And she manages all this without a moment slowing down the drive and tension of an exciting mystery." — The Times (UK) And she manages all this at the amazing age of 86!!

I would like to lay my head down on my desk and take a nap but must get back to work.