December 22
Posted by Madeline on Dec 22 2009 | 2 Comments »
Listening to: Beethoven Symphonies
Reading: Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot [again...]
What goes into determining a character? With a new book idea tugging at the back of my mind recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I recently StumbledUpon this website about character characteristics- a page titled something like 1001 character traits- and I saw that, of the few traits I looked at, they had a range from favorite foods to core issues about personalities, such as phobias and insecurities, etc. And so that got me to thinking much more consciously about my character development.
Where do I start when I try to find a new character? Often either with a name or an important reaction to another person- even though those are two distinctly different approaches. The first is a straightforward fact; the second considers not the character’s basic personality but rather the more complex aspect of their reactions to others. For a while, that can be all I know about the character- one or the other- though rarely both at the very beginning. I can tell you exactly the way one of my new characters feels about the people around her- but I’m at a complete loss for her name. With Nyla Godard, however, I knew her name weeks before I found the basic plot— and it wasn’t until I was finished with the first chapter that I even had a taste of what her personality was like. On the other hand, I called Pontus Savarik ‘Smidge’ for weeks, just because I couldn’t find an appropriate name for the little smidgers who occupied my thoughts– and because I used the nickname for so long, I couldn’t just let it go, and now it’s his nickname all through his books.
Where to go for there? Lately it’s been songs that spark ideas, and once I have the smallest inkling of a personality, logic tends to build on it- especially once I have a plot line from which to base their reactions, background, etc. But right now I’m most interested in those first few weeks- or more often now months- where I have just one tiny detail to tag the nameless phantom in my thoughts. There’s something pleasant about that time, knowing this phantom has a complete personality somewhere– and it just takes a little digging and a whole lot of patience for the rest of the personality to unravel. And what’s even more rewarding is knowing that this person is a completely round and whole character, and no matter how much you think you know, there’s always more to learn, and there’s always more to surprise you. That’s when I think characters are most fun- when you can finally learn that you have no say on their actions or traits; they dictate when and how much they will reveal their personality to you.
But for now, while I’m waiting for this nameless woman to shed a light on just another little trait of hers- maybe her name??- I am very much content now to continue exploring Sava and his friends. And maybe, sometime over the holidays, something will spark, and a name, or a favorite food, or a plot will uncover itself. All the same– Happy Holidays to everyone, and one last thought from T.S. Eliot:
“So here I am…/Trying to use words…/And each venture/ is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate/ With shabby equipment always deteriorating/ In the general mess of imprecision of feeling, / Undisciplined squads of emotion.” V. from East Coker, Four Quartets.
Not exactly cheerful…but I love it =] Happy Holidays!
N”
December 9
Posted by Madeline on Dec 09 2009 | 2 Comments »
Reading: A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess
Listening To: Guster
I wonder, where does the time go? One day I swear I was sweltering in the ridiculous heat of Bangladesh- and now, suddenly, there’s ice outside my window and fallen trees down the street. Geez. Along with that- I can remember the exact moment I first thought of Sava’s world- and now I’m thirty pages into his third book? He’s old? He’s in love? He’s…Well…Let’s not go where he is quite yet.
I love, love, love writing new books and stories, but there’s this constant pressure, like running a race, that seems to push me into flying through my books. Sometimes I wonder…would it be sweeter, better to slow down a little and enjoy the process of writing? But it’s the frantic flurry of words and scenes and emotions that I love the most- and that comes out the best.
But yesterday I took a break from plugging along through my book, and, through request, jotted down an extra scene from Sava’s second book. No editing- rough writing- and pure love, love, love again. It’s a relief, I’ve realized, to take a break every once in a while and write something short, flippant, and separated from the burdens and heavy baggage of an entire book. Gosh! Who ever knew that writing was like medication for an overly stressed writer?
Well, I guess all those magazines and articles I’ve read about writing have pointed that exact same idea out three gazillion times, but…it takes experience to fully appreciate how well it works.
Basically, what I’m trying to say is that I love to write. After weeks and weeks and months and years of this practice, it sometimes sneaks up on me, almost like a surprise, that I really do love this. It makes me giddy. It makes me smile. And so I think I’ll post this, and get on to grinning.
A cheerful thought from Book One:
Another round of whistles and cheers rose in the waiting crowds behind them, and Sava bit down hard on his lip to keep from smiling.
November 15
Posted by Madeline on Nov 15 2009 | Comment now »
Listening to: Three Legged Fox
Reading: Villette by Charlotte Bronte
(Supposed to be reading: The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer, as well as Murder in the Cathedral by T.S. Eliot…Oh boy)
I am in a room that is spinning. Perhaps you see me, standing like a broken doll, with a dangling arm and dejected neck and a shattered expression, vague in its inability to ever change. Change doesn’t come to dolls, who may only adjust their clothes and brush their hair, for to change would be to halt the twisting walls that never cease- impossible, irrefutable, meaningless. You would laugh at my attempt, a futile gesture that is brushed aside by the merest breeze, by the merest sign of condescension or mockery. My square home does not even have the decency to rise up in miniature walls with a confining roof to shade my eyes from the whirling business outside. No, I do not have the privilege, the honor, the not so special distinction of a shield for my eyes. There is no pink bed with a flimsy balcony, nor do I have a quaint window seat with a pillow on which to rest my head. I have only a square with painted black lines across which I do not dare to extend my arms or legs or fingers or toes for fear of colliding with all that whirls and spins beyond me. A tentative stretch yields only a sensation like a mild burn; anything more produces the irate fire of detestation and ridicule. So instead I keep my knees curled tight to my chin, my arms hooked tightly around my ankles, as I feel the heat of the friction of flying objects and twisting walls around my head. From where you sit in a plastic-covered armchair, my hunched posture may look broken, and some days, when the wind is flying not so high, not so sharp, not so violent, I can smile secretly into my porcelain hand and know the truth.
But while the gale is full of force and livid power, my arms dangle from broken strings that feebly swing in the wind, and my glass eyes glaze over. There is no truth to seek today; my porcelain hands are shattered from a final attempt, and I am broken.
Yes, folks, this is the result of writing [or battling for hours] a paper on Hamlet. Copyrighted to Madeline Gambino 2009
And lastly, a writing thought from hours and hours of editing Book Two: “This is war, not life.”
October 19
Posted by Madeline on Oct 19 2009 | 1 Comment »
Listening to: Bruce Springsteen
I was sick last weekend with the flu, and, without any energy to move off my couch, I somehow stumbled across a fantasy TV series called the Legend of the Seeker. Oddly enough, I’ve never been one to particularly watch or read Fantasy, although I’ve tried much harder to do so because I write it. All the same, however, I got about halfway through the first season over the long weekend. The show was sometimes much too predictable and often clearly written for a fairly obvious moral, but God, it was so cool just seeing it. Although I can picture what I write very well, it’s always a little fuzzy to read another author’s words, and it’s difficult to picture things precisely while reading. I have to admit, I love seeing books made into TV or movies- though I’ve never read the Legend series, so I’m not sure how faithful the series is- because I love SEEING it. And this, because the setting was similar to my writing, was just awesome. I love seeing the type of setting, the intricate beauty of a forest landscape or the harshness of a coast, and being able to picture my characters in it. Maybe it’s because fantasy is always considered such a part of “another world”- and yet these TV shows can make completely convincing fantasy scenes from our world, as it is. That’s cool, particularly since I live in a city, and the only nature I see regularly is my backyard.
I dunno…if TV people can take our world and turn it into fantasy, I think that says something. People say we don’t have magic in our world, and that’s the worst criticism of the genre, I think. Of course we have magic- in the beauty of our world, in genuine emotions, in love, in faith, in simple acts of kindness. Fantasy is, after all, not just dragons and elves and treasure and swords and whatever else catches the author’s fancy, but truly a representation of the boundaries of humanity. By stretching what the reality is, we can better understand the limits of the human mind, of human emotions, and of the human consciousness. And personally, if we can picture that a little more in our own world, right where we’re standing and in the person standing next to us, I think maybe we’d find out a little bit more about ourselves.
A thought from Sava’s 2nd Book: “You think mages who can start fires or move objects are the only people with magic, but everyone is filled with it. Magic is everywhere- in every touch, in every breath….Your magic is more a representation of your self than any other part of you.”
October 4
Posted by Madeline on Oct 04 2009 | Comment now »
Reading: Dracula
Listening to: Shuffle- right now, The Velvet Underground & Nico
Not much to update. I am going through post-book depression/writers’ block, though I did post a new short story [project? exploration of music?] on the Other Projects page. It’s called A Love Story, and if you’re a music lover, it’s especially directed towards you. Please check it out and leave comments here or through email- I always respond.
A thought from Nyla’s book:
“Power? I don’t have any real power. I’m just a girl who happens to have been born into a role that should hold power. After all, I’m nearly a foot shorter than any of my opponents, giving me a severe disadvantage in almost any fight, and I don’t have much support throughout Elenot until I kill someone or do something unbelievably amazing. It’s terribly disheartening. My real power should lie in the three objects of the Silvercatcher, but,” Nyla said, hesitating to hold up the Catcher’s mirror, “I don’t even have those any more either. Just hand-me-downs from another family.”
Sept. 29
Posted by Madeline on Sep 29 2009 | 3 Comments »
Listening to : Jose Gonzalez
Reading: Hamlet
This update is late for a particularly important literary reason. On Sunday I finished Sava’s second book [my eleventh new book] at 274 pages.
There’s something ridiculous and absurd about finishing a book. This one took me about…five or six months- which isn’t that long in the real scope of things. Six months is one class, one serious fight with a friend, one vacation, two seasons. But when I finished the last sentence and planted the last period, an incredible wave of exhilaration washed through me- almost instantly to be replaced by depression. I started crying a minute later. Partly the reason was because the way I ended the book- I’ve never left an ending so disgustingly depressing [at least to me]- and the weight I left on my characters’ shoulders left me in a panic.
But a large part of the freak out was also just because I’d finished. I had finished the book- I couldn’t write scenes from that book in my head any longer, because they were all done. That’s a strange situation to be in, particularly because I have been writing some of these scenes in my head for about a year. I miss that book. I miss the fact that a large part of that story was fairly lighthearted- even if there was always a shadow of darkness hanging on the edge of every scene. But now, suddenly, I’m back on page one, with a nearly blank Word document, and a new sense of panic has taken over.
But that’s writing, I suppose. Starting over, building up, exploring a new region of my creativity to better understand a new region of humanity.
At least that’s the goal.
And lastly, a thought from the recently completed, second installment of Sava’s story:
We train to be prepared for this. And should anything happen, I will know what to do. His own words to his sister earlier in the season haunted him now, because he was suddenly, abruptly, overwhelmingly scared at the thought that his country was being attacked. That Verja men were already dying. That he had joined the Academy without knowing what he was getting himself into.
Her fingers squeezed his wrist just slightly, so faintly he thought he might have imagined the gesture. “You’ll never be ready.”
Sept 20, 2009
Posted by Madeline on Sep 20 2009 | Comment now »
Reading: The Sound and the Fury
There is something indescribably exciting about a book that makes my head hurt. For me, I get this giddy sort of feeling in my stomach when I come across a line- something that rises up into my throat and makes me look up from the page with a feeling of wonder. [I think I looked up after almost every single line in the Grapes of Wrath for that very same reason]. I love when pieces fall into place, when I see an everyday occurrence in an entirely new light, when a line of absolute poetry sums up my feelings in less than ten words. I love reading for this reason- I love writing for this reason.
I read an article the other day about inspiration in writing, and how, when a writer just plows on even when they aren’t feeling inspired, they sometimes write their best work. That’s interesting to me. When I run out of time to write, I lose inspiration, and then it’s a vicious circle in which I can’t get back into the habit. To plow on seems so…dull though, don’t you think? It seems as though I might never write anything worthwhile if I’m not in a place where my heart literally yearns for a Word page.
I’m writing this because that’s exactly how I feel today. I’m writing a book that’s already thirty pages over my average, and I still can’t entirely see the end. Sava pulls me, he’s in my thoughts, he’s in my heart and mind and soul, and yet…he’s not on the page. It’s impossible that someone might pull me so much, and yet I can’t let him out. So I said last week that I have to plow on- plow on through school and family and friends and drama and other interesting characters. I might not have to devote my life to Sava, but sometimes it certainly feels that way. But maybe today, even if I give him one more page of his story, I might find my inspiration again.
Thought:
“Once in the capital, would she find that she did not exist solely to bear the burden of being Refev’s daughter? Maybe she would instead find that she carried another burden that was just as weighty, but with the possibility of doing some good.
“Did you ever know,” she breathed to her mother’s gravestone, “that maybe this should have been you?”“
–Chapter Four of the Silvercatcher
Sept 12, 2009
Posted by Madeline on Sep 12 2009 | 1 Comment »
Listening To: Freshlyground
So…I missed the one-year anniversary of this website by a day, I think. Oops. So…happy belated one year =] But aside from that, I can update you all a little bit on my writing.
I have done…very little. Page 232 at the moment on Sava’s second book [but I'm hitting blocks after every scene right now] so each paragraph is reluctant to find its way onto a page. S’okay though. I think I’m almost done, so I’ll just keep plowing.
Of course, English papers that I’m not excited about kill my enthusiasm for writing just as much as lost football games, swimming in school, and being sick. Eh, what can I do? Not much. Just keep plowing.
One more thought: “He forgot their names immediately after they said them. Instead, his attention was caught by their weathered, scarred, brown hands and their strong lower arms, bare to the elbows. Only one wore the loose metal ring around his wrist signifying marriage, but both had stark black ink tattoos wrapping around their right wrists. As they motioned for him to take a seat, he tried to catch a better glimpse of the thin, almost delicate tattoos, before the older man said, “Pontus Savarik.”” —From the 3rd chapter of Pontus Savarik’s book
Check out the first two chapters on the Excerpts page, and let me know what you think! Comment here or by email =]=]
August 22
Posted by Madeline on Aug 22 2009 | Comment now »
Wow! Long time. After the trip to Bangladesh, we recently moved, so I’ve had a difficult time coming on. However, good news! The first two chapters of Sava’s first book are posted on the Excerpts page. Go check them out, and let me know what you think! That means now that I have posted, Keeri’s first three chapters, Sava’s first two, and Nyla’s first. Definitely let me know what you think and which ought to be updated.
Also, don’t forget to head over to the Books page to catch descriptions of almost all of my works. There’s sample chapters up, as well as other, unrelated works. Let me know what you think!