To Amityville or Not to Amityville...

Yes, that is the question—as it pertains to my Portraits trilogy. I set the opening book, Portrait of a Girl Running, in fictional Milleville, Long Island, New York. This setting has no bearing on the next two stories, Portrait of a Protégé and the work in progress Portrait of a Girl Adrift, but when I publish Adrift, I plan to release a second edition of Girl Running*. As I work through edits, I’m wondering…since all the other settings in the series are factual places, although used fictitiously, how important is continuity of settings?

The geography of Milleville, where the majority of Girl Running takes place, is based upon my hometown, Amityville. (I wrote about this in an earlier post.) Geography aside, there is only one other detail very loosely based on reality—I had a math teacher, Mr. Miles, who had a reputation for being cantankerous but loved by many students during his long career that spanned generations at Amityville Memorial High School. After his death, shortly after I graduated, the middle school was named after him. As far as I’m aware, he never married, and I don’t know that he has any surviving family.

Aside from the fact that I suck at math and Mr. Edmund W. Miles was very displeased with my performance, there are no other similarities to my character Mr. Clarence Myles—nor are there any similarities between any of my other characters and the teachers or staff in the Amityville school district.

As I talked about earlier, the reason I didn’t use Amityville as the setting has to do with the notorious horror flick and not wanting that stigma attached to my story. But now I’m wondering if that is so much of an issue. How many readers even recall the movies, especially on the worldwide market? Editing-wise, it would be a cinch to change Milleville to Amityville. And no, it’s not a huge issue for the story—just an issue of tidiness and continuity (yes, I obsess over such things!). Before I hit Find>Replace, I’m curious if anyone has any thoughts on the subject.

*I’m adding back in a few deleted scenes—nothing major, but information that rounds out supporting characters that show up in the third book.

When Characters Misbehave

I’m not talking about when characters behave badly. That’s actually a good thing because it creates tension and moves the story along. I’m talking about characters and how they don’t always behave the way the writer expects or wants. This happens a lot in my writing, and it’s part of the fun—like putting two bugs in a jar, shake, and see what happens. I love allowing my characters the freedom to interact and behave in a natural, organic kind of way, but when I’m 95% done with the first draft—this is no time for characters to exert their free will! This is what has happened in Portrait of a Girl Adrift.

No matter how I tried to cajole them, they would not do or say what I expected. One in particular revealed more depth than I gave him credit for, which is kind of cool. And then another character brought up an issue I had failed to address. Which equals more words. Not a huge deal—I do want my characters to act ‘in character,’ but with the added scenes—I’ve already exceeded 100k words in the first draft (much of which is bare bones dialogue and so it’s not as if I can cut a lot of fluff, there simply isn’t any!) —I’m looking at one thick book!

Granted, 100+k words is not a tome, so I’m not panicking, after all, my other novels come in somewhere in the 90+k words. I’m now in the process of justifying the added wordage on account of Adrift being the final volume in the Portraits trilogy. Therefore, it seems to me that readers who have followed the story thus far would like the major loose ends all tied up and won’t mind reading an extra chapter or two that will, in essence, allow my reader to say goodbye to the characters with a less abrupt ending. That’s what I’m thinking anyway. I wonder how my blog readers--those who’ve read a series—how they feel about the last book and the way the author chose to wind things down. Any thoughts?

The Moaning Chair

I have to admit, I’ve had a fair bit of trepidation while awaiting the final edits on  UNCHARTED. I even anticipated yanking out the Moaning Chair. ‘Don’t know what that is,’ you say? Sure you do. Especially if you’ve ever been engaged in a high-liability profession. In a way, writing is high liability. Oh yeah, there’s a lot at stake when it comes to ego and insecurities. I’d come this far, so I knew my publisher liked the story well enough to back it—just the same…how much hacking and slashing would there be? (You'd think I would know how to use a comma by now.) I knew I’d have to make sacrifices. (Could I have made my sentences any longer?) I knew they would sting. I knew I’d cringe, feeling around behind me for the Chair that I could flop into.

So, here’s my Moaning Chair.

The first coiner of the term, to the best of my knowledge and research, was Howard I. Chapelle, in his book Boatbuilding (1941). While I have come across many colorful variations describing the Moaning Chair, Chapelle states, “In every amateur boatbuilder’s shop there should be a ‘moaning chair’; this should be a comfortable seat from which the boat can be easily seen and in which the builder can sit, smoke, chew, drink, or swear as the moment demands.”

Happily, the edits have been relatively painless—no swearing or even moaning necessary. After years of revising UNCHARTED, it felt much the same as any other round of edits. Overall, it adds a nice luster to the polish. Rhemalda’s editor, Diane Dalton has been professional and fun to work with. Even now, before my final round of edits, I can confidently say it’s been and will continue to be a very positive experience. Does that mean I don’t need my Moaning Chair?

Well, the Chair is not just for griping— it’s for contemplation, as well. Chapelle adds, “Here he should rest often and think about his next job. The plans should be at hand and here he can lay out his work. By so doing he will often be able to see mistakes before they are serious and avoid the curse of all amateur boatbuilders: starting a job before figuring out what has to be done to get it right.”

Time to work on my other novels!

Comparisons: "Get off me!"

I know this post is supposed to be on writing insecurities but this week I could just as easily write about painting insecurities—the principles are the same. These past few days, I've spent a lot of time studying the portrait of Marlena I just completed, and I really love her. I captured the innocence and beauty of her character, and so by that standard, the project was a success. I feel good about it—really good...until...I look at Pascal Gentil's painting*...now my painting lacks luster and well, I begin to realize what an amateur I am...Please don't misunderstand; I'm not slamming my own work, and I'm not begging for reassurance. I'm simply being realistic. (Yes, I promise to get that short-term Empowerment Therapy!)

...This is where the writing analogy comes in...

I feel really good about my novels, until I start comparing them. It might be my story line or characters or the actual writing—doesn't matter. As soon as I put someone else's writing beside mine, the first thing I notice are the flaws in my own work. If I can, I go back to the drawing table/keyboard and make improvements. That's fine! But more than likely, I'll only be indulging my propensity for overworking a project—it's the paper, scrubbed and so saturated with paint and water that it begins to peel. It's the never-ending edits and revisions, tweaking characters to the point that they scream, "Get off me!"

At some point I have to say, this is mine, it's complete and I own it and I love it for what it is, in spite of the flaws. This is such a basic concept—the earlier in life we learn it, the better. Comparing ourselves—our life, our work, our progress or lack of it, our dreams and expectations—to anyone else is counterproductive. It's easy to justify comparison as that which spurs us to greater achievements, and sometimes it does, but such a shaky foundation leaves us too vulnerable. We will constantly need external reassurance and will always be standing on the edge of that slippery slope of mental/emotional malaise.

Just say NO to comparisons! "Get off me!"

This post is part of the Insecure Writer's Support Group, sponsored by Alex J. Cavanaugh.


* Edited to say that I just found Pascal Gentil's Website only to discover his "painting" is in fact a digitally enhanced photograph, which takes a great deal of talent and in no way diminishes my esteem of his work. Oh my, how I'd love to paint many of his subjects! And in a way, it makes me feel all the better about my work.