Around the time of that last publication, a writer friend asked what was next. I confessed I was tired, that maybe I needed a break, maybe I’d try poetry for a while. Something different. Something I knew nothing about. But what I’ve discovered or maybe what I’ve known all along is that I’m a book person – fiction, nonfiction, memoir – but book length. Something that pulls me into a different world and holds me there. I’m currently reading a collection of wonderful short stories by Langston Hughes titled The Ways of White Folks, and I find I want each story to continue. I’m greedy for more. I can’t move from one to the next with ease. As with stories and essays, I find it hard to read a book of poems from cover to cover. So the accumulation of collections scatter throughout my small home for quick visits at random moments throughout the day when I’ve lost track of what it was I was doing.
When I read, I want to be pulled into a world of characters
and events. When I write, I want the same. I want to see the story in my head,
eyes closed. I want to know the bookends, beginning and end. I want to get to
know the characters, watch them develop. I usually don’t know how everyone will get from beginning to end, but I know where they’re headed. It’s not unusual for
surprises to arise, for the bookends to shift, for characters to take
unintended paths. The planned ending and the changes that appear along the
journey create a pull, a tug to the table, to the pen and paper, that keep me
writing, keep me in the story for the months, the years it can take to create
even the first draft of a book-length manuscript.
So where am I now? With a notebook of draft poems and the
start of a novel manuscript that requires in-person research – impossible during the pandemic. This time of COVID has no bookends, and the
writer in me is floundering. So my apologies, Cindy, but the next book will be
slow in coming. Blame it on the pandemic.
2 comments:
Hi Arleen,
Go easy on yourself. The pandemic and political situation are making it difficult, if not impossible, for most of us to write these days. I have an idea for a new novel and expected to write at least a thousand words a day during November (expecting most of it to get totally rewritten or trashed, but still, a start) but have barely managed two pages. It'll get better soon. <3
Mary
So wonderful to hear from you, Mary. Thank you for your encouragement. These are, indeed, such difficult times. Good luck with your new novel. Can't wait!
Arleen
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