I figured out a way to place another character into small exorcisms, one who could lend support to Mischa during his ordeal, and take some of the pain for him. Doing so would require a lot of rewrite, and I’m not certain how well he will fit as yet, or if his presence would detract from the intimate arc between Mischa and Frank, and the latter’s redemption.
Part of me was very excited when I figured this out, as I’ve hit a creative dry spell, and this new angle would give me something exciting to do, and hopefully help me finish the novel.
Part of me recoiled. "This is just more doom and smiting! More pain, more darkness. WTF? Why cannot I not seem to focus or produce anything cheerful?"
Bleah. I’m trying to avoid True Art is Angsty, but it’s difficult. Is this more a reflection on my viewing and fictional consumption habits, that this is what I produce (GIGO, in other words); my subconscious desire to write Something Great (which falls back on the belief of True Art is Angsty)?
It’s frustrating, whatever it is.
In an igloo on International Night at school.
Is it bad that it’s the day before November, NaNoWriMo month, starts, and I’ve still not decided which of two stories to pursue?
It’s bad, isn’t it.
One is Prairie Fire, a historical romance set in 1863 Lawrence, Kan. My hero, Aisircul, is a redeemed fallen angel who has walked the Earth since the time of Christ, plagued with the ‘gift’ of foreseeing horrific acts; my heroine, Jane, is a woman who lives with her widowed father on their farm, resisting all attempts to be married off so she can maintain some independence.
The other is forget oneself, a contemporary and more literary (doesn’t really fit a genre) novel where my protagonist Adrian tries to learn who murdered his unfaithful wife, because he doesn’t remember the night in question, thanks to his steadily worsening drinking habit. It promises to be stuffed with backstory and reminiscing, which my various how-to guides advise me to steer clear of if possible, as those types of scenes are hard to make interesting, since if you’re in the past, nothing is happening in the present.
Adrian is my oldest creation — he’s languished in my head for 17 years. He’d like to have his story told. But Aisircul also interests me, though his story is requiring a lot of research, and I’m finding new things to look up almost every time I turn around, including how an Arabic man would have been treated back then, and how interracial relationships would have been received (so far, that answer seems to be: poorly).
I don’t know what to do!
Playing with Canva again!
Despite the bit that I posted earlier, so far I am struggling with my two leads for Prairie Fire, Aisircul and Jane Singer. My primary trouble is that I do not know who they are, or why they would be interested in each other.
I have a good grasp on Aisircul, which does not surprise me, as male characters grab my attention better than female characters. Jane, my heroine — the character you’d think an aspiring romance writer would have the better handle on — is as smoke. She refuses to solidify. What little idea I have of her is a blonde 20-something who is almost Belle-like in her cheerfulness, a not-quite Purity Sue. This is unfortunate, because that’s the sort of character I can’t abide.
Aisircul, however, is proving resistant to the idea of romance. He doesn’t seem to feel that he would be right, or that he should fall in love. It doesn’t seem to be a case of feeling he doesn’t deserve love, but rather that he somehow shouldn’t ask, that he should be content with his lot as it is. And he is very happy with where he is — pretty much anything beats being in Hell.
In the meantime, while I wrestle with those two (or perhaps pack Aisircul off to a different tale), I’ve been feeling pulled to work on Getting Hammered, the namesake of this blog, again. I have 11 more sections thought up, and a few of them started, but they have languished while I went off to work on small exorcisms (a story that may never see the light of day).
I’m going to get something written, doggone it…