Nadine Feldman, Author

celebrating strong female characters and whatever else strikes my fancy

rough drafts

Writing and the EEWWW Factor

by

The year is 1970, and Stella Kellar has just returned home, traumatized, from Kent State. She wants that sense of peace that comes from being “home,” but finds that no one escapes the war. Her parents barely notice her; her father, Luke, a traumatized veteran, struggles with a whopping case of PTSD. Her mother, Ruth, spends most of her time trying to help him and has no energy left for anyone else. A charismatic stranger will come between mother and daughter, both vulnerable and weary from the effects of war. A loving grandmother, the only stable individual in the lives of this battered family, tries to hold the family together while facing the possible loss of her farm. This is Blood and Loam, a dark tale of war, love, trauma, betrayal, and…corn.

As a writer, I have to allow my characters to get into difficult situations, but I have struggled with this story, as I have written previously on several occasions. I can no longer tell if it’s good or bad. I suspect I’m having problems with it because it’s not a “nice” story. My women’s fiction has drama, but it doesn’t take the reader to such difficult, dark places. Blood and Loam, no matter how I write it, is, well, bloody. Horrible things happen to people, including situations that I find personally repugnant. This book has, to a large degree, exceeded my “eewww” factor, and I don’t know what to make of that. Does it mean I pull back, or do I jump in and challenge myself?

This morning I decided on the latter. I took a deep breath and posted it to my She Writes critique group. They’re a competent bunch, honest but kind, and I’m impressed with many of them as writers. My cover note was perhaps a bit too apologetic as I asked for someone willing to look at my “twisted little story.”  Part of me says to let this story go and to focus on the new work that has been fun and much easier to write. Heck, in those I’m only dealing with suicide, heart attacks, Alzheimer’s, internet stalkers, and the like. Another part of me says this could be my best writing ever, and that it’s time to show some courage. So, we’ll see what the gang says!

Of Solitude and Support

by

“What a rude guy!” The class nodded in agreement. How dare Hemingway treat that poor man that way, refusing to chit-chat and insisting on getting his writing work done? At least, that’s how the majority of the class saw it that night, even the teacher, himself a writer. Many derisive comments were made, including an emphasis on how Hemingway’s writings were no longer “in style.” I slumped down in my seat, feeling too outnumbered to respond. Now I’m ashamed that I didn’t.

I think those in my class assumed that Hemingway could pop out stories with great ease, all while drinking, carousing, and carrying on great adventures. They didn’t understand that even the best writers have to work hard and may lose sleep over a single, elusive sentence. They didn’t realize that the Hemingway of those days was strapped for cash and enduring rejection after rejection while he and his wife scrimped on a modest inheritance of hers. They didn’t know that writers have to focus and concentrate, and that chatter takes us out of our groove. Like all writers he battled self-doubt and the sharp barbs of inner criticism, and the only way out was through, by working like crazy and trying to create publishable work.

For those of us who write, finding the solitude to create and to find the deeper places within ourselves where the bet stories lie, is a challenge. Even when we do that, we may get questions such as, “So what else do you do?” as though the writing takes ten minutes, and then what? Yet when we are writing new material and revising existing work, we desperately need quiet time to let ideas percolate and to resolve plot problems. Yes, some days it comes easily, but mostly it doesn’t.

Hemingway also knew that writers need support. He had friends in Paris, including Gertrude Stein, who could look at his work and provide qualified critiques. With these friends, he found his voice, the voice that still rings true to this day, whether or not he’s “in style.”

In my own life, I have lacked that circle of writing friends. There are the groups of people who want to talk about writing but never put a word on paper; the Ph.D. writers who want to bleed all the life and energy out of a piece; and those who aren’t geographically desirable. Online writing courses have been more helpful but haven’t created lasting relationships. So when I was invited to join She Writes, an online group for (primarily) women writers, I was skeptical.

She Writes provides social networking, allowing us to shamelessly plug our books, to blog, and to contribute to a variety of groups of our choosing. Now that the site has been around a while, people are starting to learn how to use the technology to create even greater support. We now have a weekly online chat for novelists, and I recently joined a new critique group that looks promising. The work I’ve read thus far is interesting, and the critiques are fair and helpful. I just posted some of my work yesterday, so we’ll see what happens on the receiving end. Most importantly, I’m starting to make friends with other people who understand what I’m doing and don’t think I’m rude if I say, “I’m off the site for a few days because I need to write.”

There are a few men on She Writes. Maybe Hemingway would have fit right in.

Reconnecting to the Blog

by

Author Sherman Alexie wrote that the more words you put in your blog, the less words you’re putting into your novel. I paraphrase, I’m sure, but that was the gist of it. He’s right, but I think I’ve taken his advice a tad too far, having disappeared from this blog for several months. I spent that time writing a novel, tentatively titled Change of Plans, which only took six months to draft versus 20 years for Blood and Loam, which I continue to revise. Now it’s time for a little balance. Yes, Sherman, I believe you, but I’m in the revision phase, and blogging allows me to continue to write without making heavy commitments to a new project. I need to write every day, or I get cranky. So there.

I first encountered Alexie’s work many years ago in an independent bookshop in Albuquerque, New Mexico.  The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, a collection of connected short stories that would later appear in movie form in Smoke Signals, literally fell on my head. That got my attention. Later, after reading other works by him, I heard him speak in Houston and stuttered and stammered as I stood in front of him for a book signing. Given our long literary relationship, then, when I read his comment about blogging I decided to heed his advice.

Besides, I needed time to figure out what this blog is about. I wrote about writing and travel, but the garden had started to take over, and I wasn’t sure what to do with that. Before 2010 I couldn’t tell you a thing about gardening, and suddenly my passion for the subject threatened to hijack this blog and turn it into something very different from what I had intended.

I also needed to step away from the whole blogging as marketing thing. Yes, I sell books, and I won’t turn anyone down who wants to buy one, but more than anything I want to connect with others, writers or not, who may have an interest in what I have to say. I write because I breathe, whether or not anything sells, and I hope not to stop writing until I stop breathing.

The net result of my pondering is that I have moved my gardening thoughts to a new blog, Art of the Garden (artofthegarden.wordpress.com). Also, if I feel the need to write about yoga, which I do from time to time, I’m putting those musings on the YogaHub.com website. If you are into yoga, check them out for some cool online yoga programs.

As I move forward into 2011, I am seeking agent representation for at least one of the novels, maybe two. I’ll share those adventures, along with some upcoming fun stuff: a literary tour of Massachusetts in April, and a writing retreat in Vermont in May. I’ll introduce the characters in Change of Plans and share stories of how this book developed and what I see for its future. I’ll talk about what’s going on at She Writes, where I’ve increased my involvement. I’ll share details of the annual Writers’ League of Texas Agents and Editors conference. I’m currently working on the text for a yoga relaxation recording that I’ll offer for free to anyone who is stressed out. In other words, there’s no shortage of possibilities as to what I’ll write about here, and the year is just getting started!

It’s great to be back. Thanks, Sherman, for getting me to write a novel. I’ll take it from here.

Creative Non-Writing

by

It  takes a lot of energy to not write. Or, in my case, to not work on my main project, the new novel. Each day I wake up and say, yes, this is the day–and, more often than not, I end the day in disappointment for not having met this commitment to myself.

I tell myself that yes, I am writing. On recent travels, of which there have been several, I keep a detailed notebook of my experiences, many of which will be expanded, exaggerated, pulled like taffy until they no longer resemble what really happened. Case in point: recently I took my first kayaking trip. Later, I sent a group of my characters on a kayaking trip, and I tipped one of the boats. It’s not what happened, though it represents my fear of what could have happened.

So, I tell myself, nothing is wasted. At least I’m writing. Sometimes my blogs are a way to knock the rust off and put something, anything, out there.

Still, my travels have taught me something. On our recent trip to Vancouver and Vancouver Island, we visited a number of sensational gardens, the crowning glory of which were the Butchart Gardens near Victoria. We fell in love with Vancouver Island and are already talking about when we can go back. My husband, Henry, talked about an extended visit. “Here’s the problem,” I said. “We’re going to see all these great gardens, but I have one of my own at home. I don’t want to just enjoy the work of others, I want to do the work myself.”

Same thing with writing. I am reading some wonderful books right now. On our trip, I was introduced to the art and writings of Emily Carr, one of Canada’s most beloved eccentric figures. Her written words roll around in my mouth like chocolate, filled with imagery as distinct as her paintings. I wish I could do that, I tell myself. Then, why don’t you? Why don’t you? It’s great to read her words–certainly, writers should be tireless readers–but what am I waiting for? It’s time to get my own words on the page.

Henry and I talked about it when we came home. I told him of the troubles I was having with the novel, how the beginning, which students in a writing class had oohed and aahed over, caused me to paint myself into a corner. I was faced with a dilemma of a character wanting to hijack the whole story. I had two choices: allow her to do so and to see what happened, or continue my original vision, which involved a group of women. I decided on the latter, promising Claire that she still gets to be the star of the show. I sat down and rewrote the beginning, creating a totally different starting point that lets everyone introduce herself. The next morning, I woke up with new ideas of what to change, add, and to write next. That’s when I know I’m back to work!

Truth is, I’m harder to live with when I’m not writing. Heaviness covers me like a winter cloak, and I become resentful. The more I don’t write, the more I fear writing, so then I walk around with that layer of fear as well. Exhausted, I let the needs of others become more important, and I don’t insist on my writing time. If nothing else, I am incredibly creative in my procrastination. When I am writing, I feel energized. Back in the days of my life in the corporate world, I wrote on my lunch hour and felt totally refreshed when starting my afternoon. I may tell you in times of writer’s block that I’m too tired to write, but that’s not true. Writing, especially when I am tired, is the best thing I can do for myself.

Still, I’m back on track. I’ve solved the first problem of the novel, and now I will work toward the others. I’m about to go out of town again on a volunteer trip, and my plan is to find a way to write each day, even if it’s just a page or two, but to keep the novel going.

This, Too, Has Passed

by

Finally, finally, today I ended my writer’s block. I spent time on the new novel, re-reading, adding to it, and creating transitions for the next part of the story. How did I do it? In a not-very-dramatic fashion, I scheduled it and then sat down to write. That’s it. No magic. No visit from the Muse. No big “Ah ha!” in the night. Ask most writers, and they will tell you that the secret to writing is putting the butt in the chair. They’re right.

Still, there are things we can do to stoke the fire, to bring about a personal renaissance when one is needed. For me, that means going back to the basics. Each morning, before I get up, I write three pages longhand…a trick from Julia Cameron and The Artist’s Way. For some time now, I have been lazy about the pages, doing them haphazardly, sometimes stopping in the middle. For the past few weeks I have made myself do them, sometimes kicking and screaming, for one simple reason: they work. I feel better.

In our Morning Pages, we are advised to put down whatever we are thinking or feeling, regardless of how petty or bitchy it is.Not coincidentally, my pages today raised bitchy to a new level. I unloaded my frustration so I would free myself from it…no beating around the bush, no denying that I was pissed off, no pretending I was happy when I wasn’t. What a relief! And better to put it on the page than to yell at my hubby.

For the past few weeks I have also focused on regenerating my yoga practice. While I do yoga consistently, my practice has felt stale for some time. I thought a visit to Kripalu in western Massachusetts would help me refocus, but it didn’t. My practice for the last several months has been about showing up, doing my best, and knowing that stale periods with yoga, like stale periods with writing, eventually pass if we just keep at it. My dry spell went on for so long that I was starting to waiver–would I ever find my love for yoga again? Yet somehow, my practice has started to reflower, just as some of my plants, ravaged by feeding caterpillars, are sprouting new leaves and blooms.

As I have spent more time in the garden than with the page for quite a while, I wonder if this quiet, non-productive time is not only appropriate, but necessary for me as a writer. Of course, most writers will say that regular writing creates a habit and helps to relieve the drama of writer’s block. Yet somehow, as I tend my plants, I am learning a new way of relating to life. I am more connected to nature’s cycles, including her resilience against freezes, storms, pests, and my inadvertent mistakes as a novice gardener. I am learning that sometimes my best course of action is to do nothing–to wait. I am learning to be a better listener, and I think there are many stories in the garden waiting for me to hear them.

I have waited, discontented, lost, sad, missing my art, but waiting with the beginnings of a trust I have never had. I thought I had learned about faith years ago when I was stripped of all that I had or longed for: family, finances, and health. Yet this faith, the faith I am learning now, feels different. As I study the unique rhythms of nature and the balance of the little ecosystem I am creating, I am finding my own rhythms. Just as I learn each step in the garden when a new experience presents itself, I am learning how to provide my own inner ecosystem what it needs. Once upon a time I had to learn to choose life. Now I am learning to dance with it, and to appreciate even the times of desert, knowing that soon leaves and blooms will appear.

The first day of revisiting my novel, and words emerged like my tiny tomatillo seeds. Is it a coincidence that I spread compost on my plants today, giving them new food? I have spread compost to my spirit, and now the writing garden seems eager to emerge yet again.

I Can’t Write Without Bananas

by

I have three scenes to write by Sunday morning, and this week the writing has not come easily. My father-in-law, who has required a great deal of our attention lately, has begun to stabilize, and one by one his doctors are saying things like, “come back in a month” or “only come back if you have more problems.” We moved him this week into a senior living facility, and he had his first lunch on his own today while we, the proud son and daughter-in-law, fretted and worried that he wouldn’t have fun. My husband tells me it’s a bit like leaving the kids at camp.

Today, a bit tired from yesterday’s move, I decided to excuse myself from today’s doctor’s appointment to tend to my own work. Here’s an odd quirk about me, though:  the house has to be in some semblance of order before I can work. The laundry had piled up, and the kitchen compost bin strained to keep its lid shut. The garden needed weeding and watering. My father-in-law needed some food items to get him through the weekend, when meals are not served at his apartment complex. And I had no bananas. Without bananas, I don’t enjoy my morning smoothie nearly as much. Hubby made me oatmeal, which I like, but I like my smoothie more.

There was a time when I would have used all this housework and obligation as an excuse not to write, but the good news is, I have learned. I gave myself the morning to handle a long honey-do list. I bought groceries, did laundry, tended to the garden, and cooked. I even swept the kitchen floor. I felt better, calmer, with fresh food in the house and a sense that I’m returning to a more normal routine. Of course, I had a banana and loved it, even though it was still a little too firm and green.

Once centered, I was able to sit down and work, letting another character tell me her story. She is Julia, and she’s everyone’s friend. She lives a sheltered, privileged life but longs for more and is open to a certain amount of adventure, as long as no snakes are involved. Right now, Julia is bored with playing tennis all the time, and doesn’t get to see her grandkids as often as she would like, so she’s decided to learn Spanish. This way, she reasons, she can talk to her landscaper. Well, like I said, she’s a little sheltered. But she’s plenty likable, and she’s going to go through some changes in this novel.

Anyway, I had a good time getting to know Julia better and working on several scenes. Looks like I’ll have more than three to choose from, and it’s still Thursday, so I can write a lot more. It helps to have bananas in the house.