Nadine Feldman, Author

celebrating strong female characters and whatever else strikes my fancy

rough drafts

Writing Surprises

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One of the reasons I write is for the sheer surprise of it all.  The work never turns out the way I think it will. I noticed this for the first time several years ago when I had returned to school and was given an assignment. We were to read an academic work, report on it, and then “re-vision” it, which meant writing the essence of the work in a different way. I had chosen a book of philosophical arguments made by astrophysicists about the existence of God.

Yeah, I know. I’m a geek.

Anyway, as I re-visioned the work, I imagined writing some lofty spiritual tome to counteract the often-atheistic conclusions of the scientists. I had drafted the work and was rereading it when one little sentence caught my eye, a sentence that changed everything. I had mentioned, almost in passing, that there were no female astrophysicists quoted in the book. I did a little research and learned about several women who had made exciting and substantial contributions to the field. I learned about them and their beliefs, then wrote an imaginary dialogue. It turned out to be a lot of fun…because I was willing to be surprised and to follow an unexpected, tantalizing thread.

Now I’m having the experience again. I’ve been working on Exodus (a short-hand, working title), which includes essays and weekly meditations. Only they’re not meditations anymore, because I find that people get freaked out about meditating. Now they’re musings, which–I hope–creates a more playful, relaxed, innovative environment for people. The whole book is taking on a much more playful tone. This feels a bit odd, since a story of plagues, death, and Charlton Heston as a grand and magnificent Moses seems hardly the fodder for childlike explorations. But I’m going to follow it and see where it leads. Why not?

Oh, Those Baby Steps

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Almost exactly twelve years ago, I discovered The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. It would take too long in this blog to say how my life has changed in those years, but B.C. (before Cameron) I was a writer who didn’t write, which is one of the saddest things on the planet. I had no idea how to begin; yet three weeks after beginning the exercises in her book, I was writing short stories. I was pregnant at the time, and a few months later, when my daughter was stillborn, I used the tools to write my way through grief. That’s how When a Grandchild Dies: What to Do, What to Say, How to Cope, was born.

She didn’t just get me writing. She helped me find my curiosity. I went back to school and got a degree, I learned how to quilt, I bought a camera, I began to travel…the list is endless.

There are two main lessons that I learned from her book–though I highly recommend it for any artist who feels stuck, and I often revisit it when I block. First, she reminded me that rough drafts are just that, rough, and that we need to be willing to do things badly in order to learn. Second, she taught me how to write in little snippets of time, which was what I had for years.

I was thinking of her this morning. This week I have dusted off the draft to Exodus: the Freedom Meditations, which is a small book of musings based on how Exodus applies to our modern lives and quest for inner freedom. I’ve been busy doing book layouts, but I needed to feel like I was writing, so I have started working on it again. I don’t spend a lot of time on it each day, but I do enough to feel the satisfaction of creating new work. I have been pretty bloody with the red pen this time around, but I still really, really like the work. Despite what sounds like heavy subject matter, it’s more playful than what I usually produce. I get to feel like a little kid at play again. What a gift–the gift of baby steps.

Learning More Than French in French Class

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We returned to Houston from a family visit, having scheduled our flight so I could be back in time to go to French class. I’ve been studying since January, and my original goal was to be fluent enough to chat with marketplace vendors during an upcoming trip.

French, for me, is hard. First, I’m dusting off some unused brain cells, and I often lapse into Spanish, which I haven’t studied since my youth. Then, of course, there is the ongoing challenge of life’s interruptions, which sometimes limit my study time. I won’t even begin to discuss the many and varied excuses I can come up with for why I shouldn’t put in the effort. As a writer, I have a good imagination, and I can be very creative in convincing myself that I am incapable of learning the language. And yet, I keep going back to class.

So why do I go? I could be like many other Americans and use a phrasebook or point or talk loudly in English, thinking that the French would better understand me if I pump up the volume. I don’t need all this struggle–I’ve got enough to do! However, other reasons compel me to continue.

There are the students themselves, with whom I share a love of travel. Several of us are close in age, and we’ve not only helped each other with our studies, but we have bonded as friends. We have seen family photos and keep up with everyone’s personal current events.

Then there is Josee. My teacher is part mother, part clown, and part therapist, gently cajoling and coaxing us to expand our vocabulary. Like many women, I have moments where I am busy nurturing others and am not getting nurtured. Every Monday and Wednesday afternoon, I feel my cup being filled with Josee’s lovingkindness.

As I was heading out the door yesterday, she asked me, “How is the writing going?” Her husband writes, so she’s always interested. I filled her in, and then the conversation turned to French films. She talked about how important it is to her, when reading a book or watching a movie, to feel invited in to participate. “I don’t want someone telling me how to think and feel,” she said. “I want to make up my own mind.”

Bingo. That’s what’s wrong with my novel, and her words were like a message from God to me. I’m not beating myself up–sometimes we need to get a bit heavy-handed in our earlier drafts because we’re trying to understand our characters or the story we’re trying to convey. But it tells me where to go in the next revision. It’s time for me to become, well, a little more French. This incident also reminds me that writing solutions often come in unexpected and wonderful ways.

What’s Next?

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Last August I began work in earnest on a paranormal thriller that won’t leave me alone. I’ve had a long history with this book, initially trying to write it more than 20 years ago…long story. Anyway, I attended the Writers’ League summer writing retreat in Alpine, Texas, hoping that someone would talk me out of finishing it. Of course, no one did!

I worked feverishly on the novel for ten months, including getting the first 40 pages or so critiqued in the Gotham Writers Workshop. I also entered the synopsis and first ten pages in the Writers’ League manuscript contest, and while I didn’t win or even make the finals with my novel (I did make the finals with a narrative nonfiction that I’m working on–yay), I received a helpful critique that identified a significant problem in my manuscript.

Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I realized that the novel is still not ready to pitch. I still feel that there are some fundamental flaws that I need to address. I’m going to take a little break from it to create distance and to create some new material. At that point, I am going to get more critiques and see if some fresh eyes can help me figure out the problems.

I’ve just spent a weekend hanging out with other writers who understand the crazy road that we writers take, and it helps to know I’m not alone…that some books take years and years to complete. They are done when they are done, and no sooner.