M.C. Frank's Blog, page 455
August 28, 2017
Robin Hood WIP diaries (1) - the need to write
As most of you know, I am really busy author-wise these days. I am doing the edits for my next book, promoting my previous one, and pumping out 5 to 6 articles every month for the magazine I’m working for.
I have been steadily outlining my new Robin Hood story over this past spring and summer, and although by now it’s pretty solid, little snippets of dialogues and scenes come to me every now and then (usually just when I wake up, or trying to sleep, super cool) and I just write them down and insert them into the outline. (Example: “he grabs her and kisses her for 2 pages” lol)
At this rate, the book will have been writen in its entirety by the time I sit down to write it. Which is good, more than good, it’s actually perfect, if you are at all familiar with the writing process. The book is SUPPOSED to have been half-written already by the time you sit down at your laptop/typewriter/notebook.
However, this creates a real problem for me.
You see, I write, because that’s who I am: a writer. Writing is what comes out of me. And when I don’t write, it feels like I’m not me. It feels like I’m not the best me I can be. I’m less, somehow. And much as I enjoy polishing up a story, getting feedback from betas and editors, and putting it out there for lovely readers to find, those things are not why I write. Those things are what I have to do in order to make a living out of storytelling. In order to be able to buy food, put simply. (Like, extremely simply).
But I need to write. Every day, if possible, Twice a day. The days on which I write, even if I’m sad or missing my dad, or crying, or in bed, are always 10 times better than the best days when I don’t write. Why is that? Is it because the writer me is the best version of myself? Is it because whenever I write, something good comes out of me, and that’s therapeutic and fulfilling? Is it because I always, always have something to say, and when I have said even a paragraph of it, I feel a little bit lighter and a little bit more whole?
They say don’t write to say something, write because you have something to say.
All these years, before I started writing and my health improved, I felt trapped. Trapped inside tears I could never cry (even crying all day long wasn’t enough), anger I couldn’t express (everyone else was grieving with me, I couldn’t rage against the unfairness and the insanity of a vain loss, could I?) and questions I couldn’t put into words (why did he have to go? why do I have to keep going now, if he’s not bere?). But now, especially with the Robin Hood story, I feel as if I can express all those things.
Robin has lost his father, too, and he feels as if he is being held underwater, suffocated slowly by the injustice and dissipation of all he sees around him. The first thing that pulls him out, and makes him take a metaphorical gulp of air for the first time, is the friendship of 3 other men who, like him, have lost all hope of happiness. So, before starting to fight for what’s right, he has to live. To stay alive. And to find a way to enjoy that.
So, after all, it’s beginning to make sense. Here they are, everything I need to be talking about, in this story:
My grief, the absence, the loss of all sense of what’s fair and what’s not.
I did channel a lot of those feelings into No Vain Loss (hmm the title is kind of a giveaway, isn’t it?) but I don’t know if one story was enough. Maybe no amount of stories ever wil be.
Maybe, to paraphrase something I saw in the Hitchcock film, Rebecca, I will be “drawing the same tree over and over again, because it’s perfect”. Well, neither my grief or depression are perfect, in fact they are horrible, but those are the monsters I need to leave behind.
And when I write, they never seem to catch me.
The No Vain Loss edits are going really well! Pending on some...
The No Vain Loss edits are going really well! Pending on some edits to be sent to me within the week, I will have the ARCs in the beginning of September
August 27, 2017
Ugh
Me while rereading what I've written: Every single word of this is horrid and each individual page deserves to be set on fire.
"And in the water I washed away the fears of today and replaced them with the hopes of tomorrow."
- Adrian D Epps (via excerptx-and-quotex)
What are you reading this Sunday? I can’t put this down...
What are you reading this Sunday? I can’t put this down this story of human pain and compassion… I have cried 3 times already, and I’m only in the middle…
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#books #read #writer #bookworm #literature #bookish #bibliophile #bookstagram #booklover #booknerd #bookphotography #bookaddict #booknerdigans #bookporn #photooftheday #alittlelife #hanyayanagihara #manbooker #currentlyreading
August 26, 2017
Conversations with an empty chair (9) - Did I dream it?
Did I dream it? Did I dream you? Were you ever real, were you ever here?
Sometimes you feel less substantiala than air. How could you have existed then and be gone from my life now, forever? No, it can’t be. I never had you, I never knew you. It was all a happy dream. It’s been so many years since I last saw you, that I’m beginning to wonder if I dreamt it all up: your face, your laughter, your voice.
To think, there was a time when I talked to you every day. Several times a day. To think, there was a time when I had someone to take my worst problems to, someone who I knew could be trusted to give me good counsil, to help, to console, to be there for me. To think, there was a time when I wasn’t alone, a kid in a world of grownups.
To think, there was a time when I had a dad.
It seems like a dream now.
I haven’t had a dad, I haven’t had you, for over four years. Do I still remember the smell of your cologne? Did you have a huge collection of ties that I would bury my nose in, as a kid, when you were away on a business trip, just to fill my senses with your scent? Did you cook barbequest in the back yard, did you write Christmas plays, did you hold my hand when I was sick?
I have forgotten what it was like to have you here, a phone call, a walk, a hug away. I have forgotten what it was like to have a father.
How can anyone forget a thing like that? Time is not supposed to erase it, right?
Well, then.
It must have been a dream.
I must have dreamt you up.
But then… why do I still cry myself to sleep, four and a half years later?
Cold weather + fairy lights
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Not that it’s cold yet by...
Cold weather + fairy lights
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Not that it’s cold yet by any means, but I’m trying out this new theme in order to prepare my ig for the No Vain Loss revamp
Repost @dogeared_pages1980 Hey book nerds!
Repost @dogeared_pages1980 Hey book nerds!
