Alisa M. Libby's Blog, page 6

Yearning for Wonderland

My interview is up on Yearning for Wonderland: http://yearningforwonderland.blogspot.com/2011/07/3-question-view-alisa-libby.html

This is a terrific blog, from which I learned about the Spanish impressionist Royo, read some Emily Dickinson (I've been too long without Emily) and was even inspired to pick up a book by L.M. Montgomery (Rilla of Ingleside, last of the Anne of Green Gables books) for my upcoming vacation in New Hampshire. This is blogging at it's best – when you share with others what inspires you, and inspire them in turn. Beautiful.

Speaking of vacation, I'm not sure how much blogging I will do. I'll be too busy gazing at mountains and eating s'mores (I hope). I was trying to think of how this vacation might somehow inspire the book I'm supposedly preparing to revise. I'm feeling anxious about this revision, as you can probably tell. Maybe I just need to focus on the natural world for a while, and inspiration will follow.

need to read a million books

Do you dream about libraries? I do. My recurring library fantasy is like that scene in the Disney "Beauty and the Beast" movie where the Beast ushers Belle into a beautiful library. But my fantasies are even more specific. A voice says "These are the books that will be the most important for you to read in your life." Or else, project specific: "This is the library you need to write the book you're working on right now."

I often imagine that there is a book out there that I must read in order to be able to do any justice to my current project. Right now I'm suffering that "I don't know enough to write this book" feeling. So I create ridiculous reading lists. Reading and research is beneficial, but it can be a bit stressful. I love to research a topic I'm interested in, but I'm noticing that it's tinged with a sense of inadequacy. While anything historical requires a certain amount of accuracy, beyond that I need to find the balance between searching for the answer out there in books and finding the answer in myself.

Harry Potter. Plus, searching for theme music.

Now that all the books AND movies have been released, I've been experiencing some post-Potter sadness. It's bittersweet that something so fun and joyous has ended. There is always re-reading, of course. Or I could listen to the audio books. How delicious does that sound: curling up on a cold winter's night with a mug of cocoa and Jim Dale's elastic voice? And then there are the movies, filled with magic and bravery and Rupert Grint and all of those other darling ginger boys. Sigh.

In other news, I'm searching for theme music for this new project. My previous books were fueled by a curious mix of Mozart, Bjork, and The Rolling Stones (The Blood Confession), and The Mediaeval Baebes, David Gray, and King Henry VIII (The King's Rose). For this one I'm thinking…The Dresden Dolls? What do you listen to when you are writing/creating?

in which i convince myself to focus and not wimp out

I've been working on this book every day. During my commute, during lunch break, even for an hour (or a few) at home. I got through the muddle middle and now I'm facing the ugh ending. It all feels so tenuous and under-developed (it is a first draft, but that doesn't get my inner critic to shut up). So doubt rolls up in his shiny car, smoking a fat cigar. The characters from my abandoned works-in-progress are sitting in the backseat, looking rough and worn and terribly intriguing.

I started writing this book as a bit of summer fun. At the same time, I was taught a lesson: I'm not getting anywhere, jumping from project to project. I'm letting fear rule me and my writing. I need to focus on ONE THING and get really deep into the book and get it done, without allowing myself to shrink from the challenges that this (or any) book will present.

So I thought, okay, I need to focus on something. I suppose I'll focus on this brand new thing that I just started writing, because it's fun and has potential, and that's where my brain is right now. It seemed like an okay idea and I didn't want to put it aside. But now that other idea is looking so so pretty. And I just want to fling myself into it. I want to let myself off the hook.

But I CAN'T. I can't let myself do it. It's not just that the book I'm working on (mess that it is at the moment) has potential. It's that if I jump ship now, I'll be continuing my bad habits. As much as that other book looks great (it has a soundtrack too, which is very appealing) a part of my mind will still be generating ideas for this one. It's like working on a book set in outer space while your thoughts are chattering about medieval Ireland. It just doesn't work. Besides, if I jump to the other book – any other book – and find a plot hole filled with quicksand, what will I do? Jump back to the book I'm working on now? Maybe she won't want me anymore. Maybe she'll give me the finger and tell me to eff off.

Sigh. I just need to focus – I need to dig deep and find my inner Hermione Granger – and see it through. I need some soothing. Here is a song to sing to a kitten, Pangurban.

on making a mess

I'm revising, rewriting, rearranging things, and generally neglecting all of my other tasks (aside from coming to work of course, yes, I still do that). The other day I got to a scene and realized "This scene needs to happen about 40 pages earlier." Which will at least slightly (if not more so) alter everything that takes place between then and now.

So I'm back to the beginning, sifting through with my new and clearer vision of the main character's objective: what does she want most? And how does that desire change, once it is challenged by another, opposing objective?

I'll keep writing, running from the doubt monster. This quote from Dennis Palumbo rings true: "Every hour you spend writing is an hour not spent fretting about your writing."

writing/revising again

I had a whole pile of delicious books from the library and I was so excited to read them. And then I started one, and put it aside. And then another. I just couldn't get into anything – have you ever suffered this? I decided it was a sign that my brain is still distracted by my book. Which is a good thing, so I'm going with it and I'm back to revising what I've got and (hopefully) moving forward from there. Trying to strike a new balance between "professional, disciplined writer who writes every day" and "it's just a plot problem, it doesn't mean that you suck and are worthless." It's worth a try.

the war of art

Have you all heard of this book? The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. It's made me harshly examine how I have been approaching writing. My attitude, my expectations. It hasn't been pretty, but very eye-opening and necessary.

For example, I'm trying to focus on this new project. It's new and very rough but I think it has promise. Meanwhile, all of these other ideas are speaking up, trying to get my attention. And then the doubt settles in, and I worry that I'm working on the wrong thing. Wasting my time. And then I thought of this book – that's all "Resistance" talking! That negative voice that doesn't want you to get any work done. If I were to drop this project and fall into the arms of another book, surely I would discover the problems there, too: a sagging plot, lack of conflict, lack of character development. And it all boils down (again, and every time) to work. Sitting down and doing the work of writing. Every book needs that. If I retreat when things get tricky, I won't get anywhere, with anything.

poetry. lovely.

On Sunday Tom and I went to the Longfellow House (and Washington's headquarters) in Cambridge for a poetry reading by the lovely Naomi Shihab Nye. She read her poetry, which was wonderful. And she told us stories. She told us about a boy who came to one of her readings and told everyone that his teacher gave them a poem every Friday afternoon – their weekend poem – to do with what they wished. Memorize it? Paint the images? That was up to them. You can do a lot with a poem.

She encouraged us all to read at least one poem per day. This is why Tom and I love Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac. Today the almanac reminded me that it's the birthday of King Henry VIII. (Oh, little baby Hal! No one had any idea the trouble you would cause! But what could one expect from a Tudor king?)

And now, your poem of the day, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

The Children's Hour

Between the dark and the daylight,

When the night is beginning to lower,

Comes a pause in the day's occupations,

That is known as the Children's Hour.

I hear in the chamber above me

The patter of little feet,

The sound of a door that is opened,

And voices soft and sweet.

From my study I see in the lamplight,

Descending the broad hall stair,

Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,

And Edith with golden hair.

A whisper, and then a silence:

Yet I know by their merry eyes

They are plotting and planning together

To take me by surprise.

A sudden rush from the stairway,

A sudden raid from the hall!

By three doors left unguarded

They enter my castle wall!

They climb up into my turret

O'er the arms and back of my chair;

If I try to escape, they surround me;

They seem to be everywhere.

They almost devour me with kisses,

Their arms about me entwine,

Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen

In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine!

Do you think, o blue-eyed banditti,

Because you have scaled the wall,

Such an old mustache as I am

Is not a match for you all!

I have you fast in my fortress,

And will not let you depart,

But put you down into the dungeon

In the round-tower of my heart.

And there will I keep you forever,

Yes, forever and a day,

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,

And moulder in dust away!

hello hello hello again

I was at home, writing, with no internet. I couldn't watch episodes of Buffy via Netflix during my breaks! Couldn't check email! Or facebook! Or youtube videos of David Bowie! I had to look words up in a DICTIONARY.

Anyhow, I did get some writing done. But I missed blogging, I really did. And today, I have a gift for you: Best. Book Trailer. Ever.

Summer Writing

Summer Reading brings up certain connotations for many people: "beach books" packed with adventure, romance, maybe a dose of escapism. Perhaps something a bit less intellectually demanding, but stimulating nonetheless.

I'm ready to indulge in some Summer Writing – a story filled with those same feelings of adventure and magic and intrigue. Plus, it's more like a free-writing exercise, a fun first draft, so I don't plan to worry about plot (or try not to, at least). Just write, and let it unfold. Not an efficient way to write a novel by any stretch, but maybe that's been my problem. I need to find the fun, again.

I'm putting aside a long-term project after realizing that my feelings toward it were more obligation than inspiration. I've been struggling with it, and I can't write like that. Other writers can, but I can't. Time to take a break – but maybe not a break from writing. A break from the "writing for publication" type of writing that I've had a laser-like focus on, and instead write for joy. The same way that I read, really. The type of story where you don't really know what's on the other side of that door, it could be anything, and the clack of the keys offers the same discoveries as the turn of the page.