Pat Bertram's Blog, page 278

Passing the Test of Grief

I am still freaked out by the imminent publication of my book, Grief: The Great Yearning. Still crying intermittently. I knew I was due for a grief upsurge since I've been careful to turn my mind to other things the past month or so, and grief can only be denied for so long, but this upsurge is different. It feels like the end of something — perhaps the end of a subliminal belief that his dying was a test. It could still be a test, but the reward for accomplishing this particular task of dealing with the fallout from the death of my life mate/soul mate is not our getting back together, at least not in this lifetime. And maybe not in the next. Maybe the only reward is in what I become because of his death and my grief.

When we met, I still believed in a cosmic plan, and I had the feeling that he was a higher being come to help me on my quest to the truth. But now? I no longer believe there is a universal truth, and I don't think he's waiting for me, though I try to pretend that he is. It's better than believing that he is gone forever.

And perhaps he does still exist in some form. What do I know? One thing I have learned from my grief is that a human life is a spectrum. You don't notice it so much when you are both alive, because you are both in the moment, both always the people you have become. But when one of you dies, his becoming ceases, and you see his life as a whole. The person he was when you met is every bit as alive in memory as the person he was the minute before he died. The youthful man, the middle-aged one, the healthy one, the sick one are all merely spaces on the spectrum of his life. It's possible the spectrum of a human life is the same sort of spectrum as light — beginning long before the visible part appears and ending long after the visible part disappears. Of course, the non-visible parts of the electromagnetic spectrum aren't light but sound and radiation and other invisible waves, so whatever exists outside of the visible human spectrum might be something completely different from we can ever imagine.

It's this sort of speculation that gives rise to the feeling that my grief has been test — a game, perhaps — something that is not quite real. If I keep philosophizing about death and what comes after, then I don't have to deal with the reality that for the rest of my life, I will have to survive without the one person who knew me, who listened, who helped, who cared about every aspect of my being.

It seems as every step of this journey is worse than the last, and this next part, where I truly understand that he is gone and that I truly am alone is going to be the hardest. It takes my breath away to think of it, and leaves me teary.

Maybe grief was just the pop quiz. Maybe the real test is what I do with the rest of my life.

Tagged: death, grief, Grief: The Great Yearning, human spectrum, loss, spectrum, the test of grief

Grief Means Never Having to Say I'm Sorry

I found myself crying yesterday morning. Nothing major, just a few tears and a desperate plea for forgiveness from my life mate/soul mate. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I wailed, as if I had done something to make him leave me and now I'm left to suffer the consequences. I did nothing, of course, and he didn't leave me — he died. But somewhere in the depths of my being, I cannot process his death. I witnessed his last days, weeks, hours. I was there for his last breath. I saw the nurses clean him, wrap him in a white blanket shroud. Accompanied the gurney out to the hearse (a black SUV, actually). Watched the SUV drive away. Picked up his ashes several days later. There is no doubt in my mind he is dead. And yet . . . and yet . . .

I mentioned in my post a couple of days ago that there is an element of blank when it comes to death, a non-comprehension of what it means for him to be so very gone from this earth. I must have assumed that his death would feel as if he's in another room, or out running errands, or some such. But it doesn't feel like that at all. It feels like there's a massive void where once he lived in my mind, my heart.

Last night, when I got the final proof of my grief book, I starting sobbing because the reality of his death really struck home. As I wrote to a bereft friend, "I haven't cried this long for many weeks, but now I can't stop crying. All of a sudden it is too damn real. He never is coming back, is he? It really is over. I feel as if I have been playing at grief these past months, and now playtime is finished, and real life begins. I don't want to do this for the rest of my life."

I knew he wasn't coming back. I accepted that he was dead from the moment he died. But there's been something unreal about my grief. I am not an emotional person. I'm very staid and down-to-earth, but his death rocketed me out of myself into another persona, and last night I felt as if I'm settling back into my old self. And he is dead for real.

How many times can one man die? When it comes to grief, apparently there are more deaths than one, and we grieve for every single one of them. Knowing that Grief: The Great Yearning is finished, knowing that our story has been told and that it even has an ending, has brought the truth home to me on a deeper level than ever before. No more waiting for him to call to tell me I can come home. No more hoping to meet him for a mountain rendezvous or a swim in a north country lake. There's just me, now, and the memories that haunt me.

And I am so very sorry that he is gone.

Tagged: death, death of a soul mate, grief, Grief: The Great Yearning, loss

The Final Resting Place for My Grief

I've been working on my new book Grief: The Great Yearning for the past couple of months, trying to get it as perfect as possible for publication, though I doubt anyone will notice if there are any typos. So, far, no one has been able to read it without weeping, and tears would mask any imperfections.

The text has been ready for over a month, but for some reason, the printer kept smearing the back cover copy. This sort of delay drove me nuts with my other books, but I've been patient with this one. I know it's important to get it published, and yet I'm ambivalent. Do I really want all those raw emotions let loose on the world? Forever after, I will be a grieving woman. Even if I find happiness in some unimaginable future, my grief will still be there in my words, as desperate and real and profound as the day I felt them.

Today I received the final proof, and it is perfect. (Well, perfect except for the typo or two I have since found, but I am NOT going to worry about those.)

I'm sitting here weeping as I write this. I don't know why the publication of this book makes the death of my life mate/soul mate final, but it does. His death and my grief are no longer my personal affair, but something real, something books are made of. He has no funeral plot, no memorial, no epitaph engraved for all eternity. Or rather, he didn't have those things. Now he does — this book is his epitaph, his memorial, the final resting place for my grief.

It's as if the past thirty-six years, and especially the past twenty-three months culminated in this one moment tonight when I held the book in my hands. Where did it all go? Where did he go? Where did my love go? How can our shared life, begun with such hope and radiance, have ended already?

I know now there are worse deaths than his, and there are worse fates than mine, but still, this wasn't the way things were supposed to end. We always took care of ourselves, didn't make stupid or foolish decisions, didn't act rashly. We were kind to each other, looked out for each other, respected each other. We shared as much as is possible for two people to share. And this is how it ended: between the covers of a 166 page book.

It will still be a few days before Grief: The Great Yearning appears on Amazon in print and Kindle, and a few more days before it shows up on B&N, Apple, and the various other ebook sources, but my part is finished. And suddenly, I don't want to let go.

Tagged: death of a soul mate, epitaph, grief, Grief: The Great Yearning, loss

Counting Down to the Second Anniversary of Grief

And so begins the countdown to the two-year anniversary of my life mate's death.

I don't know why the second anniversary of his death has me so spooked. I can't imagine there are many surprises left for me when it comes to grief, though everything about grief up to this point has shocked me. I was shocked that I even felt grief — he'd been sick for so long, and I'd been looking forward to an ending for his pain that it never occurred to me that I would feel more than relief at his death. I was shocked by the severity of my grief and its global nature, affecting as it does, body, mind, emotions, equilibrium. I was shocked by the recurring violent upsurges of grief that made it seem as if he'd left the earth that very moment instead of months previously. I was shocked by how long grief takes. And mostly I've been shocked and continue to be shocked by how very gone he is.

His goneness still affects me, still bewilders me. We spent most of our time together for thirty-four years, and now he's . . . gone. He's not just gone from my life, he's gone from the earth. If he were still here, maybe living with a new love, I'd miss him, and probably would be furious at him for what he put me through, but I could understand that. What I can't understand is his total goneness. There is a void where he once was, a blankness that my mind cannot comprehend.

Still, this noncomprehension is something I am getting used to. The rough edges of the void are smoothing out, and I don't always bang my mental shins on that enormous mindblock, though I do occasionally get a freefalling-elevator feeling when the thought hits me . . . again . . . that he is dead.

The countdown to the first anniversary of his death was very painful. It was as if I were reliving the last weeks of his life, feeling everything that I couldn't let myself feel when I lived through it. This countdown to the second anniversary is mild compared to that, so why am I dreading the anniversary itself? I don't know, unless I'm afraid grief still has more surprises. Or maybe I'm afraid that it holds no more surprises, and for the rest of my life I will be moving further and further away from our shared life into . . . what? I still don't know.

For thirty-four years I was constantly aware of his presence. Even if we weren't in the same room, I was aware of his nearness. For the past twenty-three months, I have been constantly aware of his absence. Even when I don't consciously remember that he's dead, there is that subliminal feeling of blank.

This blog might make you think that I have done nothing for the past twenty-three months but sit around and feel sorry for myself, and that is far from the truth. From the beginning, despite the overwhelming agony of my grief, I have taken life into my hands and run with it. I relocated a thousand miles from where we lived to help care for my 95-year-old father. I've traveled to new cities, made excursions to museums, fairs, expositions. I've walked thousands of miles, lifted weights, eaten in dozens of restaurants, sampled new foods. I've written hundreds of blog posts, participated in several different writing projects, read hundreds of books, made new friends.

Yet, here I am, counting down the days to the second anniversary of his death, and I still don't know where I am going, or if I am even going anywhere. Still don't know how to live with his every-present absence in my life.

People keep telling me I need to focus on others, that doing volunteer work and such is how one gets through this, but I'm wondering if perhaps I need to focus on myself. He may be absent, but I am still here.

Tagged: death, death of a soul mate, grief, grief at two years, loss, Second anniversary of grief, surviving grief

Grief Update — Twenty-Three Months

Twenty-three months ago my life mate/soul mate died. There are times when his goneness from my life is as fresh as the day he died, and other times, like today, I can take it in stride. Of course, I'm dealing with a bad cold right now, and I need to keep my focus firmly on myself since grief depresses the immune system, so I'm not allowing myself to think of his being dead, and I'm not allowing myself to think of all the lonely years ahead.

Whether I take my new life in stride, or whether I dissolve into tears, it still comes down to the same thing — that he is dead. The world seemed to dim the day he died, and in all these months, the brightness never returned. I don't know if it ever will.

People keep telling me not to live in the past, yet at the same time, they tell me that he lives in my memory. Seems contradictory, doesn't it? My memory is the past. (Or is the past my memory?) And anyway, it's impossible to live in the past. It's . . . passed. Even if I could go to the past, where would I go? So much of our time together was unhappy. How could it have been otherwise with his ill heath? Even thoughts of our incredible meeting almost thirty-six years ago bring me sadness. I remember how intelligent and vibrant, wise and radiant he was, and then I remember his end where he was so drugged he could barely string two words together. But I loved him at the beginning and I loved him at the end and I still love him today.

They tell me love doesn't die, and apparently that is true, but what does one do with a love that has no end? It's like live wire with no grounding. Some day, I imagine, I will find a grounding, perhaps in my writing.

Today, for the first time in a long while, I felt the joy of writing. (And I had the concentration for it, something that has been missing for the past few years, not just since his death, but during the hellacious two years that preceded it.) I'm collaborating with other Second Wind Publishing authors on Rubicon Ranch, and today I had to write my chapter. My character is easy to write — she is struggling to survive the death of her husband, and somehow death keeps finding her. Art imitating life? Or just my finding it impossible to imagine being anyone else but a woman struggling to survive the loss of her mate?

The struggle for survival and autonomy still forms my days. Even when I don't think of him, I know he is absent. Even when I don't consciously yearn for him, something deep inside me reaches out for him. We were deeply connected for a very long time, and twenty-three months doesn't even begin to lessen that bond.

Tagged: death, death of a soul mate, grief, living in memory, living in the past, loss, twenty-three months of grief

What challenges did you face as you wrote your book?

My biggest challenge in writing A Spark of Heavenly Fire was finding the beginning of the story. I liked the story, and I kept telling myself that if people could just get through the first fifty pages they would like the story, too. Then one day it dawned on me that the solution of getting readers to see the story beyond the less than sparkling beginning was to get rid of the first fifty pages. So I junked those early chapters, wrote a new beginning, and then the real challenge began — getting it published. After two hundred rejections, I finally found a publisher who loved the book.

Here are some challenges other authors faced as they wrote their books. The comments are taken from interviews posted at Pat Bertram Introduces . . .

From an interview with Gisela (Gigi) Sedlmayer, Author of "Talon, Come Fly With Me"

To face myself. When I started to write the book, I never thought of the things they came out then. I wanted to write an adventure story for children and see what came out of that. Because, like Matica, I was rejected in school, not because of the growth handicap she has. I had other things. I had to face what Matica is facing and learned, even from writing the book, more and more to cope with myself, to overcome my own rejection and to realise that I have survived a deadly disease.

From an interview with Louis Bertrand Shalako, Author of 'Redemption: an Inspector Gilles Maintenon mystery'

I moved three times during the writing of the book, as well as cleaning out my father's house and selling it. There were lots of disruptions and quite a bit of lost sleep.

From an interview with Viola Russell, Author of "Love at War"

The most difficult part was that I wanted to be accurate about the history and facts, and I tend to be a perfectionist. I'd be in the middle of a scene, and I'd then have to move quickly to the internet to confirm a detail. I wanted accuracy on things like the types of weapons the various armies used and on the various uniforms.

From an interview with Malcolm R. Campbell, Author of "Sarabande"

I write from a third person restricted point of view. This means that I am always with only one character from start to finish; everything in the book is filtered directly or indirectly through that character's eyes, ears and thoughts. The challenge here, especially with some of the deeply personal women's issues in the plot, was putting myself into a woman's point of view and keeping it realistic. I did not want the book to sound like it was written by a man who was speculating about how a woman might talk, act, and re-act to the ordeals in the storyline. The challenge was making the story truly seem as though it were being told by a woman and that all of it rang true to the women reading the book.

From an interview with Noah Baird, Author of Donations to Clarity

I didn't have people around who supported my writing. They weren't taking it as seriously as I was. As a unpublished writer, it was difficult to convince them this was something I needed to do. It was also hard to know if the writing or the story was good. It takes a great deal of faith in yourself and the story to see it all of the way through.

So, what challenges did you face as you wrote your book?

(If you'd like me to interview you, please check out my author questionnaire http://patbertram.wordpress.com/author-questionnaire/ and follow the instruction.)

Tagged: A Spark of Heavenly Fire, challenges of writing, facing oneself, third person restricted point of view

What is your goal for your book? What do you want readers to take with them?

I would like readers to take with them a slightly different way of looking at the world, perhaps seeing it in a better light or a maybe just a more truthful slant. And if not that, I'd like them to feel good about having spent time with my characters. The best compliment I ever received was from someone who said he didn't want the book to end.

Here are some goals other authors have for their books. The comments are taken from interviews posted at Pat Bertram Introduces . . .

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From an interview with Jerold Last, Author of "The Ambivalent Corpse"

I try to write books that are fast moving and entertain the reader, while introducing the readers to a region where I've lived and worked that is a long way from home for most English speakers. Montevideo, Salta, Machu Picchu, and Iguazu Falls are characters in these books, and the novels will have succeeded for me if some of you say that you'd like to visit these places because they seem so vivid and real.

From an interview with Polly Iyer, Author of "Hooked"

My goal is a good read. I always have issues in my books; otherwise, they wouldn't interest me. I like to dig deep in my characters' pasts in order to explain why they're the way they are. Sometimes, in doing that, I get into some heavy subjects, but that's okay.

From an interview with Qwantu Amaru, Author of "One Blood"

This is a great question. At its heart, One Blood is a book about the danger of belief. We believe things so blindly that sometimes we find ourselves in situations where that belief is challenged and we react badly. I would like readers to question more and follow less. Find their own paths and if they must believe in anything, believe in themselves.

From an interview with Benjamin Cheah, author of "Eventual Revolutions"

For this book, I want people to recognise that they have free will, that they can choose to make their lives better. It's not easy, it requires a lot of work, but it's possible.

From an interview with Alan Nayes, Author of "Smilodon"

My goal—and it's the same with all my books—is to write the most entertaining story I know how. If the reader finishes one of my novels and can say he/she was entertained, then I did my job and I'm happy. In SMILODON, I did add a brief statement about the big cats of the world, but that was only to remind readers we are reaching a point when some of these magnificent animals may vanish forever, unless some action is taken to protect them and their environment.

So, what is your g oal for your book, ie: what do you want people to take with them after they finish reading the story?

(If you'd like me to interview you, please check out my author questionnaire http://patbertram.wordpress.com/author-questionnaire/ and follow the instruction.)

Tagged: don't want the book to end, what is your goal for your book, writing to entertain

How do you develop and differentiate your characters?

Usually I try to do scenes with only two characters since it's easy to differentiate between two characters, but in Daughter Am I, I ended up with twenty-five-year-old Mary Stuart driving around the country with a busload of funny and heartbreaking octogenarians, including a con artist, a dying hit man, and a gangster's moll. Because these characters were always together, I had to give each a specific characteristic — a foible — and I had to make sure those foibles became part of the story, otherwise the characters might have turned into caricatures. For example, Happy (an ex-wheelman for the mob) has Parkinson's disease. He also carries a gun, which terrifies the others since he can't hold the gun steady. Mary ends up confiscating the gun. The weapon, Happy, and Mary's relationship to both gun and man become a part of the story. Another character, Crunchy, used to be a mob enforcer, and he becomes Mary's protector, promising to crunch anyone who does her harm. This promise, too, becomes part of the story, as he learns his limits and she learns to take care of herself.

As for dialogue, each character has a specific way of talking. For example, Happy is prone to gloomy pronouncements, Teach loves to lecture, Crunch speaks in broken sentences, Kid Rags always talks food and drink. Especially drink.

Here are some ways other authors develop and differentiate their characters. The comments are taken from interviews posted at Pat Bertram Introduces . . .

From an interview with Sherrie Hansen, Author of Merry Go Round:

I think my characters have very distinctive personalities, and in Merry Go Round, the differences in the sisters is very apparent when they're all in the same scene, interacting with one another. I try to get into their heads and consistently think and act like they would.

From an interview with R.M. Doyon, author of Upcountry:

Like most novelists, my characters are based on many real people.  I liked to take one quirk here, one detail there from many different individuals and create a new person.   Once you build a character, particularly a principal player, the most important questions I had to ask myself were: would he or she DO something like this?  Would he or she SAY something like this?  Are they true to themselves?  You must give them a personality, but at the same time a very human element.  Humans are not perfect.  They make mistakes in judgment, and so it was important to keep them true to themselves.

So, how do you develop and differentiate your characters?

(If you'd like me to interview you, please check out my author questionnaire http://patbertram.wordpress.com/author-questionnaire/ and follow the instruction.)

Tagged: character vs. caricature, Daughter Am I, developing characters, dialogue, differentiating characters, keeping characters real

How (or when) do you decide that you are finished writing a story?

A story is finished when it is published. Otherwise, it is never finished. The more one writes, the more one learns, and the more one learns, the more one sees how earlier works can be improved. The only thing that stops this cycle of learning and rewriting is getting the book published.

Here are some ways other authors decide when they are finished writing a story. The comments are taken from interviews posted at Pat Bertram Introduces . . .

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From an interview with Louis Bertrand Shalako, Author of 'Redemption: an Inspector Gilles Maintenon mystery'

When I can find vast stretches with no errors, no grammar problems, no spelling mistakes, it's finished. When I can think of nothing to add, or nothing to object to, no problems with the logical flow, and when I am convinced there is nothing more I can do to make it a better story, then it's done. The funny thing is, there will always be doubts, and there will always be some insecurity. That's just what it means to be a writer.

From an interview with Benjamin Cheah, author of Eventual Revolutions

When there are no more changes to make, no corrections to be done, and when the entire story flows seamlessly.

From an interview with Cynthia Vespia, author of "Demon Hunter: Saga"

The story decides for you. You let it run its course. The best endings are those that surprise you as the writer.

From an interview with Meg Mims, Author of "Double Crossing"

That's a tough question, because I can't just hammer it out. I prefer letting it "heat up" like in glassblowing, fine-tuning, rolling, even breaking it up and starting over. And the "KEY" element must be there or else it will remain unfinished for me. So while Double Crossing finaled in many RWA contests, it took over a year for me to find that "key" that let all the elements fall into place and then I knew it was submission-ready.

From an interview with Michael Haskins, Author of "Stairway to the Bottom"

I know the beginning, middle and end of a story before I begin. How I get to the middle and end is the fun part. As I write the things I knew or wanted in the story sometimes change, including the end. In Stairway to the Bottom, I didn't like the ending and added one more chapter. I hadn't totally thought of that way on ending the story, but as I re-read it, I knew it need a little more than I planned on. I think the ending found me.

From an interview with Tom Winton, Author of "Beyond Nostalgia"

You never finish a story, you abandon it. No matter how many drafts you do, eventually you have to let it go. I did nine drafts of Beyond Nostalgia and sometimes, during that ninth draft, I'd spend a full hour reworking a single paragraph that I'd overhauled eight times before. A writer can go over and over a manuscript forever and keep making changes. When you're confident that you've given it ninety-nine percent, ya gotta let it go.

Do, how (or when) do you decide that you are finished writing a story?

(If you'd like me to interview you, please check out my author questionnaire http://patbertram.wordpress.com/author-questionnaire/ and follow the instruction.)

Tagged: ending a story, how do you know when a story is finished, when is a story finished

What is the easiest part of the writing process?

The easiest aspect of writing is editing. The words are all there, it's just a matter of making sure they are the right ones and that they say what I want them to say. The most rewarding is knowing I wrote a book worth reading.

Here are some other authors' responses to the question about the easiest part of the writing process. The comments are taken from interviews posted at Pat Bertram Introduces . . .

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From an interview with Rod Marsden, Author of "Disco Evil" and "Ghost Dance"

The first draft is the easiest part of the writing process. You can really let yourself go. Very few writers expect the first draft to be the last. Michener went through a number of drafts before he was happy with Hawaii. I go through a number of drafts before I even approach an editor.

From an interview with Joylene Nowell Butler, Author of "Broken but not Dead"

Editing. Once I've written that first draft, I step back and regroup for a week or so. I do the same thing when I'm finished the last draft. The second draft is my favourite part. It's filling in the blanks, eliminating all the garbage, adverbs, excessive wordage, unnecessary characters and scenes, and baring the bones of the story. It never fails to excite me during this process. Like unveiling Cinderella's beauty. Love it.

From an interview with J J Dare, Author of "False Positive" and "False World"

Inspiration. When it's there, the words flow like a raging river. If the story is in my head and I've been tapped by my muse (and she stays with me), I can write a novel in a week.

From an interview with A. F. Stewart, Author of Once Upon a Dark and Eerie

For me, the easiest element of writing is the dialogue. I rarely have a problem with the flow of dialogue. Possibly because I can hear all those character voices whispering in my head.

From an interview with Michael Haskins, Author of "Car Wash Blues"

Oh that's easy, turning on the computer!

From an interview with James Boyle, Author of "Ni'il: Waking Turtle"

There comes a point after you've struggled for days and weeks, seemingly trying to wring words out of stone, when you finally hit your groove and the story simple flows out of you. It feels less like writing than channeling the story from some outside source. It is an amazing feeling when it happens.

So, for you, what is the easiest part of the writing process?

(If you'd like me to interview you, please check out my author questionnaire http://patbertram.wordpress.com/author-questionnaire/ and follow the instruction.)

Tagged: easiest part of writing, editing, first draft, Inspiration, the writiing process