Sylvia May's Blog, page 8

New Cover!

Hot off the presses.

The Unraveling of Abby Settel is being repackaged this year and Kim, my wonderful publisher, has just finished the new cover. I’m very happy with it, because it presents a more positive vibe to the book than the original cover (even though I also liked the original). The award seal will go on the front for e-books and on the back for print books.

What do you think?

Here is the original cover

 

 

 

And here’s the new cover (without the award seal)

 

 

 

 

Happy Holidays!

Isn’t it amazing how time flies? Here we are at December 13th, and I find myself thinking, “What happened to the first two weeks of the month?” In just one week, I’ll be flying to Canada to celebrate Christmas with family and as I prepare for that, I am finding I have very little headspace for writing and for blogging. So today I’m announcing that I’m taking a two-week vacation from my blog.

I wish all my readers a wonderful holiday season, and I’ll see you right here on my blog on January 3, 2013!

Wednesday is Tuesday?

Early this morning I received a text message from my daughter. “What happened to blogging every Tuesday?” she wrote.  And I figuratively slapped my forehead, thinking “oh yeah, I forgot.” So thanks to my daughter, I am blogging yesterday’s blog today.

I have no excuse, really. “Write blog”  was on my list of things to do yesterday. But that only helps if I actually check my list, and my day got so busy with errands and chores and outings that I didn’t. The time simply got away from me. December is like that, really, with Christmas on the horizon and preparations to make and social events to attend. My brain is so full that it barely has room for writing, much less writing blogs.

But I’m here now. For my “Thoughts about Writing”  blog this week, I want to share a quote with you. It was sent to me by an artist friend, Jana Matusz, who is a wonderful painter. I met her in Bermuda while she was here for a three-month residency with Masterworks. We hit it off right away and became friends. She was very inspiring for my own painting. And now that she’s back home we stay in touch through the occasional email.

In her latest email to me, she mentioned that she’d been reading my blogs, and could commiserate with my challenges of staying disciplined and focused with writing. She experiences the same thing with her painting. Then she shared this quote by David Lynch:

“To get in one good hour of painting you have to have four hours of uninterrupted time.”

I think that is true for any form of art, whether it be writing, painting, music, or anything other creative endeavour. Jana comments that for her, four hours is conservative and I agree. Just because our product flows from our imagination doesn’t mean we don’t have to think hard about it, and plan, and challenge our skills. I’ve expressed in previous blogs that I tend to dilly dally and waste time for a while when I sit down to write, unable to find my focus immediately, but when I eventually manage to pull myself away from distractions I get lost in my created world and the time falls away.

So I think I need to rework my weekly schedule to plan solid chunks of four or more hours in which to write (not dilly dally) and then who knows where I can go?

Suffering from “Grinchitis”

For some reason, I am feeling a somewhat like a Grinch this December. Those who know me would think that is very odd, because I have always been a very organized and spirited Christmas to-do list-maker, Christmas shopper, Christmas cookie baker and Christmas light putter-upper.  But this year I don’t feel like doing any of that. I haven’t even made a list of tasks to prepare for the season. The month came upon me so quickly that I wasn’t ready to think about Christmas. And now it’s December 6th and I am still not in the mood. Despite the wonderful Christmas cocktail party I attended on Saturday. Despite the coloured lights and ornaments brightening up the city at night. And despite the fact that in two weeks I’ll be heading to Canada to celebrate the season with my wonderful family.

I believe I’m suffering from “Grinchitis.” Last week I pulled out Christmas cards and as I began to compile the address list to print up labels I suddenly didn’t want to write Christmas cards this year. “What would happen,” I asked my husband, “if we just didn’t send out cards this year.” He smiled that indulgent smile of his and replied, “The world would come to an end.” So I made the decision right then and there that I wasn’t going to and closed my address book and put away the cards. (I apologize in advance to those of you who expect to receive a seasonal greeting from me in the mail.)

Perhaps my lack of Christmas spirit has to do with the realization that our family traditions have changed. Obviously part of that is because we now live in Bermuda and must juggle our schedule to travel and don’t even stay home for Christmas. But I also think my mood has to do with the fact that as time keeps charging ahead, our children have become adults. They live independent lives of their own that we try to fit into for a few weeks of the year. So our Lego Advent calendar stays in its box, our family tree decorating day no longer happens, and I must bake Christmas cookies alone.

Or maybe it’s because here in our rented house in Bermuda, I only have a fraction of my beloved Christmas ornaments and can’t put out our lighted Dickens village or make up our crazy tree. (All of that is in storage in Canada.) Perhaps my Christmas malaise is due to the thought of assembling our little four-foot artificial tree. Somehow it seems futile when we won’t be home for Christmas. Besides, until we moved to Bermuda, we’ve always only had beautiful and real Christmas trees and our little baby fake tree feels a little bit like cheating to me.

I’m not complaining, mind you. I just need to get out of my funk and get into the Christmas spirit. How do I do that?

For starters, today, after I post this, I will blast Christmas carols through my iPod player and pull out our little tree and ornaments and set up Christmas in the house. It’s a start, right?

Balancing act

I’ve just returned from a week away. When I went to Canada I brought along my computer, fully intending to write a chapter during my free hours. Instead I went out and about visiting or I hung out with my kids or ran errands and I didn’t write a word. “No matter,” I thought. “It’s a break from my work. Even writers should have a holiday. I’ll tackle it when I return home.”

Well, guess what. I’ve been home for four days and still haven’t written anything. Between settling back in at home, social commitments, cleaning house, preparing for Christmas, and a myriad of other things that pull at me, I’ve only just remembered that it’s Tuesday and I need to write a blog post. So in the middle of making a dish to bring to a potluck Christmas lunch today (it’s in the oven), I sat down at the computer and here I am. But alas, my character Lydia still languishes.

Life is a juggling act. It’s a challenge to balance the work with the play and the housework and the Christmas prep and everything else that makes up one’s life. Figuring out how to get everything done is a daily exercise for me. And for the past twelve days, my writing has lost out.

I hope I’ll be able to find the focus to write that chapter this week, although I have my doubts. In order to get into my character’s head, I need a quiet environment, a clean desk, and a clear mind. Not to mention several hours to sit at my computer. I guess it’s all a matter of priority and how I juggle my responsibilities and commitments. This week my calendar is full and I’m not sure where to carve out those hours.

A writer friend of mine told me that what it takes to make progress in writing is to simply glue your butt in your chair and get to work. Perhaps I should listen to her. Perhaps I need to drop all the balls I’m juggling and do just that.

Flying Home

Even though I have a fulfilling, busy, and amazing life in Bermuda, sometimes I find it difficult to live away from my family. I miss my kids. I miss my sisters. I miss my longtime friends. When those feelings get particularly strong and develop into a kind of malaise, I peruse the Air Canada and Westjet websites for seat sales. If I find a cheap flight I’ll book it. A flight to Toronto takes less than three hours so it’s an easy trip to make.

In late September, I was hit with a yearning to see my loved ones. It had been close to three months since I’d been back in Ontario, three months since I’d hugged my daughter and sons, three months since I’d laughed with my sisters, three months since I’d yakked with my friends. Of course we connect through FaceTime and Skype, phone, email, and texting, but none of those substitute for physical contact. So I checked the airline websites. To my dismay, there wasn’t a seat sale until November, so I had to defer the satisfying of my longing and booked flights for six weeks  ahead.

I filled those six weeks with writing, and meetings, and volunteering, and golfing, and visiting, and walking, and painting, and snorkelling, and playing piano, and reading, and…eventually the days were crossed off my calendar and the date of my flight arrived.

For this past week I’ve been in Canada, having flown in last Thursday, and will return to Bermuda tomorrow. I have hugged my kids, eaten meals and played cards with them. I’ve shared wine and food with my friends. I’ve had sleepovers with my sisters. I’ve been replenished. And am ready to go home.

Writing to Music?

If you’re like me, you put on tunes while you do various tasks. My iPod has playlists for housework, driving, singing, exercising…well, you get the idea. Recently a friend told me about an app for my iPad called Songza, which allows me to choose a style of music for whatever I’m involved with at the moment. It has introduced me to many songs I had never heard of. Music makes chores go faster, pumps me up or soothes me, reflects my mood, and helps me work through emotional issues. I sing along to songs, conduct symphonies, and really listen to Bach. I can’t imagine life without a soundtrack.

However, one thing I cannot do while listening to music is write fiction. It’s not that I don’t undertake cerebral activities while music is playing. I can edit with melodies in the background, or answer emails, or pay bills, even write this blog, all while Van Morrison sings in my ear or Mendelssohn brightens the room. However, as a trained musician, I can’t help but engage in music when it’s playing. Seldom can I hear a song without actively listening to it. While I’m in a character’s head and manipulating a plot, I need to have my whole mind focusing on the task. I need to completely immerse myself into the mind of that character, and when music is on and I am trying to write, my brain is only half focused on either of them.

I have writer friends who choose different kinds of music for writing various parts of their novel, like a Beethoven symphony to begin the first chapter, or Jimmy Hendrix when they need to murder someone, or Supertramp when they’re writing a happy scene. Other authors I know select a style of music for each of their characters, so they play that in the background when they’re working on a scene in which that character plays a strong role. One of my friends likes to listen to minimalistic music, like Philip Glass, in order to override any external distractions.

I like those approaches and they make sense to me. Set the mood of the scene with a song, characterize a person with a style of music, lull your mind with soft notes to block out interference. So, despite previous unsuccessful attempts at writing while music played in the background, I one day decided to fill the silence in the room with Mozart sonatas. The scene I was working on had my main character, Lydia, reflecting on her choices and come to a decision about her next step. Mozart seemed to me to be the perfect accompaniment. Plus, the sonatas are not very intrusive on my brain. I’m familiar with all of them, have played through many of them, so I figured they’d be a safe soundtrack for my work.

Nope. As soon as K333 in B-flat came on, my ears perked up. I listened for the pianist’s nuances and analyzed how he handled the grace notes. I know that sonata so well that I just had to go to the piano and play along with Christoph Eschenbach. So much for Lydia and her decision.

So now I once again write my novels in silence.

By the way, in case you were wondering, I wrote this blog to Fleetwood Mac.

Personal Goals

Something that surprised me about living in Bermuda is that the winter can be cold. Not Ontario snowstorm cold by any description, but cold enough to necessitate wearing jeans and jackets. The air temperature gets colder, but so does the water. I was disappointed to discover that the average person in Bermuda does not swim in the ocean from about October to May, and similarly disappointed to realize that I probably wouldn’t be swimming year-round either. My first January here, I put my toes in the water, shivered and thought, “No way.” Friends laughed. “Why would you want to swim in January anyway?”

Well, I took that on as a challenge. In January of 2010, I decided that I would attempt to swim in the ocean every month of the year. I stayed on track for ten months, and then in October of that year I broke my ankle. That derailed me for 2010 and 2011, because I wasn’t walking properly until the following February.

2012 dawned cold, but I didn’t let it deter me. A new year, a new twelve months. In January I braved the chilly waters and went in for a swim. Every month after that through October, I’ve been in the ocean. The winter months were not especially fun, and people who were walking along the beach in their jackets looked at me as if I was crazy. But I did it.

Two weeks ago, November 1st arrived and the weather was grey, rainy, and gusty. Not at all weather to compel one to go for a swim. You remember Sandy? Although Bermuda was not hit by the hurricane, we did feel its effects. So the November days passed until two weeks went by and I still did not go to the beach. Last Friday, however, the sun was out. It was a beautiful day. That week’s art group was hosted by a friend who lived on a property with a little private beach. After we finished our painting session, I announced that I was going for a swim.

“Why?” a fellow artist asked.

“Because I’ve set a goal to swim in the ocean every month of the year,” I replied.

“But what for?” She was clearly puzzled.

What for indeed? I believe that setting goals for ourselves helps us to grow. They challenge us, develop our self-discipline, and help us to be the best we can be. Achieving our objectives gives us a sense of accomplishment and builds self-esteem. We owe it to ourselves to live the best life we can, and striving to attain goals that we set keeps us heading in that direction.

I went for my November swim in the ocean last Friday. My friend, Lynne, joined me. When we first stepped in the water we both flinched at the cold that penetrated our feet, but we took it slow, acclimatized our skin to the chill, and soon we were immersed and enjoying our swim. It was glorious.

So now I am eleven for eleven. One more month to go. I hope we have a warm spell in December!

Writing (Un)Likeable Characters

Recently I watched a movie called Thief, starring James Caan. It told the story of an ex-con who is a master safe cracker and whose goal is to have a normal life with a wife, kids, and house. He takes on one last job to collect enough money to acquire this, and inadvertently gets caught up with the mob who try to control him. The movie was intriguing and the characters compelling, however I did not find one of them likeable, not even the main character Frank. After the film was over, I pondered how I could have spent over two hours with characters I did not like. What was it about Frank that had me rooting for him?

This is not the first time I have asked myself this. For a while I was hooked on the television program Mad Men, and after the first season I felt the same way. I did not find any of the characters likeable. Yet I returned to watch the second season because I had connected with these characters and wanted to know what happened to them.

In novels, too, there are important characters who are unlikeable. Take for example, Holden Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye or Gollum/Sméagol from Lord of the Rings. While we might not like them, we at times find ourselves cheering them on.

As writers we are advised to ensure that our protagonist is likeable, so that the reader wants to continue reading about him or her. If they do not emotionally invest in the main character, they’ll throw the book aside, we are told. How, then, can we explain our support of unlikeable characters?

Perhaps we authors don’t need to make them likeable so much as relate-able. If we place them in circumstances where the reader can empathize with them, or get the reader to know them so well that sympathy will prevail because of their human qualities and foibles, then the reader doesn’t have to like them. They merely need to connect with them on some level, and invest in a desire to know what happens to them.

It all boils down to good writing. Effective use of point-of-view, compelling characterization, captivating plot, and spellbinding descriptions will get a reader invested in the lives of the people and their story. Good writing will keep them reading, even if they don’t particularly like the characters.

Uninvited guests

The other day I was about to enter our bathroom when I was startled by a little lizard, staring up at me in the middle of the room. I screamed aloud, even though there was no one home to hear me. Now, I am not afraid of these little anoles. We have an abundance of them outside, scurrying around our patio, and mostly I think they’re cute. Certainly they’re harmless. But I did not expect to see one in our bathroom and I didn’t like him there. He belonged outside.

After I got over my initial panic, I had to figure out how to catch him so I could put him back outdoors. He was longer than the average lizard we see, about 4 inches from nose to the tip of its tail. And, no doubt about it, he was cute.

I grabbed a plastic cup and approached, thinking I’d cover him and then slide something flat under him and carry him away contained in that manner. But he was too fast. As soon as I got close to him, he scurried behind the toilet. Talk about an awkward place to catch a lizard! In addition, he was too long to fit under the cup and I didn’t want to hurt – or break – his tail. My plan having failed, I was somewhat flustered. I do have an affinity for the critters, but I am squeamish about touching them and would never even consider picking one up.

I did not know what to do. So illogically, I decided to ignore him and went to my desk, sat down, and tried to work. Crazy, right? There I was, not focusing at all on what I was doing, but instead worrying about where the lizard would get to and thinking he’d end up hiding in a place where I’d never find him. (I apologize to my gender, but at that moment I had a fervent desire for my husband to be home so he could deal with it.)

I returned to the bathroom to check on the lizard. He had once again come out to the centre of the room. We stared at each other as I pondered how to catch him. Then the phone rang. It was my friend Nancy, who commiserated and proceeded to give me advice on how I might trap the lizard. I didn’t use her ideas, but talking to her somehow made me buck up my courage. I fetched an oblong Ziploc container and lid from the kitchen. As soon as I stepped into the room, he scurried off again, this time in the corner behind the laundry hamper. I quickly lowered the container over him, but he scampered away just as it touched the floor. Again, even quicker this time, I lowered the container over him. This time I caught him! I slid the lid under him and ran to the patio door, opened the screen and threw him outside, container and all. Believe me, if the capture and release had been videotaped, it would have been good for a laugh.

On the patio stones, the cute little lizard stood and stared at me, now green instead of brown. “Go off,” I said to him. “You’re free.” And off he went, to the shelter of his familiar trees. I sighed in satisfaction and went back inside.

The title of this blog is “Uninvited Visitors” plural. That “s” is not a typo. Two days later, as I walked across the living room, another anole startled me. Again I screamed aloud. This little guy was much smaller than the previous one and was more frightened of me. At my scream he immediately ran under the couch. This time I reacted quicker. I opened the patio door, pulled the couch away from the wall and chased him. He ran toward the door. “Success,” I thought. “He’ll be outside in no time.” But instead of running straight through to outside, he went up the corner of the wall, and disappeared behind the curtains.

No matter how hard I looked, I could not find him. Leaving the door open, I replaced the couch and straightened the room, hoping he’d get outside on his own. But eventually I had to close the screen. Who wants more lizards in the house?

I have not seen him again. My hope is that he did make it outside when I wasn’t looking. Otherwise I might soon be surprised by a lizard in the house again!