Claire Fullerton's Blog: A Writing Life, page 12
May 3, 2014
The Spirit of Intention
“There’s a road in Spiddal that leads down to the sea. It’s lonesome as it meanders between an ancient Catholic church and miles of green, rolling fields separated into geometric prisms by grey stone walls. The gravel on its path is scattered from wind, and rain, and years of neglect; it is part of the ambience of Spiddal, part of its history. At the end of the road is the Spiddal Pier. There is no sign that would indicate this, but its common knowledge -- like a lot of things on the western coast of Ireland.”
And so begins my novel, which will be out in early 2015. Soon enough I’ll go through the editing process with a complete stranger, whom I hope will understand the feel of this book. When I embark upon a long body of work, I have a point in mind, an underlying message to the story being told that I’d like to present to readers in hopes that the act of doing so will add a little something positive to their life. This is what drives me on as a writer: the sense that I have something to share, and my impetus is to get better at it throughout my lifetime.
To me, writing a novel goes beyond the sum of its parts: its semantics, craft, ebb and flow, attention to tense, point of view, and chapter breaks. All of these are necessary vehicles in which to parlay the spirit of intention in a novel, which exists as its own living breathing entity.
Without seeming lofty or grandiose, I think it’s a novelist job to add a bit of personal commentary to this business of living; to go out into the world and report ones understanding in whatever manner they choose to present the story. There is a plethora of ways to do this, many vantage points from which to depict a story, but the aim is always the same, and it’s contained within the intention of a body of work.
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
And so begins my novel, which will be out in early 2015. Soon enough I’ll go through the editing process with a complete stranger, whom I hope will understand the feel of this book. When I embark upon a long body of work, I have a point in mind, an underlying message to the story being told that I’d like to present to readers in hopes that the act of doing so will add a little something positive to their life. This is what drives me on as a writer: the sense that I have something to share, and my impetus is to get better at it throughout my lifetime.
To me, writing a novel goes beyond the sum of its parts: its semantics, craft, ebb and flow, attention to tense, point of view, and chapter breaks. All of these are necessary vehicles in which to parlay the spirit of intention in a novel, which exists as its own living breathing entity.
Without seeming lofty or grandiose, I think it’s a novelist job to add a bit of personal commentary to this business of living; to go out into the world and report ones understanding in whatever manner they choose to present the story. There is a plethora of ways to do this, many vantage points from which to depict a story, but the aim is always the same, and it’s contained within the intention of a body of work.
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
April 19, 2014
How Does One Become a Writer?
My mother was not a writer, but maybe she should have been. She was one of the most natural born story tellers I’ve ever had chance to come across, and she glowed under a willing audience, well aware when she had one in the palm of her hand. She was a product of what I now call the old south, raised in an era when ladies were cultured and charming. Her name was Shirley, and never was a woman more appropriately named. To me, the name tinkles like Champagne in cut glass: captivating and celebratory in its effervescence, happened upon only on rare occasions. Never have I seen a woman occupy a chair quite like Shirley, who could be found at the cocktail hour holding court in the card room in the house I grew up in with one feminine leg tucked beneath her and the other dangling freely at her seductive crossed knee. This was how she observed the end of the day, for in her mind, there was much to discuss. She was fascinated in the players who populated her extravagant world and had an uncanny ability to dissect their character down to the last nuance. I couldn’t say now if she was insightful or just plain observant, whether she was legitimately concerned or liked to gossip, but she had a way of telling a story that could turn a trip to the grocery store into the most enviable journey ever taken. I used to watch my mother—study her with adolescent awe, looking for clues on how to evolve from an inchoate girl into her replica. I could have come out and asked her, but I always knew she wasn’t the type to ever confess. She is nine long years in heaven now, but the reverberating shadow she cast keeps her never far from reach. I was asked just the other day how I became a writer; whether I studied it in college or took some other road. It’d be so convenient to say I have an accredited piece of paper granting me permission, but the truth is I have much more than that: I grew up under the tutelage of a southern shanachie, who showed me the seemingly ordinary in life is actually extraordinary; it all depends on how the story is told.
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April 10, 2014
A good Songwriter can teach all writers a lot!
I have cause to travel up and down the California coast on a regular basis - a five hour journey through vineyards and far reaching hills on either side of the 101 freeway that is surprisingly rural in all directions. While my husband drives, our two German shepherds sleep in the back. I stare out the window where my imagination climbs every verdant incline and taps out a cadence along every golden path. I pretend I’m a part of all I survey, that I belong to the vista in a way that is so personal it colors my emotions with nostalgia as I sail through a moving parallel reality.
Sooner or later, I put in my earphones and scroll through my musical playlist, which turns the trip into an audio/visual experience, but I noticed just yesterday that once I do, the songwriter takes over completely.
I am in awe of good songwriters and here’s why: they can give me an entire experience in under five minutes. With finely crafted brevity, they establish a premise, set a scene, and evoke an emotion that my entire being accepts without question. For an instant, the lines become blurred between the songwriter’s range of experience and my own. Good songwriters write in a way that is so accurate and truthful, it makes the human experience uncomplicated by virtue of the fact they encapsulate it so simply. They don’t need to be wordy or superfluous, they get right to the point and call things by name with well-appointed clarity. They are urgent in their cards on the table concision, and this teaches me all I need to know about writing in general. I’ve been shown from songwriters that writing is about the right words in the right place without the distraction of bells and whistles. When I write, I keep this in mind as a principle and it gives me guidelines that are naturally resonant, which helps me stick to my point and say what I have to say.
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
Sooner or later, I put in my earphones and scroll through my musical playlist, which turns the trip into an audio/visual experience, but I noticed just yesterday that once I do, the songwriter takes over completely.
I am in awe of good songwriters and here’s why: they can give me an entire experience in under five minutes. With finely crafted brevity, they establish a premise, set a scene, and evoke an emotion that my entire being accepts without question. For an instant, the lines become blurred between the songwriter’s range of experience and my own. Good songwriters write in a way that is so accurate and truthful, it makes the human experience uncomplicated by virtue of the fact they encapsulate it so simply. They don’t need to be wordy or superfluous, they get right to the point and call things by name with well-appointed clarity. They are urgent in their cards on the table concision, and this teaches me all I need to know about writing in general. I’ve been shown from songwriters that writing is about the right words in the right place without the distraction of bells and whistles. When I write, I keep this in mind as a principle and it gives me guidelines that are naturally resonant, which helps me stick to my point and say what I have to say.
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
March 28, 2014
Finding Inspiration
I was recently asked the following question in an interview: “Where do you go to find inspiration?” The interviewer sited the habit of Charles Dickens, who would take to the streets of London every day in a five to six mile stroll while looking for source material, which left me with an appealing visual image. I just like the idea of this writer cruising the London streets, his eyes darting hither and yon as he tallied up random impressions. Because I wanted to answer the question to the best of my ability, I pondered it until it hit me: I don’t go anywhere; I simply live my life with my eyes open and allow myself to be influenced. Sometimes the most seemingly inconsequential things can affect me, and by this I mean strike an emotional cord. They typically happen in the blink of an eye yet this doesn’t make them any the less meaningful. What I do is follow the cord once it’s struck and let the impression fully in so I can feel its repercussion.
I think inspiration can’t be sought out because it resides within every human being. And because it resides within, there are moments when it is triggered. Once it is, I think inspiration resonates in such a way that a writer feels compelled to put it into words. Therefore, it is not so much a question of "Where you go to find inspiration," it's more like “What do you do once you acknowledge you're inspired.” As for me , when inspiration is triggered, I grab a pen.
https://www.facebook.com/clairefuller...
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
I think inspiration can’t be sought out because it resides within every human being. And because it resides within, there are moments when it is triggered. Once it is, I think inspiration resonates in such a way that a writer feels compelled to put it into words. Therefore, it is not so much a question of "Where you go to find inspiration," it's more like “What do you do once you acknowledge you're inspired.” As for me , when inspiration is triggered, I grab a pen.
https://www.facebook.com/clairefuller...
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
March 9, 2014
The Importance of Reading other Writers
I want to expand on something I briefly mentioned in my previous post, which concerned reading other writers while you attend to your own work. I think it’s imperative that writers have a strong enough handle on their own voice that they’re not swayed by other writers; rather, they’re enriched by them. Being able to embrace the character and nuances of other writers can be a tutorial if you let it be so!
I don’t just read other authors; I study how they present their stories. I scrutinize their craft, the choices they make as they lay out a story like pieces of a puzzle infused with their individual personality. It occurs to me that it’s not enough to have a good story; what matters is how it’s presented, for therein lays the magic of craft.
Recently, I read Valerie Martin’s “The Ghost of the Mary Celeste,” which I found by tripping across Pat Conroy’s engaging review. As I’m a shameless Conroy devotee, I grabbed the book with both hands and held on tight through this tale arranged like a finely woven tapestry. Reading it confirmed that crafting a story can be like a waltz. The beauty lays in the unexpected ornamentation of the writer. Sometimes you’re lucky enough to find a book that confirms it’s not what you say, but how you say it.
There is everything right about allowing yourself to be influenced by the excellence of other writers, although I’m aware excellence is subjective. I liken reading other writers to being a perpetual student: if I’m open-minded, I can come to the task with reverence and learn something; then there is only the giddiness of the pursuit, the ability to receive inspiration dealt from the hands of mentors I’ll probably never actually meet, but with whom I am linked through the love of language and the camaraderie of writing.
https://www.facebook.com/clairefuller...
I don’t just read other authors; I study how they present their stories. I scrutinize their craft, the choices they make as they lay out a story like pieces of a puzzle infused with their individual personality. It occurs to me that it’s not enough to have a good story; what matters is how it’s presented, for therein lays the magic of craft.
Recently, I read Valerie Martin’s “The Ghost of the Mary Celeste,” which I found by tripping across Pat Conroy’s engaging review. As I’m a shameless Conroy devotee, I grabbed the book with both hands and held on tight through this tale arranged like a finely woven tapestry. Reading it confirmed that crafting a story can be like a waltz. The beauty lays in the unexpected ornamentation of the writer. Sometimes you’re lucky enough to find a book that confirms it’s not what you say, but how you say it.
There is everything right about allowing yourself to be influenced by the excellence of other writers, although I’m aware excellence is subjective. I liken reading other writers to being a perpetual student: if I’m open-minded, I can come to the task with reverence and learn something; then there is only the giddiness of the pursuit, the ability to receive inspiration dealt from the hands of mentors I’ll probably never actually meet, but with whom I am linked through the love of language and the camaraderie of writing.
https://www.facebook.com/clairefuller...
March 1, 2014
Writers, Do Not Doubt Your Voice
I’ve heard it said the first important step in writing is finding ones voice. I’ve also heard authors confess that when they write, they don’t read another author for fear of voice influence, however deep within the subconscious another’s voice may land. Perhaps some writers think another’s voice may outshine their own, tempt them to compare themselves with some imagined standard of excellence, throw them into self-doubt where they fear their own voice doesn’t measure up to the lofty mark of a more firmly established writer.
I believe all writers are on a forward momentum, ever-evolving path. Writing is an unending learning curve, a growth process of trial and error which often involves a weeding out process of that which does not work in the pursuit of fine tuning the craft.
All writers have the same aim: they seek more clarity, more ways of being unique, more ways of being succinct, more ways of commanding the English language, and it is an individual process contingent upon the myriad elements that make up the specific writer.
As for me, I write from the voice in my head—the voice with the inner-monologue running rampant whether I like it or not. I think it is born from my thought process; it is personal, it is intimate; it stands outside of judgment; it depicts my view of the world, it is unapologetically who I am. Another’s voice may have more bells and whistles, but they are not mine, so emulating another would therefore be a falsehood.
There is every reason to believe that in the literary world, there is room for us all. Writers should not doubt this. They should honor their voice with a devil-may-care attitude then get about the business of learning the craft to give them the forum in which to contribute to the world in their blessedly unique way.
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
I believe all writers are on a forward momentum, ever-evolving path. Writing is an unending learning curve, a growth process of trial and error which often involves a weeding out process of that which does not work in the pursuit of fine tuning the craft.
All writers have the same aim: they seek more clarity, more ways of being unique, more ways of being succinct, more ways of commanding the English language, and it is an individual process contingent upon the myriad elements that make up the specific writer.
As for me, I write from the voice in my head—the voice with the inner-monologue running rampant whether I like it or not. I think it is born from my thought process; it is personal, it is intimate; it stands outside of judgment; it depicts my view of the world, it is unapologetically who I am. Another’s voice may have more bells and whistles, but they are not mine, so emulating another would therefore be a falsehood.
There is every reason to believe that in the literary world, there is room for us all. Writers should not doubt this. They should honor their voice with a devil-may-care attitude then get about the business of learning the craft to give them the forum in which to contribute to the world in their blessedly unique way.
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
February 1, 2014
Eulogy for Shadow
Shadow : January 9, 2005- January 30, 2014
The mornings without her are the worst, in that slip of time between the dream state and the metal glare of remembering Shadow’s not there—that she won’t be eye-level to the bed as she has been for years, drawing me impatiently from my slumber, anxious to start her day.
The world was a big, joyous place, according to Shadow, and I couldn’t help but see it through her eyes. Every morning she’d squeal and clamor as if time were wasting. There were scents outside with clues in the yard, and sticks and pine cones shaken to the ground that couldn’t wait another minute. Oh, get up, get up, she’d insist; the world awaits with endless possibilities!
I am listless in her absence. I do not want to rise from this bed. There is no comfort in this house, yet I cannot bear to walk outside where she used to play. I cannot put my shoes on without remembering how the act sent her into spinning rapture, and there is too much space around me without her underfoot.
I never knew silence could affect me physically, that it could start with a ringing in my ears then land so heavily on my heart. If I rise now, every gesture in the rhythm of my day will lack her, and every movement without purpose in this world now grown flat. I roll to my right and see her toys strewn around her fleece covered bed. I should get up and put her bear and her balls away, find some place to put that pine cone, but I can’t bring myself to disrupt her last arrangement. I want to leave everything as Shadow placed it because I still marvel at the single-mindedness with which she marked her place in the world.
I think I will lie here until her spirit comes wet-nosed to soothe me. I lack the strength to rise to a world that exists without her, and there will be no joy if her spirit does not come. I need to lie here until I remember what joy is; I’ve been too long following her lead and have forgotten how to find it on my own.
I am frozen in this bed with the thought of taking my heart back from Shadow. The prospect seems something I am incapable of, and right now I would rather lie in this pain forever than place one foot to a floor where she does not lay. She was ceaseless, constant, beautiful, unending. She came lovingly, unquestioning, every time I called her name.
Hear now, Shadow, my voice as I call you, "Here pretty girl; baby come home.”
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
The mornings without her are the worst, in that slip of time between the dream state and the metal glare of remembering Shadow’s not there—that she won’t be eye-level to the bed as she has been for years, drawing me impatiently from my slumber, anxious to start her day.
The world was a big, joyous place, according to Shadow, and I couldn’t help but see it through her eyes. Every morning she’d squeal and clamor as if time were wasting. There were scents outside with clues in the yard, and sticks and pine cones shaken to the ground that couldn’t wait another minute. Oh, get up, get up, she’d insist; the world awaits with endless possibilities!
I am listless in her absence. I do not want to rise from this bed. There is no comfort in this house, yet I cannot bear to walk outside where she used to play. I cannot put my shoes on without remembering how the act sent her into spinning rapture, and there is too much space around me without her underfoot.
I never knew silence could affect me physically, that it could start with a ringing in my ears then land so heavily on my heart. If I rise now, every gesture in the rhythm of my day will lack her, and every movement without purpose in this world now grown flat. I roll to my right and see her toys strewn around her fleece covered bed. I should get up and put her bear and her balls away, find some place to put that pine cone, but I can’t bring myself to disrupt her last arrangement. I want to leave everything as Shadow placed it because I still marvel at the single-mindedness with which she marked her place in the world.
I think I will lie here until her spirit comes wet-nosed to soothe me. I lack the strength to rise to a world that exists without her, and there will be no joy if her spirit does not come. I need to lie here until I remember what joy is; I’ve been too long following her lead and have forgotten how to find it on my own.
I am frozen in this bed with the thought of taking my heart back from Shadow. The prospect seems something I am incapable of, and right now I would rather lie in this pain forever than place one foot to a floor where she does not lay. She was ceaseless, constant, beautiful, unending. She came lovingly, unquestioning, every time I called her name.
Hear now, Shadow, my voice as I call you, "Here pretty girl; baby come home.”
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
January 25, 2014
What Genre?
When I set about writing "A Portal in Time," I didn't aim for a specific genre, I simply wanted to write the book I would love to discover: one that would hold my interest, take me on a journey, not insult my intelligence with banalities or predictability; something that would suggest a certain perspective on living if you will.
I have always been fascinated with the idea that we all have dependable intuition-- that it is there for us to use as an asset along with our other senses. I've always thought it's a shame we don't learn about developing our innate intuition in school, although I do understand why. Just the same, I've known many intrigued with the subject matter, many who have bought books by Shirley MacLaine, James Redfield, John Edward- authors who write about the spirit in general. I have also known many practical, grounded people who have gone to card readers, use the I-Ching, and recognize "signs" when they see them. All of this is what I wrote about in "A Portal in Time."
Because my book's story is told through the vehicle of two couples in different time periods who meet and develop their relationships, "A Portal in Time" can feasibly be categorized as a romance. Further, because one of the characters is intuitive and banks on it, "A Portal in Time" is also categorized as Paranormal because this kind of thing is considered "unusual!" When an author presents a book to the world, the first question asked is, "What is this book's genre?" With "A Portal in Time," it is difficult to say. How about if I just report I loved creating "A Portal in Time," that I hope readers consider it a page turner that keeps them on their toes, and that it has a sense of beauty, mystery, and magic that is well worth the read!
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
I have always been fascinated with the idea that we all have dependable intuition-- that it is there for us to use as an asset along with our other senses. I've always thought it's a shame we don't learn about developing our innate intuition in school, although I do understand why. Just the same, I've known many intrigued with the subject matter, many who have bought books by Shirley MacLaine, James Redfield, John Edward- authors who write about the spirit in general. I have also known many practical, grounded people who have gone to card readers, use the I-Ching, and recognize "signs" when they see them. All of this is what I wrote about in "A Portal in Time."
Because my book's story is told through the vehicle of two couples in different time periods who meet and develop their relationships, "A Portal in Time" can feasibly be categorized as a romance. Further, because one of the characters is intuitive and banks on it, "A Portal in Time" is also categorized as Paranormal because this kind of thing is considered "unusual!" When an author presents a book to the world, the first question asked is, "What is this book's genre?" With "A Portal in Time," it is difficult to say. How about if I just report I loved creating "A Portal in Time," that I hope readers consider it a page turner that keeps them on their toes, and that it has a sense of beauty, mystery, and magic that is well worth the read!
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
January 24, 2014
Inspiration for "A Portal in Time"
Inspiration for a novel can come from the most unusual of circumstances, and the idea for “A Portal in Time” is no exception. In the year 2000, my husband and I took a trip up the California coast to Carmel-by-the-Sea on the hauntingly beautiful Monterey Peninsula. As it was our one year wedding anniversary, we had reservations for the weekend at Carmel's historic, La Playa Hotel-- a hotel we'd never stayed in before. Everything about the lobby of the antiquated hotel piqued my interest, and as my husband checked us in, I let my imagination roam free, taking in every inch of the opulent lobby with its travertine floors, sand-stone fireplace, and sweeping Mediterranean tiled staircase. I explored a particular hallway looking at architectural maps of various stages of the hotel's growth that hung beside sepia tinted photographs of people in period clothing. By the time my husband came to find me, I had already envisioned myself living in a house of this exact constitution, wearing a dress exactly like the one I saw in one of the photographs. Next, I started thinking of what it was like to be alive at the turn of the 19th century, living in a house by the sea along with how it would feel to have it as the setting of my life. I decided I would love it-- that there would be a fabulous, interesting, fully-realized life at play with myself at the center of a thriving artistic community and oh the thrill of the environment.
But it occurred to me that life is life, and things happen to people unwittingly, and the story of people’s lives tend to happen in increments of cause and effect no matter where one lives.
My eyes kept returning to the lobby’s staircase, and I wanted to climb them to their top. When I did, I was drawn to a wooden cathedral door at the end of a long hallway. I stood looking down the hall thinking, “If this were my house, the master bedroom would be at the end of this hall with a bay window overlooking a garden.” I could feel myself standing before the window as if I were looking at my garden, then I started asking, “Now why would I be here looking out the window?”
“A Portal in Time,” my paranormal/historical novel, is the explanation of an entire imagined life that brought me to that window at the top of the stairs in Carmel’s La Playa Hotel. I decided the story would be best told in oscillating time periods in order to lend an eerie, mystical feel. I like to give my readers an experience by taking them on a journey. I want them to see and hear and feel everything for themselves by giving them a specific reality, and in this case, the reality is “A Portal in Time.”
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
But it occurred to me that life is life, and things happen to people unwittingly, and the story of people’s lives tend to happen in increments of cause and effect no matter where one lives.
My eyes kept returning to the lobby’s staircase, and I wanted to climb them to their top. When I did, I was drawn to a wooden cathedral door at the end of a long hallway. I stood looking down the hall thinking, “If this were my house, the master bedroom would be at the end of this hall with a bay window overlooking a garden.” I could feel myself standing before the window as if I were looking at my garden, then I started asking, “Now why would I be here looking out the window?”
“A Portal in Time,” my paranormal/historical novel, is the explanation of an entire imagined life that brought me to that window at the top of the stairs in Carmel’s La Playa Hotel. I decided the story would be best told in oscillating time periods in order to lend an eerie, mystical feel. I like to give my readers an experience by taking them on a journey. I want them to see and hear and feel everything for themselves by giving them a specific reality, and in this case, the reality is “A Portal in Time.”
http://www.clairefullerton.com/
January 10, 2014
What I discovered through promoting my book.
I don't think many people know what promoting a book entails until they have a vested interest. I know I had little knowledge until the publication of my first book by Vinspire Publishing a mere two months ago. Publishers do their own impressive work, but in this day and age, authors really need to do their part. It is imperative that authors get in the promotional field. Since the publication of "A Portal in Time," I've been learning the promotional swing on a daily basis. The thing with promoting a book is that once you start, the project gets bigger; there are so many tangential elements that come into play because one step tends to lead to the next. One gets to the point where they want to address everything because things get personal. What I have discovered from promoting "A Portal in Time" is there is a big, wide world of people who love books, who read them with passion, are touched by them, moved by them, have an opinion, and want to report their findings. Coming to meet complete strangers on-line that love books has been fascinating. For me, it puts a good name on humanity in general, because those who read are on a quest for knowledge in some explicable way. I've discovered the vast majority of book readers are astute, discriminating critics, but that is due to their passion and intelligence. For authors, this shines a light on who their audience may be. For me, it tells me to whom I write.
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