Gerry Abbey's Blog, page 12

Finding the Story within the Experiences, Part I

When I set out to write my memoir, I had no idea what I was doing.  I’d just graduated college and had undergone a mind-bending year of life changing experiences.  At twenty-three, I had a hard enough time writing reports and term papers.  Taking on a project to write a cohesive and entertaining tale of selected exploits that would engage readers from the first to the final page wasn’t something that I was trained to do.  But it was what I wanted to do, and desire is an extremely powerful tool.

And so I began with a straightforward starting point: I had over six hundred pages of handwritten journals.  I transcribed these into a Word document and took notes along the way to help find separation within my stories.  This note taking created the outline I needed as I began to see a sensible chronicle of my life in Taiwan.

Over the next three years, I worked on this version of my story, and as I did so, I also followed a regimental reading program to learn more about authors, writing, and what makes a great novel.  I followed a four-book rotation: Classics, Modern Lit, Religion/History/Politics, and Other, which included Sociology, Grammar, and Biography and Memoir.  The contrast between these genres taught me essentials to developing my own voice and writing style and advanced my grammar, sentence development, and storytelling skills.  Additionally, I also learned a great deal about history, language, culture, and time’s changing effects as new eras redefine popularity and what is deemed “good.”

While I’d love to say that first draft was good, I’ll have to admit it was not.  It was good for a first try though and after taking a few months off and getting some very important feedback from some professionals, I was able to step back and reassess my work.

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Opening Lines

Blogging is new to me.  Although I’ve been writing all my life and have been reading other people’s blogs for years, I’ve never known where to start and my biggest deterrents have always been the same two questions:

What can I write about on a weekly or daily basis?
How would I ever keep it engaging?

For my purposes here, I think I’m going to overcome these questions by using diversified material.  The main reason that I formed this site was to promote my new book, Cheers, Beers, and Eastern Promise.  Previously, this book had been The Krasian Khronicles© and Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of the Best Time Ever©.  Over the years, my story underwent three title changes, three very different drafts, countless revisions, and tons and tons of cuts.  Rather than leave all of that work in the past, I’m going to utilize some of it here to highlight the life of my story and to give an example of how literature can change as it’s developed.

For starters, I’ll show the changes of my first paragraphs, but I need to give some background first.  I’ve always understood that the first paragraphs of a novel are the most important, especially to the potential buyers.  If the opening of a story is not engaging, why would anything that follows be worthwhile to read?  And beyond this thought, the first line of a book can many times – particularly for a first time author – be the most important line of the entire work.  As a first time author, this is how I viewed my first line, first paragraphs, and first chapter.  Because of this, they faced intense scrutiny and underwent massive changes over the years.  I’ve pasted them below so that you can see some of these changes.

In all of these versions, there were story-building ideas that I needed to express.  I wanted to capture setting, character, and tone without overstating it so that the reader was curious to learn more and would continue reading.  Number one was written in 2005.  Number two was written in 2009.  And number three was written in 2010.  The 2010 version is very close to what ended up as my final draft, which I’ll leave in the book for now.  Pick up a copy if you’re interested in seeing the final draft.  I promise that if you like what you see here and throughout the rest of my website, you’ll be glad that you did.

 

1.  It was 2005, two weeks into June, and I was on a solid stag of a motorcycle, both aged and proven.  I rode down the windiest coast of stone and sand I could find.  I looked out over the rising sun and endless ocean.  I scaled mountains with howling winds in my ears and caught the sweet sea salt on my lips.  And I crossed lush valleys, rose to barren peaks, and passed clouds of pillowy mist all to enter clear blue skies again.  It was then that I began to think about how…

 

 

2.  I-Lan County, Taiwan – It was 2005, two weeks into June, and I was on my solid stag of a motorcycle, both aged and proven.  Six-thirty in the morning and I was driving the east coast highway from Luo Dong to Nanao, traversing this winding coast of stone and sand as I had so many times before over the previous eleven months.  I looked out to the rising sun and saw an endless ocean.  I scaled mountains against deafening winds – howling in my ears.  I felt my thirst grow as my lips caught the sweet sea salt permeating the air.

Ahead, lush valleys rose to barren peaks, misty clouds rested upon naked roads, and blue skies patiently waited beyond it all.  Cresting my highest pinnacle of the trip, I began to think about how…

 

 

3.  Nanao, Taiwan[1] – The clouds, once again, were below me.  Riding my motorcycle, I looked down along sheer cliffs, through thin clouds, and into deep blue waves.  The Pacific was churning.  A thin, white froth highlighted the movements of the crashing waves.  Even from so distant a perch, I could see them.

It was 2005, two weeks into June, and I was on my motorcycle, an eleven-year-old silver Honda – she was beautiful.  We knew each other well.  And, once again, she was leading me home.

Six-thirty in the morning and I was driving the east coast highway from Luo Dong to Nanao, traversing this winding coast of stone and sand as I had so many times before.

Looking out again, I saw the rising sun over this endless ocean and continued climbing higher up the mountains.  The deafening winds began howling even louder, seeping through my helmet, beneath my hair, and into my ears.  My thirst began to grow as my lips caught the sweet sea salt that permeated the air.

Ahead, lush valleys rose to barren peaks, misty clouds rested upon naked roads, and blue skies patiently waited beyond it all.  Crossing over the last crest, I could see my path.  I was going home.

 

©Gerald John Abbey

[1] I still think the opening line needs to be stronger (06/10/10)

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Nine Years, Six Cities, Three Drafts, and One Published Book: Some Thoughts Upon Completion

I did it. I have to keep reminding myself: it’s finally done. Nine years. Six cities. Three drafts. And one published book. It’s complete. I’m complete. My greatest effort is over.

Writing a book is hard, especially when you want it to achieve many goals. I wanted to capture a broad readership: my friends, my family, and people who I’ve never met. I wanted everyone from my parents to fiancé to teachers to lonely travelers to librarians to professors to students to everyone and anyone to find not just enjoyment, but true value in reading my story – the value of perspective and reflection, adding their own take to the moments of life we all encounter.

From the feedback so far, I think I have achieved my goal – a goal I sometimes thought was impossible. Even completing my story didn’t seem possible on so many days. The emotional tax of writing wore on me. There were days where I just stared at the screen for hours with nothing to show for it. There were days I wrote for hours and then threw away everything I’d written because it didn’t add anything to the story I was telling; I’d detracted into yet another unrelated tale. And there were days that I looked up and looked back, and I saw that I couldn’t look forward because the view ahead was so murky and depressing; I didn’t know where I was going.

But there were other days too. There were days where I stood up at my desk after hours of straight, zoned-in writing and actually spiked the piles of papers next to me because I was that pumped up – that thrillingly excited about the words I’d just strung together. Those moments brought memories of sporting achievements from my past – such an odd contrast to feel that euphoria from the stage to the dimly lit office where I worked through early mornings and late nights.

But now I’m passed those ups and downs. My book is published, my story is complete, and now it’s time to market it in every way imaginable.

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