The word road

Thanks for the response to my questions about Solitaire. I see your point about not wanting to come out with a disappointing sequel, as they so often are. I think Tolkien is probably the only one whose sequels were as good as the initial novel, and you could argue that they aren’t sequels at all but one huge novel parceled into publishable units. At the same time, Solitaire was such a great book that it would be nice to continue it, and hope that literary lightning strikes the same place twice. I liked your idea re: Jackal/Snow/Scully, assuming the novel is not simply an exploration of Jackal’s melancholy and adjustment. Will she conquer Ko? The world? herself?

Thanks for the favorite books –” I am not familiar with them, but am always happy to hear about quality writing.

Anyway, looking forward to seeing the next novel, whatever it might be.

Julia


Hi, Julia.

Yes, I’m looking forward to the next novel too. I confess that one of my favorite parts of writing is “having written,” if you know what I mean –” it’s nice when it’s done and I can just pat it happily and then go have a beer. It’s not my only favorite part, thought: I’ve learned the hard way that I have to enjoy writing as well as having written.

I’ve read the first chapter of the new book (working title Hollow) twice, to very different audiences (a high school student/faculty audience in New Hampshire, and a group of science fiction readers at the Science Fiction Museum in Seattle). Both readings got a great response, which gives me confidence that I’ve made a good start. Now I just have to not fuck it up.

Hollow is not Solitaire, but it’s already clear to me that I’m exploring some similar questions and concerns. And some different ones, as well –” it’s not a retread. At least I sincerely hope not. I do not want to be a writer who writes one book over and over and over. Makes me think of a fly trapped between a window and the screen, batting itself around trying to find its way out.

I console myself with thinking about how different the book after Hollow will be (I already have some ideas….) But, you know, I bet that someone who has read Solitaire and Hollow will see immediate connections with that one, no matter how “different” I think it is. I’m starting to see my writing as a highway system: a small town might be pretty different from a big city, but the same road can run through both.

Writing and words

Happy Spring, Kelley!

Join me for a pint of Guinness, eh? No, not the stuff sold here in the U.S., but an actual draft from a pub in Ennis, Ireland, where we saw some local musicians jamming three years ago. Tastes better over there somehow.

So much to do, so much to say. I finally got Laura, my wife, to read Solitaire in December. As a schoolteacher, Laura is always too busy to read, but over her winter break, she asked me for a suggestion and your book was the first I put in her hands. I think she finished it in a day or two, couldn’t put it down. But I realized when she was done that the story and characters were no longer fresh enough in my mind to really talk with her about it. In the middle of the holiday season, I filed this away mentally for later review.

So here I am two months later, end of a gloomy February, and checking out VP and I follow your link to the web journals of Jackal and the others and I know it’s time. So I read it again, savoring the words and yet still gobbling them down in two days.

So this story is my usual long set-up for a couple of pints…er, points. First, kudos on a work that wears well. I read a lot, and re-read my favorites frequently. I love it when I continue to get more and more out of a book the more I read it. I’m already looking forward to the next go-round with Solitaire, when it’s time again.

I agree with the hesitation to try a sequel, and at the same time absolutely love the web journals and want more of them. The everyday nature of the journals makes the characters even more human and real to me without forcing them into an artificial plot as many sequels do. Because, in most cases, what I want from a sequel is more time with the people I’ve fallen for in the first installment, and artificial plots detract from that and can even make great characters less consistent and human. So –” love the web journals!

And (at long last) a question: when you’re writing, are you conscious of the words? I was struck during this reading of Solitaire by what seemed a very deliberate choice and positioning of words. I dimly recall a monologue from Tom Stoppard’s The Real Thing in which the playwright character compares good writing to a good cricket bat –” he debunks the idea that writing is merely the process of stringing words together in readable sentences, declaring that good writing is a craft which at its best is undetectable –” you can’t see the seams, but you can tell the difference when the ball hits the bat. Well, I’m not saying your seams are showing, merely that as a writer myself I can appreciate the crisp sound of the ball off a good bat as much as I can the resulting line drive to the wall. (Okay, was that three metaphors mixed in a single sentence, not to mention scrambling cricket with baseball? Hmmm… another sip of caffeine…)

Back to the point –” when you are writing, are you consciously crafting the structure at the same time as you are building the plot? Some writers write a draft straight through to get it down, then knock out the dents in rewrites. Some writers revise as they go — not recommended, but possible. Do you rewrite a great deal to make sure every word is properly placed, or do you place words deliberately as you go and tend to stay closer to an original draft?

Wow. Like Jackal, I’m tempted to delete this rambling post in favor of a simpler, less revealing howdy. But what would be the fun in that?

Thanks for the ear and the forum. Not to mention the now-empty glasses on the bar…

Keep passing the open windows,

Adam Diamond


Hey, Adam.

Isn’t it true about Guinness? We went to Dublin about four years ago, and I fell in love with everything about the place. Wonderful time, which included my first taste of Guinness (“The Guinness,” as the barman called it when he drew it for us….) There’s an Irish pub in our old neighborhood in Seattle that sometimes manages to make the Guinness taste like the memory of that trip, for which I’m grateful.

I’m glad Laura enjoyed Solitaire. I always feel an inordinate glee when Nicola likes a book I’ve recommended, since it often doesn’t work out that way. We dislike many of the same books, and we have a short but precious list of books that are treasures for us both, but there’s a vast middle ground that we just shake our heads across in fond bemusement. Then she curls up with treatises about the plague in the Middle Ages, and I go back to Stephen King and Carlos Castaneda (huh, Castaneda –” haven’t read him in a while. So there you go, that’s the next book that’s coming off the shelf).

I have begun updating the journals on a more regular basis, and am hoping to keep them more active. I’m feeling my way through questions like “how often” and “how much overlap,” and the balance between daily details and “plot.” There is some plot there, a story that’s slowly taking shape in my head. But I’m with you on the point being more time with the characters, as opposed to Great Big Fast-Moving Story. The more I work with the journal format, the more potential I see in it for really interesting forms of story –” multiple viewpoints, multiple points of entry for readers, and (at least for me) a sense that it’s more difficult for the writer (me) to force an agenda on the characters. And it’s an incredible chance to explore the accretion of small daily consistencies and changes that make a life and a person. So do please keep reading, if you haven’t been back in a while.

For those who may not have found all the links:

Jackal
Snow
Scully
Crichton
Estar
Zack the cat
Solitaire

As for writing and words, well…. big question. Short answer: the words have to be right before I can move on. This doesn’t mean that it’s perfect on the first draft (I so wish). But I can’t just write any damn sentence in order to get the plot down on paper. I’m constantly refining as I work. I find it hard to separate “plot” from “character” from “the writing” –” to me, it’s the choice of words that builds character and story. The right words are an integral part of the story, not a layer that I put on top of it like icing. If the sentences aren’t right, then they won’t build the right story.

Although I outline, there’s so much of the story that only emerges in the emotional and psychological connections that form the conscious and unconscious structure of the work. And most times, I don’t know what those are until I see them on paper. If a scene is right, on the writing level as well as the “plot” level, then the story becomes deeper.

In our essay in Bookmark Now, Nicola talks about the fact that expert writers can paper over the cracks in a flawed story, but unless the flaws are dealt with, the story won’t ring true. I think this is absolutely right. I have just recently tossed about 5,000 words of Hollow (the new book) because they weren’t right. They were really nice words, beautiful sentences, great scenes with lots of feelings-n’-stuff –” all my stock in trade –” but they weren’t right for the story. I was able to go back pretty quickly and find the weak point, and rebuild from there. I don’t think I would have been able to do that if I didn’t have essential confidence that the book up to that point was solid. And I only have the confidence when the words are basically right.

This kind of rewriting happens all the time for me. It’s a constant process of refining the words to polish the rhythms and resonances, to solidify the emotional through-line, to balance the interior and exterior worlds of the characters. For me, it’s the only way to discover the deeper levels of story that I’m sometimes not aware of when I develop an outline. My work is all about character, and humans manifest themselves through large and small reactions to the world, through feeling and action. These can be subtle things, and require attention to nuance: a certain precision, even in a first draft.

Some writers would think this means I “waste” a lot of words. I don’t see it that way. For me, building a work is a three-dimensional process, a weaving rather than a layering.

This is hard to articulate. It’s one of the deepest, most fundamental aspects of my writing. If I’m not making sense, or need to clarify, I hope you’ll let me know.

Windows open, weather is fine. Enjoy your summer.