I’ve started work, writing, the sequel to The Slick Furies, again. While re-editing The Slick Furies. Also knowing I have a finished novella still “resting,” waiting for me to get into that edit. I realized this morning why I hadn’t finished writing this sequel before. I wasn’t saying what I wanted to say. Not to state the obvious, writing fiction is making up stories, that’s what I love about it, the thing is to bring emotional honesty to that. When your characters aren’t saying what they need to say, when your characters aren’t speaking from their emotional truths, the story isn’t going to have any depth, and the reader has no other way of knowing what’s going on with that character if it isn’t written in the story in some way. I was asking myself, during previous attempts at this story, “What is the story about?” To which my answer was essentially the outline, the synopsis, of the book. I kept thinking, I’ve got this story completely in my head, how come I’m not getting it on the page? How come I keep setting it aside? I hadn’t asked myself how these characters would be feeling, what they would be thinking, at this point in the story, in their story. Today I found that. Does that mean I’ll finish writing it this time? I plan to. Time will tell. I think another reason why I kept putting it off, getting into writing a longer, new, story, a novel, had to do with the fact that my life is pretty good right now, and I’ve been enjoying that. Writing a book requires an emotional commitment to the material, an emotional fidelity, if you will, it isn’t ditch digging, as we say, but it isn’t easy either. I think I didn’t want to make that investment, because now that I have, I have. So, on I go.
I also found my Def Leppard cd on the floor under a table in my office today.
Movies recently watched:
Stephen King’s “Silver Bullet”, enjoyed it. Good werewolf story. I love a good werewolf story. “American Made,” which is a Tom Cruise vehicle about the real life story of Barry Seal, who ended up “working” not only for the CIA, but also Pablo Escobar, and others. Though liberties were taken with the telling, obviously, it was nonetheless a good movie, if not somewhat educational. Watched the Francis Ford Coppola adaptation of Bram Stoker’s “Dracula.” I’d seen most of this film before, however I hadn’t sat down and watched it from start to finish prior to this. Beautiful adaptation, horrifying, film. We bought a copy of it so no doubt I’ll be watching it again. I’m also wanting to nab a copy of the 1979 version of “Dracula” starring Frank Langella, with Kate Nelligan, Donald Pleasence, and Sir Laurence Olivier as Dr. Van Helsing, it’s a pretty good version of the story as well.
I was thinking, again, about how I didn’t want to write about vampires, despite the fact that writing horror is something that I seem uniquely qualified for in so many ways. It took me a while to sort some things out, to make peace with some things myself. I said at the end of The Slick Furies, in my notes about the book, that it is essentially a book, a story, about transformation. I think most adults are familiar with the concept of before and after, those places in life where there’s the before whatever it was, and there’s the after. So be it. Now, I am a poetess, and I am a horror writer.