I is for Insight

Better people than me are doing it and I am not one to ignore a bandwagon.

Behold the bullet point post:

• I wish I’d had the insight to make this blog anonymous – there are things I feel like saying but because people I know read Charlotte’s Web, I won’t. I shall blurt internally and hope not to damage any organs.
• I had a job interview this week. The first in 10 years. It was rigorous and interesting and made me realise things about myself. See above.
• The Times published its 100 Best Books of the Decade today, leaving out notables such What I loved by Siri Hustvedt, We Need to Talk About Kevin by Lionel Shriver and The March by EL Doctorow. I have read 33 of the 100 books and, finding myself ridiculously well-read, shall only read genre fiction from henceforth. Anyone want to lend me their copy of Twilight?
• I am feeling anxious about my brief trip to South Africa without my family at the end of December. See bullet point 1.
• I plan to write the last third of draft two before the end of the month. That is also making me anxious.
• I submitted a test-query to the Queryshark a couple of weeks ago and it’s not up yet. Ditto anxious.
• While eating chocolate cake is good in and of itself, it neither cures anxiety nor writes chapters for you.
• Neither does reading agents’ and publishers’ blogs and hanging out at writers’ colonies.
• It’s time to channel the anxiety and take it where it needs to go: into Chapter 16 and the protagonist’s crisis.

Farewell, dear blog friends. I hope to return in paragraphs, free of anxiety and with Chapter 16 done and dusted.

Breaking the Silence

One of South Africa’s most senior and eminent businesspeople, Clem Sunter, writes movingly of the AIDS crisis in News24:

We recently witnessed the huge coverage given to the Air France Airbus that crashed into the Atlantic Ocean. Two hundred and twenty-eight people perished in that disaster. Putting our Aids statistics into perspective, the equivalent is four airliners full of mostly young South Africans plunging into the sea every day of every month of every year. And yet silence accompanies their death because they die individually and the majority are from deprived backgrounds.

We should be ashamed and we should do everything to break the sound of silence. We should talk openly about ways to change sexual behaviour to minimise transmission of the virus. We should get the advertising agencies involved since it is their speciality to change behaviour. We should encourage people to get themselves tested and if they test positive seek the appropriate medical treatment. We should focus on compliance with the pill regimen and the fact that even when you feel better you can’t stop taking the pills.

Finally we should openly praise all those heroes and heroines who have dedicated their lives to caring for the victims of the epidemic. They deserve national medals for their bravery and compassion.

(My emphasis.)

Four planes a day crashing into the sea, four planes a day, filled with young people who should be economically active, taking care of their children and their parents and living life. It’s hard to stomach, which is why people don’t talk about it, but it is a tragedy on a giant scale – and one which will come to haunt the South African politicians who messed about for too long toying with dissident science and refusing to commit to providing people with the drugs.

It is easier to mourn one plane than many, as we harden ourselves to horror and stop hearing it. One of the things I’m trying to do in the book I’m writing is to show how AIDS has become a fact of life in South Africa, but how, at the same time, it is a deeply personal and excruciating tragedy for those who die and those who are left behind. Each story is worth telling.

A Suitable Girl

I’ve just read in the Independent Online that Vikram Seth is busy writing the sequel to his giant novel A Suitable Boy. The new book is, of course, going to be called A Suitable Girl. Seth has been paid an advance of 1.7 million pounds, and the new novel will be published in 2013. My God, I’ll be 45 years old, but it will be worth waiting for.

Seth is my favourite kind of novelist: he is lavish with words, he paints a huge canvas and he is political. He faces the issues head-on, tackles the problems of a continent without fear. As a writer, I admire the vastness, the breadth, the daring. As a reader, I can’t wait to dive in and be lost in that world. Go Vikram! And if you feel like finishing it a little earlier, there is one reader here who won’t complain.

As for the advance, I love it when novelists get treated like superstars.

Unplugging

I’m switching off the internet and going downstairs to my office – where my modem conveniently does not work – to write. Just thought you should know that. While I am away, please entertain yourselves with two minutes of madness from the Conchord boys. The line, “Friends laugh together ha ha ha, friends make graphs together la la la” is genius. Watch for the “Ping” – it cracks me up every time.

The Joy of Being Older

I have been spending time with a friend who has an adorable nine-month-old baby. I love this baby for her cleverness and charm, and the sweetness of watching her discover the world. Being with them has brought home to me how my childrens’ baby time is over, and, while I loved it, how grateful I am to have moved on to the next stage. I am 40 and my youngest is four. I’ve just traveled with him to South Africa and Greece, and didn’t need to pack any special equipment – no prams, no special food, no nappies. He pulled his little roll-on suitcase and walked with his sisters the length and breadth of many airports.

I have spent the last ten years in dedicated service to small children. I adore my kids, and now I especially love their growing independence from me. I am no longer essential to their physical survival – any other kind adult could do my job. As they grow and shed their extreme neediness, I feel as if I have also emerged from a chrysalis. Their independence is perfectly matched to mine.

I spent all of last year in preparation for turning 40 in December, and then spent the next six months celebrating that birthday. It was a huge psychological turning point. I turned my mind to fitness, healthy eating and writing – doing things for me, my body and my psyche. At the risk of sounding smug, I feel as if I have arrived. I am not becoming, but being. And the best thing is, I have got at least 40 more years ahead of me to feel this way.

Today’s Observer has a brilliant focus on old age. The people they report on are extraordinary – a 98-year-old marathon runner, a 71-year-old yoga teacher, an 85-year-old sculptor – and what comes across is the fun they have in living. Of course, what  they share is the luck of good health, the fortune of living in the privileged West, but even so they have survived world wars, epidemics and economic disasters.

Here are some quotes:

For Mary, aspects of growing old are met with relief, even joy. “In a way, emotionally, you change back. I am freer now to feel intense excitement like I used to as an adolescent – being out of doors, for example, or listening to music. I somehow didn’t have time for that when I was bringing up my children and working full-time. I have been able to spend much more time with my youngest grandchild than with the older ones, and that’s been wonderful, too.” Jean Crossley, grandmother, 100

“Yoga can have a tremendous effect on you, whatever age you start,” she says, “but I find I don’t need to do much practice to keep supple, as my awareness of my body posture has become second nature over the years.” She reveals that yoga has a more meaningful message, too. “I’m aware of the fragility of health and that it can change without warning. So I always retain a sense of detachment – I’m not pleased with myself if I do a complicated yoga pose, I’m pleased for myself. You’ve never got life cracked. Yoga teaches you that.” Pam Horton, yoga teacher, 71

The key to a healthy old age, he says, is continuing to work and “doing something you like doing. You’re so much more likely to go on living if you’re happy, and making art makes us both happy.” London, where he has lived since he married Sheila 60 years ago, has been another important factor. “Old people are really a pain in the neck and one of the joys of living in London is that you see young people. You could isolate yourself and be less stressed, but one of the pleasures is seeing what’s going on.” Sir Anthony Caro, sculptor, 85

And for Fauja age isn’t even a consideration: “I do not consider myself to be old. From the moment I do that, I would lose everything, because age is a state of mind – as long as you’re positive you can do anything.” Fauja Singh, runner, 98

Apart from luck, the common denominator amongst these amazing people is joy. I’d risk saying that their wisdom, joy and pleasure in life has been partially responsible for their health and longevity. Their stories increase my belief that I have every chance of being a joyful 85-year-old yoga-practising writer.

Where Am I?

I keep opening Bloglines and feeling disappointed that my post isn’t live yet. Then I realise that it’s because I haven’t posted. On the way back from Berlin, driving through steady rain while my family slept or gently bickered with each other, a brand-new narrator with a voice all of her own, popped into my head. She arrived, fully formed, and ready to rock the story.

Today, I sat down and wrote a rollicking new first chapter, with this new narrator pulling all the pieces together like a very clever seamstress. I’m quite in love with her. If I wasn’t me, I’d want to be her.

So where I am at the moment is neither Crete nor Berlin. I’m in the cellar, in my office, at my laptop, writing like a dervish. And having fun. See you when I next emerge!

In Which I Guest

Today I’m pointing you to other places on the Web where I’ve been writing. First up, tech blogger Vinnie Michandani asked me to contribute to his series “Technology and my Hobby”. I was very honoured to participate, and I wrote a piece on technology and writing. Please check out the whole series, which includes such diverse topics as technology and reading, techonology and soprano singing, technology and horse-riding.

Also, my latest article is up at Buzzine. I reviewed Jamie Woolf’s book “Mom-in-Chief”, and then interviewed the author.

Happy reading!

Look! It’s Friday!

And a week since I last posted. I said that I was looking forward to getting the scalpel out and applying it to the first draft, but actually the process has been quite painful. I have excised chunks of back story that no longer seem relevant, and have said farewell to parts that, although I think are well-written, no longer serve the story. I may find a way to weave them back in, but only if they play a clear role. However, this process of making space opens up new realms, so new ideas are coming, some of which I hope will strengthen the story.

This week, I have been working on my plot planner, with each scene inscribed on a different colour Post-It; green for character development, pink for plot development, yellow for thematic significance and orange for political/social relevance. It’s colourful, but it’s taking a looong time and makes me feel very critical of what I have already written. I’m facing up to the gaps and that’s not comfortable.

I would like to put it on the record now that the next time I write a novel, I will plot it first. Starting with the characters and weaving a story around them has turned this into a moveable feast that is still changing. I like where it’s got to, but the quantum leap from where I started to where I am now has to be seen to be believed.

Also on the record: I will finish this plotting process before I leave for Greece (family wedding on Crete – how lucky am I?) next Friday, so that when I return I can start rewriting. I am getting excited for word and paragraph level, ready to leave the macro and dive down into the miniscule. By the time I go, I need my architect’s plan in place so that I can start brick-building. I’m looking forward to that!

First Draft Audit

It’s Friday, so I guess I’m fessing. Anyone going to join me in the booth?

Here is the recently-completed audit of the first draft of my novel:

Potential titles: 8

Main characters: 1

Secondary characters: 4

Tertiary characters: 76

Scenes: 119

Word count: 86, 281

Research books read: 9

Time it took to get from 0 to here: 15 months

I am immensely proud that I have got this far. This is the first time ever that I have completed a draft, that I have committed to a character and stuck with it to the end. I have a story, from start to finish, and that alone is an achievement for me, especially given that I do not have huge chunks of time to devote to writing. I have fitted it in the cracks and corners of my life, in between cooking lunches, taking people to dance classes and indulging in my own new exercise regime.

So now that I have a story, I have to admit it is far from perfect. Some parts are looking decidedly unattractive. And it’s about to undergo some radical plastic surgery.

In December, I followed Martha, the Plot Whisperer, as she led writers through a month-long plot planning exercise and promised myself that when I was finished, I would do her course and apply what I had learnt to my plot. I printed it out and am now working steadily through it. It’s both inspiring and practical. My next challenge is to decide which of my multiple scenes to cut, where I need to add scenes and then to arrange them on all Post-Its along a plot line. When that is complete, I can start on the second draft.

I am really looking forward to digging the scalpel in.

Seeking a Character Flaw

I’m back at my novel, after having had a break, and I am deeply into a plotting exercise that I have to complete before I start the second draft. I’ve been trying to get inside the skin of my main protagonist, Lindiwe Dlamini, for over a year now. I know her fairly well, but it’s an ongoing process of discovery. Let me tell you a little about Lindiwe:

She’s in her late fifties, and, having started her career as a teacher, now heads up a Swiss-funded AIDS organisation. Lindiwe’s husband Andile was a community organiser who died in police detention in the Eighties. He was the love of her life and she has never – despite taking part in the Truth and Reconciliation Commission – had any closure on how he died or who was responsible. Her oldest son Peter died of AIDS in his mid-twenties. Her second child, Bongani, manages a small business and is happily married with two children. Her daughter, Mbali, is a fashion journalist in Joburg and shows no signs of settling down, though she has a handsome boyfriend who spoils her. Neither child approves of their mother’s work in AIDS: they think she has worked too hard all her life and that she should retire and enjoy her grandchildren.

However Lindiwe is committed to doing her best for her community. Shaped by apartheid and their religious beliefs, it’s how she and Andile tried to live their lives. Turning away now would be a betrayal of their shared goals. So she keeps working, helping those less fortunate than herself. During the course of the story, a series of events will challenge Lindiwe’s belief in community, and she will have to decide whether to choose a small group of individuals over the collective.

Here’s my problem: isn’t Lindiwe a bit too perfect? I’ve said before that I have a tendency to write lead characters who are too damn nice. As chief protagonist, Lindiwe needs to be relatively likeable, otherwise we might lose sympathy with her. I do feel though that she needs a flaw – apart from her sugar vice – that makes her a little more complex and nuanced.

You have more emotional distance from Lindiwe than I have. Please, suggest a flaw. She needs one.