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Making it up...

2007-04-03

Good morning Boys and Girls.

April 3rd.

As I struggle on toward the end of the first draft of the book I've been working on the last few months, I find the same thing happening that's happened during the writing of my two others: the closer you get to the end, the harder it gets.

After rereading the previous paragraph, I see it could be the answer to a joke/riddle. Why is writing a book like having... never mind. That was in poor taste.

In some respects, writing a novel is nothing more than weaving a lengthy and intricate lie. And, like all really good lies, it should have as many factual elements scattered into the story as possible to give it plausibility.

The difference, of course, is that a "lie" is usually told to deceive, while a decent novel, aside from hopefully being entertaining, is often meant to present little truths in a manner that may be more easily accepted and understood by the reader than simply stating them, list like, in a straightforward and dry litany. The challenge is making whatever points you hope to make without coming off preachy or stilted. It can be difficult, at least for me.

A zillion years ago, when I was youngster, one of the most popular books and movies of the day was the World War II era drama, "The Summer of '42." Some of you close to my age might remember this wonderfully written story about a young boy meeting and falling in love with a woman who, along the way, becomes a war widow.

'42 gave me a far greater understanding of the genuine anguish people suffered waiting for news of their loved ones overseas; far greater, in fact, than I'd ever had before even though I'd heard all about how awful it had been during the war throughout my childhood.

The story? A lie. But within the parameters of the story's plot and the characters suffering, a simple truth became crystal clear to me.

This example simply popped into my head, probably because I was so young when I experienced it and it seems to me it was one of the first times I remember coming away from a novel feeling as though I'd really learned something.

Surely we've all had these baby epiphanies as a result of reading good fiction, or seeing an especially well done movie.

I don't pretend to have the talent to do "big stories" or make earthshaking pronouncements in what I write, but I'd like to think I have the perseverance to keep at it till I get it right regarding saying the little things I want to have said by virtue of the experiences I force my characters to endure.

So, it's with that in mind, that as I move on toward the last ten or fifteen percent of the text, I always find myself trying to figure out whether I've said what I'm hoping to say, and whether, at least to my ears and eyes, I've said it in a truthful way.

A strange exercise, isn't it? Am I lying truthfully?


Be good to everyone.

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figjam (2007-04-03)
It is strange when you put it that way. Never really thought of it like that. I'm sure it will all come together perfectly though. (There's that cheerfulness again....)

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