Ginger Snapped

One of the most vital aspects of being able to fulfill one’s calling as an anguished writer is to have someone who understands. Today’s guest post is brought to you by William Johnson, also known as the Gingerbread Man. Ginger cannot confirm or deny any of the following allegations. From the outside, to a non-writer, there are only three stages to writing a novel. The first stage involves mornings when I awaken to the sound of pencil on paper, scribbling furiously. I see my writer intently pouring her soul into a small notebook. When I venture a question… “Honey, when do you think…?” I am greeted by a “Shhh, not now.” If the muses have been kind, these mornings may involve an hour of ecstatic outpouring, rarely more. The activity sometimes comes in fits and starts, but often seems to most resemble the gush of a firehose from brain to paper. At times, there is transfer of notes to computer with smiles and giggles abounding. It seems that a writer truly enjoys this part of writing...

Writing a novel has often been compared to giving birth. I’ve done both twice, so I can attest to the fact that it’s a good metaphor–you write for nine months, then in a final painful push, drug-induced or not, you give birth to a being that didn’t exist before. Too often, the metaphor stops there. It shouldn’t. Just as no self-respecting mother would send her baby out into the world after the snip of the umbilical cord and a quick clean up, no writer should ever send a manuscript out into the world so new and so fresh. It takes time and love and energy and dedication to raise a child. So, too, does it take significant effort to raise and revise a worthy novel. Some things cannot be rushed, no matter how much we writers seek validation or legitimacy, no matter how many times a well-meaning relative asks about “the writing,” and if we’re ever going to “finish that thing.” It’s ok to be a first draft for a while. Perhaps we need to stop thinking of our first drafts with Anne Lam...

I just finished reading an ARC of Ruta Sepetys's new novel Salt to the Sea.  It is the story of WWII refugees aboard the Wilhelm Gustloff . The story is told in four voices, with the first four chapters introducing each of the four characters. Sepetys begins these four chapters with "_____ is a hunter." Each character is given an emotion: Guilt is a hunter. Fate is a hunter. Shame is a hunter.  And finally, the last character: Fear is a hunter.   I'm not doing justice to this wonderful and heartbreaking story, but I'm stuck right now on Fear is a hunter. The emotion of fear is assigned to the despised character. I don't want to be like the despised character. And yet, I'm fearful. The fear of my inadequacies drives me to all kinds of activities other than what I should be doing (writing), what I want to be doing (writing). So I turn around and face the hunter. I'm not perfect, I say. I'm not invincible, I say. You can't hurt me, I say...

1 And the Lord spake unto Moses in mount Sinai, saying, 2 Speak unto the children of Israel, and say unto them, When ye come into the land which I give you, then shall the land keep a sabbath unto the Lord. 3 Six years thou shalt sow thy field, and six years thou shalt prune thy vineyard, and gather in the fruit thereof; 4 But in the seventh year shall be a sabbath of rest unto the land, a sabbath for the Lord: thou shalt neither sow thy field, nor prune thy vineyard. This blog is in its seventh year, its year of sabbatical. In that year, I have revised two middle grade novels, wrote two picture books, attended three writing retreats, served as a graduate assistant at VCFA, met Julie Paschkis, had lunch with Roger Sutton, spoke to Katherine Paterson, received an honorable mention for the SCBWI Work-in-Progress grant, committed to return to my art studies, and traveled domestically and abroad to refill my cup. It's been a good year. The writing life is alive and well, and n...