What Now? Awaiting the Muse, or Not

Clash of the Innocents, my second novel,  has started its way in the world and the inevitable question is, "what now?"  I have a list of projects, all lined up like ducks in a row, that have been waiting patiently for me to have the time and the brain-space to attend to them.  I don't believe in waiting for the muse.  I believe she exists, but I'm sure that if she comes aknockin' on my door and my head's under the pillow, I won't hear her and that will be that.  So I'm always thinking about the next project, and the closer I come to finishing one the more intensely I need to start pursuing the next.

But I know enough now about writers and artists to know that we all work differently, so I thought I'd ask:

        When you've finished a project ( a story, a novel, a play, a poem, a painting, a composition, whatever), how do you decide what to work on next?


Do you sit down and wait to see what arises?  If you work in several genres, do you alternate between them?  Do you give yourself a break from creating anything at all in order to "recharge," or do you plunge immediately into the next?  Do you even think about it?  Does it matter? Do you wait for the muse to strike or do you force her hand?

Please give a little think about this and place a comment in the box.  I'll report back on what I expect will be a very wide range of approaches.   And in the meantime, and since we're talking about the muse, here's a little background music, from Muse, to help you along (and thanks to Juicyestates.com for the ducks image and Speedemon6 for the videoclip):  

Reviewing the Publishing Roller Coaster

Gentle Reader,
If you cast your eyes ever so slightly to the right, you will see my "Progress Report" Bar.  Do notice that it is completely, completely, filled in with a lovely purple hue from left all the way to the right.  Yes, it's really true this time.  I have, to the best of my current ability, completed Novel "2," now known as A Clash of Innocents.  Set in Cambodia in 2007 and against the backdrop of the Tribunal held to bring the leaders of the Pol Pot era to justice, it follows the lives of Western adults and Khmer children and their Phnom Penh orphanage.  It is a story about hidden identities and questioned motives, about the aftermath of murder, guilt and innocence. Undoubtedly, you'll be hearing more about this as time goes by.  But I thought this might be a particularly good time for me to look back on the roller coaster that was the publication of my first novel, Tangled Roots, and help remind us all of the sorts of highs and lows the coming months may have in store.  In some ways, writing the thing is the easy part......
We begin in 2005:
I finish my manuscript. UP
I sign on with an agent.  UP
We show it to over 40 US publishers who mostly love it but don't want to publish it (for "marketing reasons")  DOWN
During the course of writing what I thought was novel 2, I realize that I am actually writing the other half of novel 1 and do a complete rewrite  DOWN then UP
Agent brings new novel to NY Book Fair.  Many love it, but don't want to buy it (for "marketing reasons")  DOWN
After a year of rejections by "the big boys," I get tired of it all and show it to the editor of bluechrome for his advice.  He asks to publish it though advises me to show it to the big UK firms first.  I decide I've had enough showing it around and I say yes to his publishing it.  UP
I begin my blog and my new life on the internet UP
The hard cover of Tangled Roots is launched. HUGE UP
I hire a pr firm who set up a series of interviews and articles about me and my new book.  UP
Lovely reviews start coming in UP, but none in mainstream press  DOWN
I pack my bags and go out on the road, visiting bookstores around the UK, selling handfuls of books as I go.  UP
My agent suddenly and unexpectedly retires.  DOWN
No foreign rights of any sort have been sold.  DOWN
I (temporarily, as it turns out) sign up with a lovely new agency so that my book isn't out there all alone in the world  UP 
The paperback is published  UP
My publisher begins to disappear without any indication of distribution, press, royalties etc.  DOWN
My publisher disappears for good, so it seems.  DOWN

And now it is four years, 11 UPs and 8 DOWNs later.  I'm that much older, somewhat wiser, just as optimistic but with a stronger light of reality shining in my eyes.  I won't pretend that riding these roller coasters are easy.  I also won't pretend that I don't fight nearly every day against varying degrees of fatigue and despair.  But I'm still here.  A new book is written.  I'm sure it will have its own tumultuos life and I will be moaning and celebrating with you here throughout.  So, what have I learned from all this?  Nothing, except that reason has very little to do with this writing life of ours.  The highs of the ups don't always make up for the lows of the downs.  But the more I allow myself to think about stopping the roller coaster and getting off, the more I realize I never will. 

"So", she says with a very deep breath and a resigned nod of the head, "ever onward."

Genius Floored: A Report and a Competition

Genius Floored: a great title for a wonderful book with a great cover (sorry, the photo doesn't do it justice). Published by Soaring Penguin, a small press that heard about the project and stepped up to help. Thank God for small presses.....

Friday evening I went to the launch/reading of this anthology which, I am most pleased to say, I am a part of. The collection is the brainchild of the poet, Ruth O'Callaghan, who is the whirlwind that organizes some of the most interesting poetry readings in London. For several years, she has been sponsoring readings throughout town in aid of the Cold Weather Shelter Projects in Camden. It's an important local charity whose work is visible in a most tangible way all around us. As Ruth notes in her Foreword:

This anthology is a tribute to those poets who have consistently attended the Camden and Lumen poetry evenings -- the proceeds of which support two Cold Weather Shelters for the Homeless. The guests at these Shelters actually sleep where the poets read which adds to the intimacy of the occasions.

The collection features poems both from readers from the floor and internationally known poets. Most of the poets included have already seen their work in print, although I believe that, for a few, this is their first publication. It is an honour to have my poem rest between the same covers as these emerging poets, as well as such recognizable names as Fiona Sampson, Marilyn Hacker, Alison Brackenbury, Alan Brownjohn, U.A.Fanthorpe.

Genius Floored is not for sale through bookshops or Amazon or The Book Depository. It is sold through Ruth and the poets and actually, most of the run is already gone. In some ways, this really is a collector's item. But I do have a copy which I would love to give away to someone eager to read some fabulous poetry offered in aid of an important cause. I'm happy to post it first class to anyone anywhere. So, what is the competition? Well, I thought about it and I decided it is too important a book to do anything "cute" or flippant. So, just post a comment and tell me you want it. First come, first served, as they say.

You know, people sometimes ask what poetry does for us anyway. Well, quite a lot, really.

Edits and Readings

I'm in a bit of a rush right now so this will be quick.
A couple of weeks ago I made a big announcement that I had completed my new manuscript. Well, never mind.
In my exuberance, not to mention impatience, I made that statement before I heard the comments of one of my trusted readers. Well, they don't call them "trusted readers" for nothing. I do trust this woman and so when she said my novel seemed like a tapestry with some threads missing, I listened to her. Indeed, the book was all there -- mostly -- but I hadn't gone through and made sure all my threads were tightly woven, that each theme was mentioned and present throughout. You can't ask a reader to feel strongly about something if you only mention it once 75 pages earlier. Hmmm. So I've spent the past two days starting at the beginning and restitching, so to speak. Adding little reminders here, little mentions there, pulling it all together. It's been interesting and, actually, fun. Reading something all together, all in one go (or as close as possible) is incredibly helpful. For me, it's the only way to see when things have gotten dropped and when new things appear out of nowhere. I should be finished tomorrow, and then on facebook and twitter I'll make a new proclamation. And on here, I'll update my meter to show a completed work with well over 80,000 words. And then...and then...the fun begins. Sending it out. Seeing what will come of it. Being at this point a second time around is a whole new feeling. It makes me think it would be a good time to look back and revisit the roller coaster of publishing Tangled Roots. Yes, I think I may do that next week.

But for now, goodnight. I'm off tomorrow to the launch of a new poetry anthology in support of The Cold Weather Shelter Project that I am most pleased to be a part of. I'm thrilled to know that my poetry will lie within the same covers as that by such important poets as Sampson, Hacker, Brownjohn, among others. Thanks to the wonderful poet, Ruth O'Callaghan, for being the guiding light behind the creation of this book and the support of this important program. Come along if you can: 6.30 for 7 pm Friday, 18 September United Reform Church, 1 Buck Street, Camden, London. Oh, and poets from the floor are welcome.


Oops. Gotta' run....

History and Politics in Berlin

Living in Europe, I'm surrounded by history in a way I never was living in New York. Of course it's in the nature of history that most of it is before my time and only really touches me tangentially, at best. But I remember the Cold War. It was the backdrop of my childhood. All the fears, real and imagined, are still there inside me, almost on a cellular level. So, for me Berlin -- with its constant reminders of life as it was and hopes for life as it will be -- was an incredibly moving revelation. As a seven-year-old, I remember having air raid drills where we were lined up in the school hallway and told to sit curled up facing the walls. I remember thinking that my small curved back would make a perfect target for a falling bomb, and I had nightmares about it for years. When the Wall came down, I was on my way to a life in Britain and I felt as if I was a part of history in a way I never had been before. So for a weekend's worth of time, I felt my heart breaking and knitting back together over and over again as I walked for miles around this miraculous city.

Despite the fact that Checkpoint Charlie now seems as touristy as something out of Disney, it was amazing for me to see it. And the last remaining stretch of the wall covered with the "Eastside Gallery's" mile of graffitti brought tears to my eyes. Yes, Iknow I am a hopeless romantic and I admit that many of my leftish leanings may be based on innocent optimism, but that doesn't bother me. Berlin seems to me to be a city all about hope and optimism. As the city prepares to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the Wall's coming down, it is a living testimony that life can change for the better, that individual rights can win out.

So, what could have been better than landing, after a full day of sightseeing, smack in the middle of a new Berlin-style demonstration? As I walked towards my hotel, the road was blocked off with rows of police cars. Ordinarily, something like that would frighten me and hurl me in some other direction. But from a block away I could see balloons flying into the sky, I could hear German techno-punk rock n roll blaring from Potsdamer Platz, and I was pulled towards it. The square and surrounding roads were full of people of all ages, many carrying signs, some on floats, some handing out leaflets or wearing pirate hats. Unfortunately, I don't speak German, so I asked someone if they spoke English and could tell me what the demonstration was about. The best she could explain in her limited English was that the government was proposing to make a new law limiting access to the internet, and that it had to do with censorship and human rights. I think it was a demonstration against the sort of law we are facing here in the UK (thanks to Elizabeth Baines for circulating this). To be honest, at the time it wasn't the facts of the arguments that moved me. Rather, it was the fact that here in Berlin citizens were freely congregating to express their opinions in a way that was serious, yet fun and safe, with urgency but without violence. I tend to stay far away from such gatherings here in London, even if I agree with the issue. But there in Berlin, I was thrilled to have stumbled upon it and it touched on a fervent idealism that, I fear, has been lying dormant for too long. A real thrill.

Not Back to School

Yesterday was the first day in over twenty years when, all things being equal, I didn't have to wake up at some ungodly hour to send some kid off to school. I slept in until 8.30 (jet-lag assisted). The house was quiet -- the husband was already at work. Over coffee and emails, I looked around and thought to myself, "this might not be so bad after all." I always felt that every September brought some new permutation of my life, different work maybe, perhaps a different schedule, certainly different worries. But the one constant was that the daily, operational needs of my kids always came first, and now they don't. Both of them are living their own lives, not looking to me for food or carpools or clean clothes. And you know, it's pretty sweet. Although when I pass Number 2 Son's empty bedroom I still feel that dull ache in the middle of my chest, I'm already beginning to realize that putting myself first on a more regular basis is going to be just fine.

So here are some random thoughts about my new "Not Back to School" life.

* Travel. I love to travel. I find it incredibly important both to me personally, and to my work. I'm no longer bound to school holidays (imagine skiing with empty lift lines!) and I no longer have to worry about babysitting. And as it happens, although I just got back from the summer hols yesterday, I'm off to Berlin tomorrow for a weekend conference my Husband is attending. I've always wanted to go to Berlin and this is a great chance to do it (and, who knows...I might even run into George Szirtes who is there as well, according to his blog.)

* Book Launches. I love going to book launches and I love supporting writers both in their struggles and their triumphs. Over the past couple of years I've gotten to know more and more writers, and that's meant more and more book launch invitations, many of which I've had to decline. I never wanted to be out too many evenings in a week. But now, especially given my husband's intense work schedule, I can go to many more of these.

* Theatre. My work with CurvingRoad has also introduced me to many new playwrights, actors and directors. Here in London, the amount of theatre available on any given night is endless, and many of them now feature the work of people I know. My newly free evenings will certainly land me in many more theatre seats.

* Music. For years I have played in the violin section of The Kensington Philharmonic. We rehearse every Monday night, and although I've made sure I've attended most of those rehearsals, it always meant rushing out of the house just when some son or other was coming home. I've always felt uncomfortable about that. But now... (and here's a shameless plug: our next concert is in Chelsea Town Hall on Sunday evening, 22 November -- an all Dvorak concert, including the wonderful cello concerto).

I suppose the common theme here is time (not that I've ever obsessed about that subject before, as all you "Tangled Roots" readers understand). I now have more time for me, and you know, that's not so bad after all.

But what about work, I hear you ask? Well, that's going to be interesting as well this year. I have a new manuscript burning a metaphorical hole in my computer, and next week I start sending it around to agents. For various complicated reasons, it's time for me to find a new one. A fearsome task, to be sure, but I've decided to be as positive and optimistic as humanly possible. I'll keep you posted. And while that novel is finding a home there'll be time to finish up the poetry collection I've been working on for a few years. And in early 2010, I hope to see a production of my first full-length play (more on that later, as well). And then there's always a new play to write and, indeed, a new novel. That should keep me busy. And to ward off evil spirits, here is a hilarious short video that I'm nabbing from Jamieson Wolf's blog (with his permission) showing one man's way of dealing with horrible reviews.

The Real Wizard of Oz

I had a wonderful professor back in graduate school who we affectionately called "Kenny Rainbow." There were many reasons for this, but the main reason was that through the years, into middle and then older age, he continued to be a huge "Wizard of Oz" fan. And I mean HUGE. He went to conventions. He read and wrote papers. He's the only person I know to have read all of L. Frank Baum's books. And so when I was asked to review the new biography of Baum, "The Real Wizard of Oz" by Rebecca Loncraine, I jumped at the chance, both for myself, and for Prof.

2009 marks the 70th anniversary of the classic Judy Garland film and that is from where most of us know those characters which have become so iconic in our Western cultures, The Scarecrow, The Tin Man, The Cowardly Lion, Toto, even Auntie Em. But Baum created those characters long before then, at the turn of the century, during a time of economic depression in America as well as murmurings of modernization. America seemed to straddle fantasy and reality during those years, and Loncraine proposes that it is just that volatility that spurred on his imagination. She explains how Baum's life and creativity were directly influenced by his times. Themes within society were played out in his work: theosophy and spiritualism, infant mortality, new technology and engineering. Loncraine argues that his personal ambivalence about the meaning of home, for instance, directly impacted his creation of the land of Oz and Dorothy's need to be there.

It is a common method of biographers to seek sources of an artist's creations in direct links to their lives. Loncraine believes so strongly that Baum was influenced by his surroundings that her book is divided not only chronologically, but also according to where he lived when he was creating. Part I is called "In the Palm of the Finger Lakes." Part II, "The Great Plains." Part III, "Crossing Lake Michigan." Part IV is "Living Between Landscapes." And Part V finishes the book in "Hollywood." Some may argue with the validity of seeking "reasons" within such real-life parallels, but it does create a way into Baum's very unusual and fertile mind.
Loncraine's work is well-written, interesting, and full of history. Loncraine herself is British, but for two years she crossed the U.S., from Los Angeles to Washington D.C., via Las Vegas, the Rocky Mountains, and the Kansas Prairies. Her research shows, and through it she has presented a complete portrayal of a complex and unusual life and talent.
For all of us who remember and adore Oz and it's inhabitants, "The Real Wizard of Oz" is an engaging read. For those of us, like my Professor, who have loved it with an abiding lifelong passion, it is a must.

Kreativity

Susan Richardson has very kindly awarded me the "Kreativ Blogger" award. I actually received this a while ago and responded here. The response I gave before still applies, but now, several months and a summertime later, it all has a different meaning and poignancy to me.

My life always feels split. The reality of my working life in London varies tremendously from my reality on Martha's Vineyard. I usually work while I'm on the Island as well, but this summer I made a conscious decision to take a serious, long break. I realized that for three years, I have worked steadily without a holiday, without a time to step back and clear my mind, in the way that writers do work steadily. A writer's writing is always in his/her head. As a writer, your eyes and ears are always open, waiting for the new phrase, a new spark. The past couple of years have also thrown me into the longed for, but difficult business of writing with all the associated worries about agents, publishers, marketing, competition, finances. To be honest, I was burned out. When I arrived on the Vineyard I realized (with the help of some sharp words from a good friend) that I had drifted into a very negative place. Although nothing was wrong, all I could see in front of me were difficulties. All I saw were hurdles. There were no gates. And that also meant that the joy of my work had slipped away, and I do believe that if the joy of writing is gone, then there's little reason to continue. So I stopped.

It actually wasn't hard to do. The past two months have been full of guests, family, travel. As Number 2 Son heads off to college and becomes an independent man, just as Number 1 Son has already done, there was lots to think about concerning this new stage in my life. My work easily took a back seat. But I knew September 1 would come. I knew I had work I had already promised myself I would do. I just didn't know if I felt like doing it any more.

And then came Susan's award. It reminded me that for all my worries about publishing and recognition, my writing has never been -- and can never be -- about those external factors. My goal has been, and must continue to be, about living a life infused with creativity, about pursuing that creative act and then, when finding it, incorporating it into who I am and how I relate to the world. God knows I can't expect it to be about money. But that's where I'm lucky. My life's work gains its impetus from beyond the world of mammon. What I do is more closely linked to who I am than what I gain. This is a lesson I have to learn and relearn, and I thank Susan and her award for reminding me.