Friday, August 30, 2013

Introduction & Invitation



First the colors. Then the humans. That's usually how I see things. At least, how I try.
Call me Ishmael.
Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road...
The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting.
Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...
Mother died today.
Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board.

These are unrelated thoughts, ideas, sentences, distinctively set apart from one another. They share nothing save for letters and a bit of punctuation. Yet they have one thing in common: they begin stories. Famous stories, old stories, stories so large and known that you might have identified exactly which line belonged to which book before you even finished reading.

The Book Thief, Markus Zusak.
Moby Dick, Herman Melville.
The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, James Joyce.
The Red Badge of Courage, Stephen Crane
The Sound and the Fury, William Faulkner.
A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens.
The Stranger, Albert Camus.
Their Eyes Were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston.

That's what a powerful story does.  The words sink into you and become part of you, part of your environment, part of the world. Phrases are repeated so often that you might know the first line of a novel without ever having picked up the book. You don't even have to enjoy reading something to remember it well. Personally, I never truly enjoyed Moby Dick, and I loathe The Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. But I remember them. (How does one forget an entire section of childish gibberish about a moocow?)

How about this one: I will try to tell you this story as though you've never heard it before. Not ringing any bells? Striking memories deep within your soul? Making you feel nostalgic about high school English class, or a college lit course? No?

I didn't think so--and that's because I wrote it.

Over five years ago I began a novel. It didn't always start with that line, but it does now, and there's a chance it will change again. Like most novels, I'm sure, it has a story surrounding its development. The first line can change just as the rest of it undoubtedly shifts and wavers between plot points. Other novelists got paid for their work, so it's likely they worked quickly at least some of the time. But I'm not paid, I write on my own terms, so... It has been slow going up until now. It was once semi-completed for an advanced creative writing class, although it would be categorized as a novella then. But someday, maybe sooner, maybe later, I want to publish this thing. Publishing, I hear, is a difficult journey and I think it might be beneficial to take as many people with me as possible.

So, here I am, writing this, inviting you to come with me.

I'm not going to write about my problems, unless it's writers' block. I'm not going to talk too much about my personal life--although, if I find out I have a horrible disease or I'm going to have a baby, I might tell you. Mostly I've created this space to share my story about my story. If it's appropriate and related, I'll talk about me. If it's appropriate and related, I might even talk about the President or sea turtles. I'm going to write about how it started, and all the fun horrible significant things that have happened along the way, and then I'm going to try to talk about how the writing is going right now--that might be the hardest part.

So please, join me on this adventure. I promise it will be memorable. But, I'm sure you've heard that before.