Author: PaigeRandall

Emotional Rescue

/ PaigeRandall / 5 Comments

IMG_20141031_131541

I was sitting, waiting for my train in Penn Station, remembering the last time I sat waiting for a train in Penn Station. Usually when memories like this come at me, I chase them away and I chase well.  Last time, I had just gotten really bad news, the worst kind of news, but it was more than that.  I shared a few days with some of my favorite people in the world and their world was changing. It has never been the same since and never will be. I sat in a corner chair and cried my face off. Yes I was the crazy lady crying in the train station (Note: Grand Central is shown, not Penn.)

That was a little over four years ago. If I am honest with myself, I have to admit that I went a little dull after that. I couldn’t quite get at the range of emotions I used to have. If the range was a one (misery) to ten (joy), I lived in the four to six zone. Not miserable, but not joyful either. Colors lost their luster. My musical interests closed in, and I probably listened to the same five bands over and over again, for three years. I essentially stopped reading. I wasn’t noticeably different, but I was different.

I’ve talked a lot about the visceral impact writing had on me when I started in February. At risk of repeating myself, I’ll say that it was actually a little disturbing. I stopped eating and sleeping and I felt buzzed 24 hours a day. I was writing thousands of words a day and I couldn’t stop. I could feel everything. Every word that went through me came from a depth that I can’t even explain. But it made me laugh and cry and afraid and unbelievably exhilarated. Less than a week in, I was strongly encouraged to get blood work. There may have been whispers of a nervous breakdown behind my back.

After about a month, the frenetic energy leveled off, but the rest stayed. The access stayed. Now the light is so bright that I can see the rays.  I can listen to a guitar solo seventeen times over and go back for an eighteenth, because the magic is real. It was20141030_104829 there the whole time, but I couldn’t get at it. Every sense is powerful and alive and I feel… awake.  This must be what heroin feels like.

When I wrote Circling, I chose some of my favorite locations for inspiration – North Carolina beaches, Charleston and Savannah. Before I started Forever Falling I had an urge to get to Asheville, NC. I had never been, but I just knew my characters were there so I went in July. My characters were indeed there. Book Three, untitled for now, will be set in New York City, primarily Brooklyn. I am just now taking the train away from New York. I spent an amazing few days there and yesterday I explored Brooklyn.

I was a little freaked out getting myself from Midtown Manhattan to Brooklyn. I have no idea how the subway system works (or do they say trains here) and I wanted to stay above ground to see the bridges. I can’t figure out busses to save my life.  I ended up taking a cab which cost a third of what I had guessed it would. I saw everything I wanted to see, the hospital (main character is a doc), Gloria’s West Indies Restaurant (thank to Anthony Bourdain for the tip), and walked miles and miles of sidewalk. Getting out of Brooklyn was an adventure of its own. Guess what, cabbies won’t go into Manhattan at the end of the day.  It wasn’t the end to the day I wou20141030_154220ld have chosen, but it was an experience all its own.

At one point I saw a park near the hospital, potentially really good setting material.  In my area back home, I don’t wander into parks much, alone on a weekday.  I decided to do it anyway and tentatively climbed a hill with no idea what awaited me on the other side. (Note: since I’m a writer my options were pretty much Ted Bundy, white slavery or gang rape). What I found was something very different, but you’ll have to wait for Book Three to read about it.IMG_20141030_143536

As I stood on that hilltop I wanted to drop to my knees and kiss the ground. (Note: I did not).  The warm air, the golden leaves, the filtered light, the singing birds, the poetic trees, the laughing hot dog vendors, the curious children, the view below me, the enormous blue skies above, steam billowing in the distance … it was all mine. It’s mine because I can reach it now, or more likely, it can reach me.

Here’s to being grateful for every day of this life.  Not everyone gets it and it is an extraordinary honor. Don’t miss a moment.

 

(Note: Pls forgive typos. Train typing is tough.)

Write Here Write Now

/ PaigeRandall / 3 Comments

I am waiting.

Waiting is what I do worst.

But I am sitting in a lovely, sunny Starbucks, sipping dark roast and listening to music way too loud, with a fully charged laptop.

This is what I do best.

Any moment Circling will pop into my email in-box from my editor.  She did an intense copy edit and content review and I have some serious work ahead of me.  She sent me a sample list of questions. She has me considering medical diagnoses, legalities of child welfare, the placement of objects at hand, and last but certainly not least, physics.  This is serious business.  She totally got me on this physics one.  As we write, or maybe as I write, the loss of truth in our fiction sometimes needs to be rectified.

You may or may not know that I have an editorial background. I am pretty serious about editing as a stage of writing.  Many writers get the story down and do a read through or two. For me, this isn’t the end of the process.

A read through is an important part of the process. What differentiates a read-through from an edit is that you, as the writer, are trying to act in the role of the reader.  I strictly do not edit during a read through, but I do take a few story notes. I lose the thread of the story and can’t get in close in enough if I am worried about two, to and too. I like to send my WIP to my Kindle for a slightly different perspective. Some writers change fonts and margins for a read through. With Circling I treated myself to a print version once in the process (316 pages is a lot of ink and paper).  The important thing is to mix it up a bit.  As we write these words and reread sentences over and over again, seeing them differently can be a challenge.

20141019_111850After the story is fairly set, I have to go back and assure that the characters’ motivations are clearly defined.  Determining the action is one thing, explaining it is another thing entirely.  I use more flashback in Forever Falling than I did in Circling. These two characters are greatly the product of ongoing circumstances in their youth that required some understanding on the part of the reader.

Next – where are they? The reader needs an opportunity to connect with the location of every scene.  A very smart writer called it creating a pulse, I think. This is the writers chance to connect with the senses beyond the color of the pumpkins or the shade of the wooden cart. The sounds of the shoppers, breeze, birds, smell of cider, warmth of the sun, etc., etc., forever. This is also where I spend a lot of time on Google Maps and Google Earth. My characters seem to travel a lot.  When I needed to describe a house in Austin, I hit the real estate guides to search the kind of neighborhood I wanted and even peeked inside a few homes thanks to the listings.

Getting out a well-defined story, characters and setting developed is a huge task, accompanied by an amazing feeling of accomplishment. This is where I type THE END. That is really writing a book, right?

But there is more.  When my focus is on the bigger picture – story, characters, setting – I can get a little loopy with dialog, language and continuity.  With dialog, as in life, I tend to say “Okay” way too much and my characters swear a LOT (big shocker). I also get into these modes of repeated phrases – “for good measure” or “because it seemed the right thing to do” that need to be edited out. I  like to manage the “He/She + verb” sentences.  That gets monotonous for the reader (like in this paragraph).  Continuity usually works itself out though the other steps of editing, but something always pops up for me where a drink started out as a bourbon and turns into a glass of wine.

The moral of the story here is get lost in the story and then get lost in the details. The details are where the story will come alive.

Guess what – I just got an email from my editor and Circling is coming soon! I leave you with this little tune from Jesus Jones because, well for no other reason than I stole the title for this blog post (and he is cute).

Enjoy your weekend and enjoy getting lost in your details.

XO

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7z6dxQVhE8o

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Straight Women in Love

/ PaigeRandall / 4 Comments

I have work wife.  Usually a work wife comes with a work husband. Ours isn’t so much a lesbian relationship (although we do enjoy a good flirt) as a professional relationship based on deep, mutual respect, understanding and a great deal of enjoyment. At work I am blessed with a group, a crew, a posse so to speak.  We even have a catchy nickname and it is a Fight Club situation — no one speaks it aloud. We are three women and two men. I love this group, but the five started as two. Me and my work wife.

Work relationships are funny. You can’t be completely honest and open with co-workers at every level. Parity is important. Then there is trust and trust can be challenging professionally.  You can’t tell anything to a gossip, or someone with no backbone that will fall to pressure, or a fool who craves validation.

Work relationships are all about taking, not so much about giving. Can you make me want to be here for 40+ hours a week?  Will you laugh at my jokes? Will you make me indispensable in your life? Will you recognize my personal greatness and figure out how to use me to the best of your professional advantage? Will you let me use you back? Can you make me laugh so hard I spit my coffee? On a really good day, can you make me laugh so hard I pee in my pants?  That is work love.

I can’t be myself with all women.  Aside from my disdain for all things requiring a ref, umpire, or any uniformed official, men get me more than women do. Or maybe I get men more than I get woman.  Men know that business is business. It isn’t personal. It is just business and it isn’t emotional. Men understand if you insult me, I’ll insult you back. Then we’ll laugh about it. Men find themselves very interesting conversationally.  My work wife and I share these philosophies.

Eight years ago we were hired in the same month. The last four years we have been hall mates and a close friendship developed. Two years ago I was promoted to her level and we essentially got married.  We work very closely together and I cannot imagine a better, more productive working relationship. We also really like each other. She is my person.

One week from today she will move on to a fantastic, new position.  It is an incredible opportunity, doing important work in our community. I applaud her and it is a standing ovation. Today was our last lunch, just the two of us, before we move into next week’s endless big group goodbye lunches, breakfasts, etc.  After lunch, I sat in my car and I was very… very… sad.

I don’t do sad well.  I am much better at writing sad characters.  Arm’s length is the best proximity to sadness for me. Still my eyes felt, sort of, well, rather leaky.

IMG950603Then it occurred to me how much my blue guest chair will miss her. She usually sits in my blue guest chair as opposed to me in hers, because my office is right by the door. She has sat in that blue guest chair while we plotted business, planned dozens of events, and edited zillions of projects. We worked on my more challenging plot points. We shared and counseled each other through endless family and friend crises and celebrations. Most importantly, we laughed and laughed and laughed.

My blue guest chair will be empty much more often now. We’ll get an occasional visitor, but it won’t be the same. People move on, but my blue guest chair will remain in its exact same spot for many years to come.

My blue guest chair will miss her very, very much.