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The Cemetery Paradox

/ PaigeRandall / Leave a comment

I thought I might get some sleep tonight, but that seems beyond me,  yet again. This editorial review is extremely time consuming. I’ve decided to rework Circling a bit to match Forever Falling closer in tone and style. It is doable, of course,  but very heavy brain work. I’m in overload and as a result sleep has deserted me and probably won’t be back for awhile. In the end I’ll be happier with Circling and it will all be worth the time spent and insomnia.

I was sitting here thinking about the week. Wednesday was the third anniversary of my father’s death.  As all families do, mine has a system for remembering and honoring our dead, especially our Dad. As I am the closest geographically to the cemetery, and I choose not to worship in any location, other than the great outdoors, I visit Dad’s grave on birthdays and anniversaries. 

My first few visits had me shuffling my feet and looking solemn. This year I realized how bored he’d be with that. I decided to do better.  What would be want?  He’d want updates, gossip, success stories. He’d love to hear about everyone he loved. So I plunked my ass in the grass and went through every family member from oldest (hi Mom) to the youngest grandchild, and gave him their stories. It felt good. It made me feel closer to him than the shuffling.

After awhile I realized it was getting close the dusk. There was no one in the cemetery but me. You may know I’m not one to venture into deserted areas alone much. That cemetery was different though. I felt so safe. So protected. Maybe because I grew up in New England and there is a cemetery on every other street. I spent most of my childhood smoking cigarettes and drinking hijacked booze with friends, among the dead.

I could have curled up and slept the night through there. I was just thinking it is a paradox. Cemeteries are supposed to be scary places, but they are not. My dad and your dad, mom, aunt, uncle, grandparent, spouses, friends, even sometimes the dearest children, are there. I feel like they are there, protecting us all.

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Emotional Rescue

/ PaigeRandall / 5 Comments

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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.)

The Strangest Thing

/ PaigeRandall / 5 Comments

So one day you decide to write and write you do. You write morning, noon and night. Your try to fit in a semblance of a real life, work, family, friends, basic healthcare, maybe too little fitness, and you write a damn book.

For me, the first time around, writing Circling, most of the energy felt like adrenaline. It was probably a nice boost of endorphins. Forget the runner’s high, try the writer’s high! I would get up after hours motionless, except fingers on a keyboard, panting from expended energy. But it was all mental and unsustainable.
Eventually, by the later drafts of Circling, my physiological response to writing normalized, and it scared me. The energy was crazy, but it was magical too. What if the magic deserted me and I went back to being just plain me. I like writer me much more than other me.
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So on June 2, 2014, I started my second attempt at writing. Forever Falling picks up a few months after Circling ends. The story travels west with Anna’s brother Callum. Writing was a bit more staid. It was slow to start and my fingers danced much less aggressively across the keyboard. But it kept coming. The questions kept getting asked and answered and the voices kept talking. It took about three and a half months for a very respectable first draft, but it happened.
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I typed the magic words today. With Circling I didn’t type them until draft four. Forever Falling is a much cleaner first draft. POV and narrative inexperience plagued me the first time around. Not this time, lessons learned.
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Tonight I’ll celebrate with a bourbon and a steak. To me this combination tastes of pure satisfaction.

Over the next few weeks I’ll be working with an editor to put the finishing polish on Circling. I have decided to leave the traditional world of publishing behind. I’d much rather be the pilot of my own destiny. My goal is to have it in the hands of all the world in December.
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Raise a glass with me, if you will, tonight. Toast every beginning and every ending. And may every ending lead to a new beginning.

XO