January 20th, 2010 by Neal

(”Letterbox” From the first draft of my first novel. One of the few things I still think funny, even though you have to be VHS era to get it. Yes, it is intentionally cropped. These are the jokes, try and keep up, ah say ah say ah say…)

When writing a novel I feel and act through what my characters are feeling and acting through. It’s kind of like method acting, I would suppose. I don’t need to be on Saturn to write a dude on Saturn, but if he’s mourning the loss of his wife, I feel that to my core. If I couldn’t, I’d discard the scene and rewrite. That’s how I know I’m doing okay.

The death at the opening of Hal three is profoundly sad, and the exploration of it is even more so, on a personal level. That’s why yesterday was blah. In addition to the natural fear of the beginning of a new novel that still comes even after I’ve done more than a half dozen of the damned things, I was struck in the head by the loss of what feels like an old friend.

I plumb the depths of old stories to find stuff for new stories, and one thing that’s for sure is that my first two novels will never be published without significant revision. Nonetheless, I am continuing a character from the first novel in a way that will not at all necessitate said original novel, and nonetheless, I know this kid.

Anyway, now that’s out of the way, and I feel I can get moving more, and take more joy in it. Part of the fun of a great character, I’m learning, is the optimism that springs from despair, as opposed to before, where I was solely confronted with surviving despair with at minimum four limbs. The idea of triumph over it makes writing more fun.

At any rate, I am pleased with the progress this week thusfar, and yesterday made it feel like it might be an utter bust: