Coming out of hiding

Okay, I'll admit it. I've been hiding. Some people may call it a vacation, but in truth I've been hiding from my novel. I think it's the result of editing on overdrive in February, and spending the early part of March consumed in other work, but as a result, this last week I've been hiding. I haven't turned on my laptop, I haven't picked up my printed pages, and I haven't figured out how I'm going to face my novel.

I've done a lot of other interesting things though. I read two books including Shades of Grey by Jasper Fforde, which I was saving for just such an occasion, and strongly recommend. I finished the blocks for a quilt top I've been "working" on for many many months. I discovered bacon flavored chocolate-- or was it chocolate-covered bacon?-- and was much too disturbed by the concept to consider purchasing it. I made a pie to celebrate Pi day. And, I purchased an adorable elephant-shaped teapot to keep me company (and provide me tea) when I come out of hiding.

Now, as a writing companion, the elephant would be much happier if I were not hiding from my novel. I know I would be too. I don't like the feeling that I'm avoiding my writing, and yet...

But, enough is enough, right? When last I checked, I was at a sticky point in my editorial process. My writers group is busy evaluating my 100 pages from February, and I will find out what they think in a couple of weeks, but I can't wait that long to start editing my later chapters. I have entered the point in my story where my characters, plots, and subplots need to come together into a delightful ending, and it's a daunting prospect. Also, since I can't expect people to read as many tens of thousands of words as I have written, I need to cut thousands of words from these later chapters.

Part of my mind is trying to convince me that I should just wait for inspiration to strike. It suggests that I should give my novel some distance and try to gain a fresh perspective. But after a week of hiding, no perspective is coming, so the only thing I can do is confront my novel, and forage ahead. Only when I get into the undergrowth of my story and cut away all the weeds, will I find the path to my conclusion. But, I cannot enter that jungle until I come out of hiding.

So, here I am, novel. How about that?

I'm throwing down the gauntlet, novel. Ready or not, here I come!

The books you read... you take them with you

You know those weeks where the entire universe seems to conspire against your writing? The weeks when the stars align in such a way as to form a gravitational pull away from your computer? The weeks when you have to choose between writing and such essential functions as eating or sleeping those vital 3 hours a night? THIS was one of those weeks. Or, at least it was for me.

This week I've been helping my grandmother move from her "independent living" apartment, down a series of long hallways punctuated by three different elevator rides, to a new "personal care" apartment. This is a great move for her, but her neighbors are horrified by the idea.

You see, the people in "independent living" see "personal care" as something to be avoided at all costs. My grandmother used to agree with them, but after a few tours of the new area, she's very excited about it. I've watched her try to explain to her friends how wonderful the new place will be, but they're unable to hear it, and are equally anxious to explain to her why they think it's a bad move. The thing is, they just don't know because they've never been there. When dealing with people like this, it helps to have some words of wisdom to guide you, and I have found myself remembering The Dream Tree by Stephen Cosgrove.

My mother read me The Dream Tree and many other of Cosgrove's "Serendipity Books" countless times when I was very very young. The Dream Tree is about a caterpillar who wants to know what it's like to be a butterfly, but she can't find out until she is one. It's a great story if you haven't read it, and I find it particularly apropo in this situation because even though my grandmother's new apartment is under the same roof as her old one, to her neighbors, it might as well be the moon. The "personal care" apartments are in another "building" they're practically a mile away, and they have a- pause for ominous music- different dining room. To the caterpillars of the "independent" apartments, if you move to "personal care" you might as well become a butterfly.

So here I am, a writer, an avid reader and a bona fide grown-up, and the most inspirational words of wisdom I have running through my head come from a book I heard when I was two. And I find it amazing because it goes to demonstrate how very important what we read can be in our lives. Sure, we read for education, for relaxation, and for escapism, but we also read to help us make sense of our lives. It is humbling to think, to hope, that as a writer I may someday touch someone in the same way that Stephen Cosgrove has touched me; to imagine that in more than two decades, something I write today may cross a reader's mind.

Who knows? All I know is that in this week in which the universe has conspired to keep me from writing, a simple Serendipity Book has offered me guidance. The Dream Tree has helped me understand my grandmother's neighbors in a way that would have been impossible without those few words.

Have you ever found wisdom from an unexpected book? What is the most influential book you ever read?