I call this blog my chest of drawers because I want it to be a mystery to be searched by both of us. In my head, I see one of those bizarre apothecary chests, all red with gold painted dragons, and round bronze drawer pulls.
It took me forever to find this picture. I love good stories and I love writing, but I hate figuring things out. I don't have patience anymore. I just want to get things done. Then I breathe and realize that patience is its own reward. Any really good story or joke makes you hang on every word, dragging out the delicious anticipation as long as possible. There is nothing more exciting than the potential of an unopened gift. Nothing that actually exists compares to the breathless idea of the potential of anything. Did that make sense?
Much like life, my brain doesn't always make sense. Shocking, right? I'm resisting the urge to pepper my writing with LOL, so you know when I'm joking, but all humor is half truths, so does it matter if I'm joking or only half joking?
So what's in my top drawer? Hmmm...
If it's anything like my kitchen, it's a handful of take out menus, a fistful of taco sauce packets and soy sauce, a nonsensical assortment pliers and screwdrivers, and a ball of twine my husband uses to tie the turkey on holidays. Or maybe my little drawer in my nightstand is a better example: nail files, stacks of people I'll never see again's business cards I'm too hoarderey to throw away, and a few out of date credit cards.
I really need to clean out my drawers!
Hmmm...
How about favorite authors & books from my childhood:
Beverly Cleary: This one is huge for me. The little drawings, Ramona, Ribsy, Beezus, Ralph the mouse on the motorcycle, so many of her characters rang true for me.
Judy Blume: Om my gosh, did this woman make me cry. SuperFudge, the turtle, Are you there God?, It's me Margaret., Blubber (the first fat girl book I ever read. It helped with all the bullying I was dealing with)
Deborah and James Howe: the Bunnicula series. Loved the animal aspect of it.
Stephen Cosgrove and Robin James: The Serendipity series. Yes, they are total hippie books with cute sayings at the end, but I loved them. Trafalgar True was my favorite.
E B White: Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little
The Mixed up Files of Mrs. Basil E Frankweiler: The original Night at the Museum. Runaways hiding out at the Met in New York. What's not to love?!
The Cricket in Times Square: funny and sweet
I want to put Lewis Carroll, but he is kind of like Tim Burton. I love the nonsense and artistic sensibility, but the actual storytelling is a total yawn. I know 2/3 of you just recoiled in horror. Tough. Honesty is best between friends. People used to tell me "Geez Eda, tell us what you really think."
That would frustrate me. I felt silenced. I always wanted to snap back that I was telling them, but obviously I need to blunt my feelings because they weren't smart enough or brave enough to hear it.
Of course, I never say that. I just silently remove them from one notch in my brain and move them to a lower notch. The lower the notch the less I share with them. I find the top row to be very sparse with people I'll say absolutely anything to. But you always have to have those friends. I highly recommend them. The ones that burst out laughing when you say awful things. I love those people.
Here are two big ones. If I could put them in letters ten feet high I would:
Terry Pratchett: anything, absolutely anything by this man is pure gold.
Neil Gaimen: Double dog ditto for this guy. Neverwhere, The Graveyard Book. He's got some adult themed books you'd probably have to wait on to really like, but his graphic novels from the 90s are great literature. Cannot recommend highly enough.
Another huge confession: I didn't read JRR Tolkien until I was an adult. I loved the movies "The Hobbit" and "The Return Of The King" the orginals from 1980 & 1977 from when I was a kid.
Again I loved the movies: Watership Down and Plague Dogs by Richard Adams: Very depressing and often frightening but sincere amazing stories that really made me feel the animals sense of powerlessness against an overwhelming and frightening world. But I didn't read the books until I was older. Which is good, because they are very upsetting and dark. Good, but dark.
I'm trying to get more dark with my work. My friend Nick told me I need to kill more characters. I told him it was a children's book!! Do you know what he said to that?
"Get over yourself. They shot Bambi's mom in the first five minutes. And that was Disney!"
It's hard to be dark. I genuinely like my characters, even the baddies. The Rat Father is my first attempt at a long format novel. The Rat King: Book Two is my Empire Strikes Back. Good animals are going to die. Horrible battles will ensue. Motives will be questioned. General alarums and scarums. I'm excited, but scared.
Its silly. It's just a book. I build it up so big in my head. I want it to be perfect. That's actually where Ratsby gets his name. It's a play on The Great Gatsby. Fitzgerald ached over every word writing it. Each scene has overlying meanings. There are entire college classes on that book. It's 180 pages long. He took three years from idea to publication.
Mine is 240 pages. It took me ten years to actually get around to writing, editing and publishing the book. I spent more time avoiding it than writing it. If I had just sat down and done it. I probably could have done it in six months. But like I said. My attention span jumps around so much. It's so hard to focus on one thing. I've given myself six months to do it this time. I've broken the seal, it should be easier to uncork my writing. I'm determined to write the same amount or more for the second book.
Goals are important, but finishing goals are the whole point. Right?!?
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