Showing posts with label Battle Kiss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Battle Kiss. Show all posts

17 August 2018

Cheating on a Novel

by O'Neil De Noux

I was 27,000+ words into a novel (about 1/3 of the way through) when two writer friends put up submission guidelines for anthologies. I stopped the novel and wrote two stories. Two drafts each, which came out well. I’m letting them ferment before I go back to a final draft. It’s a process.

I returned to the novel and got this from it –

“So, where have you been? Wait. Wait. Don’t tell me. I saw it on the same screen where you write me. You cheated on me again, didn’t you? Not once, but twice. That police story with the woman with the long, sleek legs and the historical mystery with the big-eyed redhead. I watched you. I sat here steaming in anticipation of your fingers gliding over the keys to soothe me, quench my thirst for more. More what? More of me.

“And now you’re back. I'm hard to write now, aren’t I? Getting back in the groove, touching the keys to restart me. You come back smelling of cheap perfume with lipstick around your cheatin’ lips and expect me to just fall back in line. Well, mister. It isn’t that easy.

“I had a long talk with Hold Me, Babe and Saint Lolita and Dame Money and Lucifer’s Falcon – you remember them, your latest novels and they told me you did the same thing with them. The ONLY novel you didn’t cheat on, as far as I can tell because some of the others won’t talk to me because they think they’re better than me because I’m NOT a mystery, is that big historical epic about the Battle of New Orleans. She crooned how you were so faithful to her.

“So, I spoke with your wife who tells me you haven’t been the same since you wrote BATTLE KISS and lived in 1814-1815 for TWO YEARS writing a book so big the battlefield people won’t carry in their bookshop because it’s too large. Doesn’t fit on their shelf.

“What did the National Park Lady who did not read the book say? “The book’s too long. Nobody reads big books.” Did she ever hear of GONE WITH THE WIND or the Harry Potter books?

“Wait. What was I talking about? Yes, your wife. She calls herself a writer’s widow because you are always daydreaming and rarely listen to what she says. Didn’t she buy you that T-shirt which reads – SELECTIVE LISTENER? You live in a dream world.

“Well, mister. You better focus your dreaming on me because I’m gonna be a good one.”

 Jeffty lives in a dream world as well.

That's all for now.
www.oneildenoux.com

09 March 2018

Just the instrument

by
O'Neil De Noux

2:46 a.m., and I lift my fingers from the keyboard and look at what I've just written on the screen in front of me and realize it's a pretty good paragraph, almost eloquent. Did I write this? Eloquent? We'll see if it makes the cut to stay in the book. I've cut lots of stuff I thought eloquent at first.

The characters keep moving and talking and I stay along with them, typing it out and wonder how many people are going to read this and if they do, will they think of me. No. Why? Because I'm not important. The story is important. The people in it are important. The feelings brought to the reader are important. I'm just the instrument. It flows through me but I'm not important and that's how it should be.

Plot is important, especially in a mystery story. Moving without a plot is like walking through swamp water where your feet can easily bog down and you have to struggle to get moving again. Having said that, I've written stories after creating characters and a situation and not plotting the story and it worked.  It was hard work, but it worked. Writing fiction is confusing work. There are no rules. Except getting it written.

When I wrote my historical novel BATTLE KISS, I knew the Americans would win the Battle of New Orleans. What I didn't know was how the villians (The British) were so heroic and faced incredible hardships to end up on that battlefield only to get slaughtered. I found a starting point, knew how the battle would turn out, created characters and let them lead me through it all.


I've done the same thing with mysteries, often changing the plot as I go through it, dropping in a body or two. What I don't write well are formula stories. Wish I could as they seem to sell.

Like many other writers, sometimes I'm focused like a laser and everything falls into place. Sometimes I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. The odd thing, when writing a novel especially, is to let it simmer when it seems like you're stuck. Daydream about the story when you're away from the computer. EVERY time I've done this - it comes to me. The solution. Why? Because I'm the instrument. The device that gets it done. A novel is a living creature struggling to be born.


In SAINT LOLITA I knew I needed one thing to make it different from other books in the series. Put most of the action away from New Orleans and see how my recurring character LaStanza does away from home. Big problem at first as I researched which Caribbean island to set the story. I'd been to some islands but did not know enough about any island and internet research bogged me down. Hey, it's a novel. Fiction. So I created the island of SAINT LOLITA which lies 76 miles west of Grenada. The novel struggled through my limited intelligence to live. But it's alive. And the Lolita joke worked well.


I knew HOLD ME, BABE would be about a lost song. I gave it to New Orleans Private Eye Lucien Caye and let him go with it. Other characters peeked in, some became important, some not so but the book came together and was nominated for a SHAMUS Award. Same with THE LONG COLD. I'd worked a couple cold cases when I was a homicide detective. What if I had LaStanza work a 30-year-old unsolved murder of someone he went to school with? THE LONG COLD was also nominated for a SHAMUS so someone must have liked reading it.



Sometimes the instrument works like a laser - sharp and focused. Sometimes it gets stuck in mud. Sometimes it doesn't know what the hell it's doing. But it gets done. The short story, the novel, comes together and it's a great feeling re-reading later and thinking - Did I write this?

That's all I have today.

www.oneildenoux.com