Back to the novella I’m writing. Thank you, Mr. Vicodin.

What do you know – Vicodin doesn’t put me to sleep, doesn’t make me goofy (I could still drive, for sure), and it cuts the pain – mostly.  For a while, anyway.  It does feel somewhat like drinking an entire pot of coffee, though!

So thank you, Vicodin.  Because of you, I was able to stay up and work on my novella last night.  I won’t be sad to see you go, though.  This bad back business can’t last forever, right?

The novella is written in vignettes – short character sketches – and I’ve finished 5 so far.  I definitely will go this route, but will probably have to repeat characters to make it work.  The following is somewhat of a teaser, ad libbed.  I don’t even know if I’ll keep this man’s name, but this tidbit is from Nic, the elderly gentleman who lives in “the big house” next door to the home this young couple is currently signing papers for.  The home is in a well-established neighborhood which for generations has been comprised largely of members of Nic’s extended family.  This home in particular has ALWAYS been owned by someone in the family:

Nic

Being here at today is really bringing back…memories.  Seeing people I didn’t know come through to see the property was strange in itself, but this event has a permanence I don’t care to think about.  In all honesty, this will feel equivalent to a death in the family.  These people seem nice enough, but that house has always been ours.  The whole neighborhood has been ours since the early 1900s.

Until now.  Bit by bit our family had lost our foothold over the neighborhood, with a divorce here, relocation of the younger generation or a sudden death there.   With the sale of this home, the trend would continue. 

Like I said, this couple seems nice enough.  In this final hour I find myself desperate to make a strong connection with them.  I need them to become a part of the family – to feel very welcomed and to accept us all.  This will be my mission; I will make the other family members see that even though they aren’t blood-related, our sense of oneness can continue.  More importantly, we can keep the house, in a sense.  I owe it to my mother and her mother and all my aunts, uncles, grand-this-or that’s and to the younger generations here to do that.  In this way, we’ll keep the home in the family - not by blood, but with heart.

But my thoughts consume me.  I can see that I’m making their Realtor uneasy.  She had been making small talk with me successfully, but for the last several minutes I’ve been on a detour into deep reflection.  I can see she wonders where I’ve gone – what I’m thinking.  Best to come back to the here and now.  I can do this easily since Viet Nam – remove myself and return when necessary.  Sadly, this has come to define who I am.

I probably shouldn’t share this just yet – things tend to change a lot, and I am still going rounds with myself about exactly which direction I want to take.  In a nutshell, the book involves a young couple being welcomed into this somewhat odd neighborhood, trying to stay married while remodeling, a good chunk of missing money that was last known to be inside the home they bought, and nosy neighbors with eccentric personalities and hidden agendas.  And ghosts.  All sorts of fun stuff.

I hope I can work this thing out.  It’s very new to me, and it might take longer than I even know, but I really want to finish it.  In fact, I’m  making a promise to myself right now that I will.

So if you think I might be avoiding it because you don’t hear about the book’s progress now and then, kick me in the caboose and tell me to get back to it.  Thanks – I appreciate it!

A Novella of Vignettes

I became a fan of vignettes when I first pulled the novella “Seedfolks” by Paul Fleischmann off of the Barnes and Noble bookshelf.  It didn’t go back on.  It’s enough that it’s masterfully written in a unique style; the fact that it deals with how human needs, weaknesses and strengths brought a previously divided community together to accomplish common goals was what made it one of my favorites.  How can you not hold dear in your heart a story where a complete absense of unity in what should be a community changes into a unified effort to create and maintain a community garden, all because of a young girl’s attempt to connect with her deceased father.  More than just a garden was created.; a community grew along with the beans and pumpkins, and endured the cold winter to boot.

You may not know tha t I’m a Realtor.  Never in my weavings in and out of writing did I forsee a story coming out of a real estate transaction; but, now I find myself with these ideas on paper, and no matter how many times I let them lie to revisit at a later time, I cannot help but be overloaded with plausible ideas for each vignette and be genuinely excited about how I see them coming together.  It can’t possibly be this easy, can it?  I keep asking myself, “What am I missing?”

I came up with these ideas the day after I had the dream that led me to state that I was in when I wrote down my initial notes for the suspense novel.  It was scary enough for me to admit that I was writing a novel in the first place.  On my map, it’s completely uncharted territory.  Now, am I to say that I’m also writing what I see as a novella?

Well, there it is, I guess. A novel and a novella.  Honestly scares me at this point.  I need some tools, and guidance, for sure.  Please help?

I’m writing a novel.

This is what happened.  A few weeks ago I woke from a dream that really freaked me out.  I can’t explain too much without ruining the story, but suffice it to say I was dreaming for someone else.  So there I was, awake again, with too many ideas in my head.  There was no way I was going to be able to go back to sleep without getting up and writing them down.

I told Dave (my husband) about the dream and my idea for the novel, and he told his mom.  Now she’s excited to read it, and wants to make sure I keep writing.  This genre is right up her alley.

I’m glad to have this bit of self-inflicted pressure to keep writing.  I think it’s helping to keep me in line