The Notebook Obsession

I love notebooks. I’m obsessed with notebooks. I collect and hoard notebooks and sketchbooks and journals like a squirrel hoards provisions for the winter. I have notebooks of all shapes and sizes and designs. Each time I see notebooks in a stationery shop, I make a bee-line for them. I have so many I forget about them and have been known to buy the same one twice, several months apart, not remembering I already owned it. 

In a way, it’s normal that I should like notebooks. I’m a writer. The notebook and the fountain-pen are the quintessential tools of a writer. Except… except that as my stack of notebooks grew and grew and grew, their pages remained empty. For years and years, I wrote nothing in my dozens of notebooks, or if I did, it was only a few pages before I gave up. And my notes were almost exclusively taken on torn scraps of recycled paper. 

Why? I was always afraid of “spoiling” those nice notebooks which had been chosen and collected with love. I wanted to keep them for special occasions – which never came. 

Was this reaction a derivative of the blank page syndrome? The beautiful emptiness of my notebooks paralysed me (and I’m sure I’m not the only writer suffering from this psychological blockage). 

Anyway, I recently decided it had to stop. If I wanted to go on hoarding notebooks, I actually had to use them. And I did. I was brave. I faced those blank, empty, beautiful pages. I took a pen. And I spoiled them. 

It started with a journal where I wrote down things I knew I’d like to remember in a few years’ time. I’m still keeping this diary of sorts, which has now filled 3 and ½ notebooks. In another, I jotted down observations made on walks in nature. In another, the beginning of a story. Right now, I am writing the first draft of this post in a pretty notebook, the cover of which is adorned with colourful fountain pens (very fitting). 

Now I’m using my notebooks fast, and what better excuse to buy new ones? I’m always finding new things to write (am I not a WRITER after all?) and I even wish I’d started earlier. 

Because writing is one of the best ways I know to crystallise memories and feelings. For instance, I wish I had written down my thoughts when I travelled. Now I still remember, but it’s a bit dimmer. 

I’ve realised that hesitating to “spoil” a nice notebook with random and not always well-expressed thoughts is rather like being afraid of starting a first draft. It’s underestimating yourself. It’s lacking self-confidence. 

Yes, 90% of what I write in my pretty notebooks is uninteresting scribbling, full of spelling and grammar mistakes. There are blots an tears and scratches. The gorgeous covers become a bit battered. The designs and colours fade. The corners show signs of wear. 

But those notebooks, which no longer look like they should be lining the shelves of a stationery shop, have become so much more precious to me. They have lived, and their pages contain part of me. With mistakes, with hesitations. 

I still have empty notebooks. And I still have the compulsion to buy more. Not for the same reasons as before. Not because I dream of writing, or hope to have, one day, something special to fill them with. They have become the means of capturing those important and unimportant moments I want to remember, on a certain moment, in a certain place. They have become the guardians of my journey as a writer and as a person.

"The bog of..."

I'm currently writing the middle part of my NaNoWriMo project The Orchid Collector. And it feels a bit like wading through a swamp... But I trudge on. I am determined that this first draft will not join my collection of unfinished manuscripts. Even if it is written very badly, it will get written! 

My book of cartoons, The Would-Be Novelist, published last week, is available on Amazon: 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1702470016?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860

"When you're so obsessed with a word..."

Some words appear again and again in my writing. I have, for example, a strange obsession with the word strange. People, buildings, landscapes, atmospheres, situations, etc., etc. are strange. Characters look strangely at each other. Everything is pervaded by strangeness. It's all very strange. 

One aspect of the editing I did on my novel was trying to get rid of those words I kept using again and again. I'm still wondering why I'm using strange so much... It sure is strange. 

"When you need a higher wordcount..."

Why use just four words when you could use more than forty? I hope that I will not have to use this ruse to reach my NaNoWriMo goals... 

"When someone asks me what my book is about"

Writing the book is the easy part. Writing several hundred pages... No problem! Just don't ask me to tell you briefly what those hundreds of pages are about. Writing them was enough for me. 

"I'm going to be productive today"

Who else is guilty of that? I'm trying to be more productive with my writing by giving myself goals and deadlines. For instance, I'll try to write so many words in a day, or tell myself I have one week to finish a chapter. We'll see how it goes! 

"Where are they all gone?"

A new cartoon! Hooray! Not really true this time, because all my ideas have not escaped while I was trying to write them down: I've been unusually productive lately and am really motivated. I haven't forgotten the book of cartoons I intend to publish. But I'm still trying to decide how to organise it... But I will probably make an announcement about it soon enough! 

"Cute picture or horror story?"

Cat + computer + manuscript = not always a very good idea...

"When I want to work on my novel..."

No new cartoon this week either, and no real progress on my manuscripts. So this one felt quite appropriate, 

"When your book is about to be published and you spot a typo..."

Yes, this happened... I spotted not one but two typos, just before publication. And I was tempted, very tempted to leave them there... I didn't of course! In the end, my conscience prevailed and I went through the whole process again (actually, I found an easier way of correcting them...).

So if you read the book and spot a typo, it's not one I was aware of (and left there out of sheer lazyness)!

"Before publication..."

In spite of bursts of optimism when I feel like the first image, I have a suspicion that reality will take the shape of the second... And yes, you can take it as a hint! You would not want me to make that sad face... Then you know what to do... 

Prologue or not prologue?

 

I have an issue with the first chapter of my novel As Winter Came and Went. Or rather readers, seem to have an issue with the first chapter of my novel. Too difficult, too strange, odd style, etc. Which is how it was meant to be (my excuse being that I write literary fiction - aka fiction in which the English language is tortured and mutilated). But though I intended to write something literary, I also wanted to write something that would actually be read. Not something that the reader would want to close and throw away after a few pages, making me feel very misunderstood and mistreated.

The trouble is that this first chapter is especially important to the novel (you can find several extracts of it on this blog). It announces the style. It presents the main character. It raises several issues that will haunt the said character throughout the rest of the novel. And, I'll admit it, I'm fond (proud) of this chapter. So there was no question of deleting it from the book. Was there, however, a way of making it more attractive to the reader, without sacrifising the style or the intent? 

Since the style was what bothered readers, I realised that there was not much I could do... So I decided to ask for advice, in the real and the virtual world. The virtual world? Yes, on social media. 

For the 21st century writer is a connected writer. I discovered that when I was beginning to look into ways of marketing my book. Being present on social media was one of the pieces of advice Google gave me. So I created on Instagram and Facebook accounts dedicated to my writing. And I “met”, on both media, lovely writing communities where both would-be writers and established authors are able to discuss and share their difficulties, their progress, their journey to publication, whether they are traditionally or self-published.

So I asked all those people for advice by posting my question on a Facebook group dedicated to writing. Some said I should be ruthless and delete my chapter (*gasp!*), some said I should ignore my readers, and some said I should add a prologue that would, hopefully, make readers want to go on reading, because they would be desperate to know what happened.

The third option seemed like a good compromise. The problem was that…I actually really, really dislike prologues. Maybe because I always fall for it: I open a book, I read the prologue, the suspense is too much and I cannot rest until I know what happened, what lead to the situation described in the prologue and so on. I find prologues annoying. I think that prologues are nothing more than a trick to lure the reader into the book. But…they tend to work, don’t they? 

So should I add a prologue? The structure of my novel had been the subject of much thought. A prologue would unbalance it. My novel is not a thriller, or crime story, or commercial fiction. It’s literary. It’s already very long. Why make it longer? 

I also had arguments in favour of a prologue. One was that I want my book to be read, and if a prologue could give it one chance to convince one more reader to stick with it….well, I should add a prologue. The other was that when I first started to think about the story that would become As Winter Came and Went (too many years ago…), it didn’t start where it does now. Now, the first chapter shows the main character on a ship bound for England where he goes back after two years spent in Africa. But the initial story (before the first draft was written) was meant to start in Africa, a few weeks before this first chapter.

I pondered on this as I was trying to decide whether or not to include that prologue. And this last argument swayed me in favour of it. I would add a short scene, in Africa, where the story was at first meant to start. Because it would, hopefully, make what follows more understandable. And make the readers ask themselves questions the answers to which they would seek in the rest of the novel. And, because the style is a bit easier than in the chapter that follows, with a bit of luck, it will draw the readers in. At least, that’s what I hope!

"When someone makes a nasty remark on my novel..."

Let this be a warning to reviewers! No, I'm just joking. I wouldn't do such a thing! And, anyway, I don't own a book entitled "Spells and Witchcraft"...

"The scene I had in mind..."

This is, alas, a true story... That particular scene was meant to be intense and romantic... And it was ruined by a single typo...

What surprises me is that only one beta reader actually noticed it (thank you so much for having pointed it out, by the way!). I hope that the others did not see it because they were entranced by the plot and the emotions and such, not because they were so fed up that they just skipped this scene!

Still, I'm still feeling quite ashamed of myself, especially since I sent out ARC copies to reviewers containing this typo (*gasp*)! I noticed it yesterday, so it was just in time for Halloween (and I was duly horrified)...

"Proofreading..."

 

This also applies to formatting...

"Writing outdoors 1"

As I wrote earlier this year, I love writing outdoors. But sometimes, the universe seems to decide that I should better write inside, at a desk, like any normal person, instead of sprawling in the grass... A gust of wind, and I'm running after the pages of my precious manuscript. But the next day, I'm outside again. Because I think that writing at a desk, like any normal person, is not fun at all!

Trying to find an idea...

Trying to find an idea for a piece of writing is like…

…going in an attic, full of dust and cobwebs. Looking through the boxes piled up there, opening chests and trunks, hoping to find a treasure, a jewel. Rummaging through old, torn, clothes, that can never be used again, but still have been kept, for one reason or another. Coming across, from time to time, an interesting piece of furniture, or a souvenir from a holiday, several years ago. And trying to decide, what can be recycled, what can be given a second life. What can become an idea.

…opening a cupboard, expecting to find a box of triple chocolate cookies. But only finding a solitary piece of very old, very green, very mouldy, very smelly Camembert cheese. And realising that somebody else has already eaten all the cookies.

…picking flowers in a meadow to create a bouquet. Finding, sometimes, tall sunflowers and fragrant roses. Purple foxgloves and cornflowers. Poppies and daisies and buttercups. Or finding nothing at all. Having enough to create a small posy. Adding ferns and longgrasses to make a more interesting arrangement. And there are days when the bouquet is wonderful and harmonious, and others when nothing fits together, nothing works.

…trying to come up with a new recipe. Using elements from tried and tested ones. Putting them together, experimenting. Hoping to come up with a bold and delicious new dish, but sometimes it is uneatable, and sometimes you realise it has already been done before and you have invented nothing. 

 …exploring a deep dark wood, in the middle of which, it is said, there is a lake, well worth the trouble of a long hike. But the path leading to it is not direct and there are many crossroads, many byways. And you risk losing yourself in this deep dark wood, going round and round in circles, until the night falls and you haven’t reached the lake.

…planting seeds in a garden, from a packet with no label. Will flowers grow? Or vegetables? An apple tree? A pear tree maybe? You water them, you watch over them. You wait for spring and warm sunshine. For rain to nourish the damp earth. Budding green leaves; but still you don’t know. What will you get?

…eating the last crumbs of a tasty cake. Wanting again to find the taste that you enjoyed so much. Again, again, until the dish is licked quite clean. And you find yourself with an empty plate.

Trying to find an idea for a piece of writing, an article, a short story, a novel, fiction or non fiction, is hard. Trying to find an idea for a piece of writing is staring at a blank page, trying to decide if your knowledge or your imagination will be enough. That’s what I did and found it was not so: trying to find an idea is sometimes realising you do not have any. So what do I write about? Trying to find an idea…

"This novel has so much potential..."

"Quality should prevail over quantity"

I tend to grumble about the fact that my novel is too long, that 160,000 words is too long, that I should really cut some scenes and so on... But I have to admit that part of me is actually proud of this achievement. I know I shouldn't be. I know that a long novel is not necessarily a better novel. Yeah, but it's still 160,000 words long. I wrote 160,000 words. And I feel smug. That is...until I have to edit those thousands of words for the hundredth time. Then I wish I'd written a short story!

"Listen to your characters and let them shape your story"

This is a piece of advice I've heard a lot as a would-be novelist. And it certainly gives interesting results!