Convergence
Poor Bea is sick. She began coughing so frequently that night that she and Martin switched places when we went to bed at midnight (unlike some mamas, I can sleep through my childrens' noise better than Martin). I fell into a deep sleep until around three when Bea awakened me with the warning, "I think I need a throw-up bowl. . ."
Whilst trying to climb out of my deep sleep, I was not able to move fast enough.
* Blech *
Today her cough settled into a rather worrying wheeze. But she's held down liquids for the last five hours so that's good. I hate seeing our daughters sick, especially sweet little skinny Bea who can't afford the weight loss.
On the plus side, however, Martin and I did a lot of writing while she watched TV and slept on the couch. I kept an ear out for her as I finished my last chapter of "Magnificent Maple," now in its sixth or seventh draft. Happy was the night when Martin, my harshest critic, finally finished reading the latest draft, tossed it across the table to me, and said, "It's good. It's really good."
That moment was perhaps even more rewarding than the moment, hopefully sometime soon, when a publisher says the same thing. My hope is based on years' worth of hard, various drafts, complete rewrites, a wonderful panel of "test" readers, and Martin's often deflating, and therefore, incredibly helpful, evaluations. When I whipped off the first draft waaaay back in Texas (where I visualize the the setting for the book), I thought it was fan-tas-tic. But then I thought everything I wrote was fabulous and it would just be a matter of stamps, a couple of envelopes, and someone on the other end to recognize my genius. Some eight years later, I no longer think so.
Living and working with Martin has been the best training I could have asked for, and I hope he'd say somewhat the same for me. We don't spare each other's feelings, but we trust one another, and that is vital. In our best editing sessions, we whittle each other down to sharp points--mostly, I must admit, Martin whittles my prose down. He's a poet and for him, each word is a temple. I generally write prose and for me, each story is a temple and each word is an item in that temple--and let me tell you, I love to accessorize. Candlesticks, here we come. Martin reminds me that less is more, that it's almost always a good idea to clean house, so to speak. So that's why his second comment (after the first, stunning, 'This is good!') caught me off guard:
"It needs another chapter."
Say what? More? Music to my ears. I loved writing that last chapter. I've become so fond of Maple, her friend Jose, Muncy Street, and the magic cats that it was like going to a best friend's house for an afternoon.
Martin and I are also trying an experiment--co-writing a picture book text. Co-writing. What a crazy thing for us, so stubborn and so different in our styles. But so far, so good, despite the chain-pulling Martin loves (he told me yesterday he'd completely changed the setting from the country with chickens, etc., to an apartment--a shift that would blast the plot to pieces. After about three minutes I realized he was joking).
First we discussed the story together and mapped it out. Then I wrote a draft, much too long, and handed it to Martin. It was a bit hard to give up, but the fun of cowriting was too good a chance to miss. Now he's writing a draft based on the first--I heard the first page yesterday and I love it. Then we'll shape the next draft together. Pretty exciting stuff. It's taken us almost fourteen years of writing and living together to get to this place of convergence--we've done writing workshops and taught together but this is a whole new kettle of fish. I'm interested to see where it takes us next.
Whilst trying to climb out of my deep sleep, I was not able to move fast enough.
* Blech *
Today her cough settled into a rather worrying wheeze. But she's held down liquids for the last five hours so that's good. I hate seeing our daughters sick, especially sweet little skinny Bea who can't afford the weight loss.
On the plus side, however, Martin and I did a lot of writing while she watched TV and slept on the couch. I kept an ear out for her as I finished my last chapter of "Magnificent Maple," now in its sixth or seventh draft. Happy was the night when Martin, my harshest critic, finally finished reading the latest draft, tossed it across the table to me, and said, "It's good. It's really good."
That moment was perhaps even more rewarding than the moment, hopefully sometime soon, when a publisher says the same thing. My hope is based on years' worth of hard, various drafts, complete rewrites, a wonderful panel of "test" readers, and Martin's often deflating, and therefore, incredibly helpful, evaluations. When I whipped off the first draft waaaay back in Texas (where I visualize the the setting for the book), I thought it was fan-tas-tic. But then I thought everything I wrote was fabulous and it would just be a matter of stamps, a couple of envelopes, and someone on the other end to recognize my genius. Some eight years later, I no longer think so.
Living and working with Martin has been the best training I could have asked for, and I hope he'd say somewhat the same for me. We don't spare each other's feelings, but we trust one another, and that is vital. In our best editing sessions, we whittle each other down to sharp points--mostly, I must admit, Martin whittles my prose down. He's a poet and for him, each word is a temple. I generally write prose and for me, each story is a temple and each word is an item in that temple--and let me tell you, I love to accessorize. Candlesticks, here we come. Martin reminds me that less is more, that it's almost always a good idea to clean house, so to speak. So that's why his second comment (after the first, stunning, 'This is good!') caught me off guard:
"It needs another chapter."
Say what? More? Music to my ears. I loved writing that last chapter. I've become so fond of Maple, her friend Jose, Muncy Street, and the magic cats that it was like going to a best friend's house for an afternoon.
Martin and I are also trying an experiment--co-writing a picture book text. Co-writing. What a crazy thing for us, so stubborn and so different in our styles. But so far, so good, despite the chain-pulling Martin loves (he told me yesterday he'd completely changed the setting from the country with chickens, etc., to an apartment--a shift that would blast the plot to pieces. After about three minutes I realized he was joking).
First we discussed the story together and mapped it out. Then I wrote a draft, much too long, and handed it to Martin. It was a bit hard to give up, but the fun of cowriting was too good a chance to miss. Now he's writing a draft based on the first--I heard the first page yesterday and I love it. Then we'll shape the next draft together. Pretty exciting stuff. It's taken us almost fourteen years of writing and living together to get to this place of convergence--we've done writing workshops and taught together but this is a whole new kettle of fish. I'm interested to see where it takes us next.
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