And just like that, after a three month hiatus, I’m writing again.
In my most recent writing push, I had to describe the main character’s recurring sexual fantasies. It was easily the most difficult prose I’ve ever tried to write.
Sure, when I was younger, my friends and I would sometimes sit for hours and write graphic sexual encounters, laughing our asses off at the creative and horrible ways we could describe the act; but these were easy to write because we were trying to push the limits of our sexual vocabulary. Piecing those scenes into a book-length work of serious fiction had nothing to do with it.
I find that no matter how I attack the fantasy I’m attempting to write, it all comes out sounding like cheap porn. No synonym for penis sounds natural coming from the MC, and there’s just no proper enough word to describe a woman’s genitals, unless you want to get all scientific with it.
Basically, when it comes to writing (and only writing), sex sucks. The MC will be dealing with a lot of improper sexual fantasies as the novel progresses, so I think this issue is one I need to address if I don’t want this novel to turn into a biopic of Ron Jeremy. I’ll have to practice writing sex a lot, but I could think of worse curses.
Now, because writing about sex is so difficult (but still oh-so-fun), I’m asking that everyone reading this post respond with clever ways to describe any kind of human sexual interaction. You can be humorous, literary, or as vulgar as you’d like. Also, feel free to go into as much detail as you feel necessary. No rules; just write about sex and have fun doing it! To get you started, here’s a picture of some sex:
Just pretend that they're people.
You can leave your examples in the comments section. Have fun!
The more time I spend writing this damn thing, the more amazed I am at how one day changes to the next. Yesterday, I was on probably the most intense creative streak in recent memory. I edited the whole prologue, pumped out close to 1,500 words of succinct prose, and even returned to my apartment, sat down, and wrote the first song I had written in months. It was a good night.
Today was not so hot. Everything I wrote sounded like shit. To be fair, my mind was somewhere else, my impending departure weighing heavy and my heart helplessly torn because of who I must leave behind…but still, I thought I was better than this. To give you an idea, I somehow used the word “ectoblastic” in a description of a cathedral in Italy. Yeah. That bad.
This only raises the question, is everything I write really this terrible? On nights I feel like I’ve written something good, am I just lying to myself? Or maybe, “ectoblastic” is some stroke of magical genius and everything I write is solid gold. I’m really hoping for the latter. I guess only time and the vicious criticisms of my peers will tell.
Oh, okay, here’s one more:
Props to Nik Holm for all of the fantastic photos!
I’ve never been good at saying goodbye. That’s not to say that every time I encounter a goodbye I’m stricken to tears; I just mean that I become so painfully, pathetically awkward when confronted with them. Goodbyes are sad, but they should also be heartfelt, sincere, or at the very least warm. The ability to say goodbye to somebody is often taken for granted, and sometimes, especially when a sudden death is concerned, it is impossible to do. But none of that matters when it comes to me. I really do suck at goodbyes.
This past weekend, at a massive beach party for all of the English teachers that will soon be leaving Kagawa, I was given a golden opportunity to say goodbye in the form of a short, drunken speech in front of all my friends huddled around a fire. There were so many wonderful things I could and should have said, but instead, my eyes averted to the sand at my feet, I made a lame attempt at a joke and fumbled through some clichés until I just threw in the towel and gave the stage to the next person in line. These are all some of the closest friends I’ve had in my life, but when I was given the opportunity to express to them all of the ways they have made a positive influence on me, I completely failed.
Because a solid block of text without a photo is so unseemly in a blog, here’s a photo of my friend early the next morning. It basically sums up the entire night:
This wasn't posed.
The rest of this last week has been filled with other, more uncomfortable goodbyes, and if I’m awkward when seeing off my friends, you should see me when I have to do it with Japanese co-workers and students I still barely know after two years, all in a broken second language. The entire time my smile is hung unpleasantly sideways on my face; my shoulders are hunched; my mind is working to keep my expressions from twisting into shapes that strike the utmost confusion into their poor, little hearts; and I swear I even fart more often.
The point is, all of this saying goodbye has kept me quite busy and given my relationship to the novel an interesting twist; now that I’m so suddenly confronted with my impending departure from Japan, I feel a desperate urge to get to the meaty, conflicted, second act of the plot. Japan is a place I have loved, hated, loved, hated, then loved again, and I’m terrified that once I leave the place, I’ll become disconnected from the vast array of emotions I need to remember to successfully write this story. At the same time, all of the shit I have to do before leaving is keeping me from writing. I’ve been frustrated to say the least.
Oh, and here’s another angle:
If you're thinking he looks dead, he might be.
Tonight, though, I threw all caution to the wind, let the dirty dishes and laundry pile up, left boxes unpacked, left my job applications unfinished, and sat down to write.
Speaking more seriously on technique than in my last post, I decided to face my fear of technology and write using the laptop. The process was altogether quicker, and I didn’t find that it cramped my style in any way as I had imagined it would, so I’ve completely scrapped writing on paper. In fact, I feel that tonight especially, the tone of the novel has fallen into a steady stride. It still may not be what I’m looking for in the end, but at least it’s consistent for now and allowing me to confidently write.
I also spent some time in the novel’s back story tonight, and it was undeniably fun to write about a number of different minor characters. I could give them quirky stories or insights without having to worry too much (like I do with the main characters) about how the events in their lives relate to their personalities because they will likely never be mentioned again.
On the other hand, I’ve encountered a problem writing about the more immediate members of the main character’s family. Because he is so closely related to me, I’m finding it impossible to write his parents much different from my own. I hate to do such a thing if only because it feels like I’m cheating somehow, but at this point, there doesn’t seem to be any other option. I just hope that nobody is offended when the novel is published, read by millions of people all over the world, and taught in introductory university English courses as a prime example of American literature.
One last thing; if you’ll please note the word count, you’ll see that even after a massive edit, I’ve written well over 5,000 words, which constitutes about 1/10 of a novel.
Please, save your applause for the comments section.
My novel began with a pencil and some paper. About a week ago, my Japanese study notebook open to a blank page, I went to scribble down a kanji and some English prose came out instead. I was surprised but kept going, not daring to stop lest I lose my momentum. I spent the entire rest of the night poring over just 1500 or so words, so that by the time I peeled myself away from the page, my hand had developed what felt like a permanent cramp for the equivalent of only a few, measly typed pages.
Looking back, I could have opted for the easier and quicker option by pulling out my laptop and typing everything instead, but I was worried that any change I make to the process at that point–especially such a drastic change as how the novel was leaving my body–would stunt my progress. Every subsequent time I’ve sat down to begin writing I consider pulling out that laptop, but I just can’t bring myself to do it, even though I know it’s the more logical choice for writing such a lengthy work.
After already blinding wrist pains and a sluggish pace, however, I’m tempted to rethink my process. Because there are benefits to both the pencil and the laptop, there is only one truly novel (pun intended) and logical idea that really comes to mind: I will tightly grip a sharpened pencil in each of my fists and alternately thrust them downward into the computer keypad.
This idea has its roots in a photo taken about two years ago when I was working on what would be my first major failed attempt at a novel. Here you can see me gleefully clacking away at some nonsense about a talking pig, if I remember right:
Look at him go.
Those of you with a keen eye will note that in this primitive form of the technique I am using chopsticks instead of pencils. This slight difference proved to be disastrous when something shorted in my brain and I almost mortally wounded myself:
Shorting
Shorted
Shot
Little did I know that I was just a tiny tube of graphite away from a perfect alignment of writing techniques. By replacing the chopsticks with pencils, I get the speed and versatility of using a computer, the organic feel of a writing utensil in my hand, and the primal gratification that comes from stabbing something over and over again. Forgive my conceit, but I really do think that I’m on to something here. Check and mate. And match.
One week after its explosive birth, the novel is coming along swimmingly. The style, of course, is shaky at best, but I’m at least getting the core plot down on paper, and once in a while I do actually surprise myself with a witty turn of words or an interesting analogy; mostly, though, I’m shocked at the amount of shit I excrete through my pencil.
This issue was to be expected, the biggest reason being that I’m just not positive what tone I want to take to deal with the subject matter. Lately I’ve been listening to the audiobook versions of Stieg Larsson’s novels (all three of which I highly recommend, by the way) every time I make the long bike trip to and from Takamatsu to settle in to a café and write. They’re mystery novels, and while it’s definitely a step ahead of the the rest within the genre, one wouldn’t necessarily describe the author’s style as “literary”.
Because I’ve been so involved in these books, my writing has naturally adapted Larsson’s flair, and the tone of my novel therefore borders on arrogant and disconnected, with too many big words, a number of unnecessary side bars, and a lack of good introspection concerning the main character.
The general outline of my novel is a sort of coming-of-age story dealing with what’s learned when immersed in a different culture, and consequently, it’s heavily based on my own experience working in Japanese public schools. While there is some humor in the novel, it still means the playful tone I’ve used so far just doesn’t match the theme. I’ve decided to use a third-person omniscient perspective throughout, which should allow me to delve into all of the main characters thoughts while at the same time maintaining a respectable distance from someone so largely based on myself (the character shares many of my faults and beliefs, which will create a great deal of tension in the novel). The tone I’ve used so far sounds too much like a narrative, though, and I’m finding it difficult to easily transfer between the character’s mind and descriptions of external events and the setting.
The setting itself presents another problem. Because I’m writing about a place I’ve lived for two years and by now know so well, any attempt I make to mention a specific location or use Japanese comes off as absurdly trite. I offer this example as proof:
“The couple stepped into the shotengai, a kind of covered arcade bisecting the city’s two main avenues…”
Yuck. Isn’t that disgusting? This could be all in my head and only feel trite because, again, I’m describing something with which I’m familiar, but I can’t shake the feeling.
I’ve considered just completely avoiding any explanation of anything Japanese and forcing the reader to guess or determine the meaning for themselves, but if I’m writing for a Western audience, shouldn’t I have to explain certain elements of the setting that could only otherwise be understood by living in this rural area of Japan? I’ve also considered including a glossary or footnotes to offer an explanation of certain Japanese words and phrases, but that doesn’t feel right either.
The problem is that using Japanese in the novel can’t be avoided, and not just because of the setting. The dialect used and the conversations between the foreigners living in Japan almost always includes some Japanese words–nouns, especially–even when there is a comparable translation in English. I refuse to only allow the characters to use the English translations of those words because I want to give as authentic a representation as possible of the dialogue between these foreign teachers. Furthermore, the topic of conversation among foreigners living here often turns to the unique situations or locations they encounter in their daily lives, and to completely avoid those discussions in the novel would be just as absurd as the trite observations I’ve made so far. I’m at a loss as to how to resolve this issue and I will definitely need to address it as the novel comes along.
In any case, these problems with tone and style will all need to be combed over eventually, but at the moment I’m not letting them prevent me from pushing forward with the plot. Perhaps I’ll return to them when I go through a bout of writer’s block, or maybe I’ll just wait until I’ve completed the story to start worrying. What comforts me is that though the task is daunting, it’s also thrilling because it means that I’ve at least written something I care enough about to want to perfect.
If you’re reading this right now, you probably already know me. If not, my name is Reese. I’m a 23-year-old American male, and I am an ESL teacher living in Kagawa, the smallest and one of the most rural prefectures in all of Japan. I’ve been here for just under two years, and for about the last month, I’ve been waiting to hear if I’ll be getting a long-shot teaching opportunity that would allow me to stay for another year; for many reasons, this an opportunity that represents a significant fork in my life’s road.
So, basically, I’m a wreck. While waiting to hear about this position, the rest of my life has been on hold. I’ve stopped exercising, I’ve given up eating healthy foods, and sleep…well, sleep is completely out of the question. Just look at this picture:
Note the sunken and hollow eyes, the general lack of personal hygiene, the unhealthy bulge of fat beneath the chin…I look pretty gross.
But that’s just regarding my personal care. At my current job I float through every day in a haze of dream-like incompetence–comforted only by the fact that the job requires anything but competence. My social interactions are conducted with an air of “yeah, yeah, get to the fucking point already” since nothing in the present seems as important as that one hinging possibility just hanging out there in the near future. And, regardless of getting the job, I will still need to completely move out of my apartment within the month, a fact I’ve been ignoring and will probably continue to ignore until the last possible moment.
Strangely enough, despite this bout of procrastination, I somehow managed to start writing a novel I’d been wanting to write for the last year but had never had the balls to start. In the midst of all that doing nothing, I guess I got bored and some novel fell out. Just a little. But it was still something.
Writing this novel, then, has become the tool of my procrastination; it’s something to keep me occupied while I put off all of life’s other responsibilities. More importantly, though, while I only wrote a bit of a prologue, I feel like I got a pretty damn good start on the thing. I also feel like this is the first honest attempt I’m making to complete a novel, a burden I’ve half-heartedly undertaken and almost immediately thrown aside a number of times in the past.
Therefore, I decided to mark this achievement by writing a blog about it. ”Why a stupid blog?” You might ask. Good question. Here are a few reasons.
First, writing a novel is a fantastic and interesting process that warrants documentation. There is evidence for this in the number of published authors who include a writer as a character in their fiction. Many of these authors even write entire books on what it is to be a writer, droning on for great lengths about their unique experiences when writing. Writing a novel takes time, sweat, blood, tears, and whatever else goes into putting a great story to paper. A lot of pencils, I’m guessing.
Second, the internet is a place to get read. I’m no fool, and I refuse to entertain any (serious) notions that once I’ve finished writing and editing my novel it will magically find its way into major publication and infinite success; but I figure, if I put it out there that I’m writing–and hopefully after some time have written–a novel, somebody might see and understand my accomplishment. Even if it’s only my close friends and family that ever read this thing, at least they will know how much time, effort, and creative energy I’ve thrown into a body of work that I’m proud of. After all, I am writing this book with the hope that someday I sell it and eventually make millions off of the movie rights. But seriously, to have my entire experience spent on such a life-consuming work fade completely into the unknown seems unfair and absurd, and a silly blog about writing could be a satisfying enough remedy.
The last and most direct reason for starting this blog is simple; I need accountability. Those who know me know that I am a lazy bastard–as lazy as they come–and writing an entire novel will not be so easy for somebody so willing to do absolutely nothing at all. By throwing all of this information out there, I will be held responsible by my decisions regarding the subject; anyone who reads this blog and follows my progress will also share in my absolute failure if I ever allow myself to give up working on the novel. I’ve lived in Japan long enough to understand that being shamed by your peers and relatives is unpleasant, so once I establish this blog and really settle into writing, failure will no longer be an option.
Now that I’ve given my reasons for starting the blog, let me prepare you a little for what you’ll be reading. As I mentioned above, the purpose of the blog is to document the writing process, so I won’t necessarily post large blocks of text from the novel, nor will I give away specific plot elements. Instead, I will give insight on what it’s like to fully develop a character, or plan out certain plot elements, or maintain a specific tone and style throughout the novel–all of which I already foresee as major problems in the future.
I will also touch on how the novel-writing process affects my life outside of the novel. Once my fate is decided in the next couple of days, for example, the course of the novel may change and that may be an interesting topic. Maybe other events in my life will affect what or how I’m writing, or maybe certain conversations I have or stories I hear will end up in the novel. Though I already have a grasp on the general plot, I can’t be absolutely sure how the novel will end up, just as I can’t be sure where this blog will go. What I can promise is that I will give as honest a portrayal as possible of my experience writing and completing a novel.
I’ve noticed that many of these blog thingies concerning some long-term goal give a specific time frame to complete the said goal; I’m not going to do that. I find that a deadline not only hinders my creativity, it tends to discourage me and really just give me a bad taste about something I should enjoy doing. I understand that giving myself a deadline would create more drama (concerning the blog, specifically), but I’m not really interested in all that. I just want to write a book.
So, without further ado, I give you The Novel Blog, the blog about writing a novel. Check back in frequently for updates, or if you feel so inclined, you can jump on my bandwagon to receive update notifications by e-mail (and make me look cool by giving me a list of subscribers).
I’m going to try to keep my blog posts as thorough as possible, so I’ll also be posting smaller quips and musings on the spot through Twitter. You’ll find all of my tweets on the right side of the page, and you can also follow that account if you’d like.
In any case, I thank you for your support and the pressure you’ll put on me to complete this damn thing. I hope you enjoy reading my writing about my writing. Cheers!
-Reese
