I apologize in advance if for the next month or so all you get are writing posts. Or perhaps no posts at all. I have a feeling NaNoWriMo is going to monopolize my writing.
As I mentioned in my last post, my novel is going to be drawing pretty heavily from my life experience. While it is fantasy, it’s a contemporary piece. My protagonist is a thirty-something woman who has just experienced a devastating divorce. In an effort to sooth her battered soul and regain purpose, she moves in with her aged aunt and takes up farming. She knows less than nothing about agriculture and foibles will ensue.
Write what you know. And I will. (The fantasy bit will come in the guise of a variety of shape shifting, fey-like creatures…both benevolent and malicious.)
That being said, I spent some time binge reading my old farm blog in preparation. The reading was bitter sweet; it brought so many feelings to the surface. It actually required a bit of emotional fortitude to wade through. There were so many moments of joy, strength, peace, connection, and wry humor. It made me nostalgic and wistful. I had expelled the passion I felt quite liberally across the page.
There was also the clarity of hindsight. While my readers (all three of them) might not have noticed, I saw a powerful trend. The pieces slowly but surely spoke less and less of family and relationships, until the Husband figure became barely a side-note in the writing.
Even more so, as I reread the tales, it sparked memory. The reminder of things that weren’t put to page is inescapable. The events that were inexorably intertwined in that time period, but far too terrible and personal to document.
I’m aware that strong emotion tends to make great writing. I hope I survive it.