What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I began it in 2000 and finished it in 2020. That’s right, I spent 20 years writing it!
Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. And can you please include a photo? I wrote in the car (not while I was driving), in the living room, but mostly at my computer in my study.
What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? Some sections were written in journals with a pen (the first chapter was), but most of it was on my desktop. No specific time of day, because I’m more of an ad hoc person than a scheduled one. I might have drunk coffee sometimes while working, but I never listened to anything. Any sounds, even music, breaks up my concentration. I need quiet and privacy to write.
Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer.
pp. 191-192:
The car seemed to be driving itself. I had no idea of destination, but found myself on the highway. After what seemed like five minutes, but must have been closer to half an hour judging by the distance covered, I found myself turning off onto a road toward a lookout point. The car climbed a steep paved stretch of road through a stand of poplar and spruce that led to a picnic spot overlooking Lake Superior.
I parked the car, turned the engine off and sat, feeling dazed, as though I had a concussion. I rested my head on the steering wheel and tried to think, tried to absorb.
She lied. The taunt was like a fist squeezing my chest until I could barely breathe. I opened the car door and stepped out into the careless sunshine. Dust had settled on the blueberry bushes. Bumblebees hovered over the clover, moving randomly from flower to flower.
From the lookout point I could see Lake Superior on the opposite side of the highway, four hundred feet below where I stood. It stretched to the limits of my vision in every direction except the near side, where the shoreline bordered the highway. Pinpoints of light bounced off its surface, like sequins on a blue gown.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to yell, to hit something. I went back to the car and retrieved my ceramic coffee mug I often traveled with. I removed it from its tissue wrappings and took it to the lookout point. With every atom of fury I felt concentrated in the move, I heaved it toward a large outcropping of rock. As it shattered, I crumpled to the ground. I heard myself wailing and sobbing.
Eventually my knees began to feel the pressure of the gravel. I stood up, feeling shaky. My head throbbed from crying. I had never felt so hollow, so emptied of everything. A chipmunk scampered in front of my feet. Crickets sounded from the cover of weeds.
I leaned against the car, trembling. I couldn’t go home. I didn’t want Adam’s rational words, his maddening calm, his attempts to explain my mother’s unforgiveable actions. I wanted to confront my mother, to demand an explanation, to rage at her. To throw a rock through that glass house before I lost courage.
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Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? I was drawing from an experience in my own life when I felt shattered and furious. I actually threw a mug against a rock and then fell to my knees, wailing. Although the circumstances were different, and it had happened years earlier, I vividly remembered the feelings of pain and rage.
Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt. I have no pages or changes from this excerpt. I probably wrote it all on the computer, and corrected it as I went along. However, I am sharing a typical page from the book that was written in my journal first. You can see how much I scribble out as I write. (No extra charge for the feet shot.)
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http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/03/stephenson-holts-arranged-marriage-is.html