This year – 2017 Anno Domini – I plan to offer my followers some sneak peeks and teasers on my current book project (once it’s done that will be a whole other story!) It’s still a work in progress, with an unforeseen due date. But these sorts of babies must not be made in haste.
You, the Reader, get your own free samples, right here on this blog, of what to expect if you decide to read my book when it’s done. Not only will I introduce you to some of the characters, but I will also touch on some of the elements and themes present in the book. You’ll be offered some imagery of where the book takes place. And if you’re really lucky you might even unlock some clues that will come in handy later on.
In other words, except lots of foreplay, with a paperback orgasm.
So, let’s begin.
My book. It has no title yet, since titles are my personal kryptonite as a writer. As soon as I have one you’ll know about it.
This book is my answer to the cliche writing tip, “Write what you know.” I’ve seen this sentence interpreted from east to west, and I think however a writer takes it is the way it should be taken. But for me, it meant that I needed to go back to my roots.
See, I was raised in very very small towns my whole life. For a decade we lived in northern Minnesota, where forty below is not unheard of and long car rides across the flat lands were accompanied by Garrison Keillor cassettes. The next decade of my life was spent in northern Wisconsin, a paradise for me one month out of the year, National Dairy Month. As a kid I fantasized about living in a big city like Chicago. And since the only times I had been to Chicago were for trips, it seemed better than anything. I wanted to run away and go there instead.
So all my stories were set in big cities. It was an escape for me because I wanted to be anywhere but where I was (I would bore you if I explained why). The problem was I had never lived in the city so I had no idea how the stories worked. The ending results were scrambled, confusing, and sometimes just plain ridiculous.
What was I doing wrong? I wondered. I loved the characters, I didn’t have bad story ideas. So why weren’t they working? Why did the stories just plain suck?
Then I remembered. “Write what you know.”
About 18 months ago I finally took the advice I had heard time and time again to heart. I decided to write a book that went back in time, back to my earliest childhood memories. And from those memories, I would draw out the unseen, the obscene, and irrational. I would dare to open up dusty boxes and old wounds and see what hid inside them.
The aging, mentally ill, bitter, disillusioned adult in me is writing my book. But so is the Northern Midwestern bred child who grew up too fast in some ways and not fast enough in other ways. The child with blind trust for grownups and institutions and no trust for what lay in the woods. It is the first time these two persons in me have ever collaborated on a single project. And I have to say, so far the results have been therapeutic and terrifying at the same time.
Anyway, I begin to hope the book will have the same result on her readers. Only time will tell.