Reader's Exchange : National Novel Writing Month, Round Rock Public Library

This November, success is in the bag

Linda Sappenfield — Thu, 15 Nov 2012 18:06:00 GMT

If you hear an odd metallic noise anytime in November, just ignore it. It's the sound of literary standards being ratcheted down another notch.

Under normal circumstances, we readers maintain the loftiest of expectations, which of course do not include cliché's, repetitive word choices, or plot mechanisms that either strain credulity or just downright insult it.

But these are extraordinary times, my friend. November is National Novel Writing Month, and this year I am (usually late at night) concocting what is tentatively dubbed Another Terrible Novel. Given that 50,000 words are required to cross the finish line on November 30, I'm not far behind the pace at my current 22,184. This sum has only been achieved thanks to vats of caffeine and no thanks to a few unscheduled events of the sort that promise to continue throughout the month.

Does this sound like an excuse for a further diminishment of prose quality over the next two weeks? Oh, good; that's a relief. To be fair (to myself) we NaNoWriMo aspirants know at the outset that quantity really is the goal. To produce a 150-page document in 30 days, writers are compelled to "just go with it". In the sheer desperation of getting something--anything--down on the page, they are driven to thoroughly ransack their memories and psyches for material.

The process is much like finding oneself back in elementary school; it's lunchtime, and you're opening the mysterious brown paper bag that you've carried all morning but didn't inventory until this minute. Clearly requiring sustenance, you dig deep and drag everything out.   Appalled at first by offerings that look unpalatable (to you and, you're sure, every other person in the lunchroom) you check again--and spy a raw vegetable slightly past its prime.

Now, you're generally more of a cheese-and-crackers or apple sort of person, but those options aren't present. Suddenly that carrot or whatever represents all manner of possibilities. With creative thought, it could be rendered quite satisfying.   And--on a very few occasions--you peer into the sack just once more and discover a tantalizing morsel that anyone would covet. You had only to delve into those dark recesses.

This all explains why writing quality occurs as a happy surprise, not an expectation, when the writer grasps frantically to fill in a blank. I once noted that, in an otherwise nicely written novel, the author chose the phrase "shaped like a sarcophagus" enough times that it evolved into a joke, detracting from a more than competent story line.

Last week, on the verge of creating a time-traveling heroine deserving of a dashing name, I assisted a library customer searching for a book by legendary French chef Auguste Escoffier. Brilliant! That night, my character was christened "Augusta".   And I realized how unsuspecting library customers could aid me in answering the 50,000-word question. I only have to pay attention. And they'll easily find me at the reference desk. It's as large as a sarcophagus.

Yes, Yoda, there is a "try"

Linda Sappenfield — Tue, 30 Oct 2012 16:31:00 GMT

Those Texas Book Festival planners are geniuses. Imagine not only producing a weekend of superb literary presentations but also conjuring up October weather that feels like October?

I, however, am not brilliant and consequently found myself at TBF with 25 precious minutes available for reading--and no book. The advance copy of Amity Gaige's Schroder intended for that purpose was left basking in the gloom of the parking garage.

At least I'd arrived early for this speaker and secured an auditorium seat fronting the upper section. Unearthing paper and pen, I spent the interval savoring the novelty of leg room and generating character names for my book. National Novel Writing Month begins this week; thank goodness I finally have the skeleton (how appropriate) of a plot.

The story line involves a couple dozen individuals--people resembling the array of citizenry streaming into that very location, I realized. Inventorying the audience, I cast my novel by identifying types like those in the story and engineering monikers to suit each one's persona.

If you were present, you could end up in my fictional creation (sort of), but no one would ever know. Besides, if this NaNoWriMo result achieves the quality of last year's effort, I'll hit "delete" and vaporize it as soon the word count is verified. Having learned much from the previous experience, I'm striving for a standard above "no one should ever see this". Aim high: that's my motto.

Contently scribbling notes for a tale not fated to enrich humankind, I'd awaited a presentation by David Shapard, creator of annotated Jane Austen novels. Shapard contended that Jane Austen could be the greatest English-language novelist ever. Was it symmetry, balance, or irony provoking that auditorium to simultaneously host evidence of the best and the worst in fiction?

Shapard also noted-- supporting his "greatest" assertion--that critics' esteem for Austen's work has (remarkably) not fluctuated over time. And I mentally applauded Shapard's assertion that Austen's "good" characters are not dull. Having earlier quoted a couple of snarky one-liners mined from Austen's correspondence, Shapard conjectured that Austen characters were sometimes allowed to publicly overstep and later repent, much in the way that the author herself may have. Goodness, Shapard maintains, was "an achievement".

En route to the next venue amid readers, authors, event organizers--achievers all--I considered why NaNoWriMo authors sign on for a grueling month-long writing assignment practically guaranteed to engender a document that's, er, flawed.   The reason: success can follow only the act of putting oneself out there and awaiting the consequences.

And if the result seems a universe away from Jane Austen? Well, NaNo is an achievement in itself.   At least, you'll have proven Yoda wrong.

The most exclusive book club ever

Linda Sappenfield — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 16:31:00 GMT

If and when I write my novel (did you know that November is National Novel Writing Month?) I'll be thrilled if even one person deems it a "page-turner". Speed reading, however, isn't the sole indicator of reader involvement. Call me eccentric, but I can suggest a more significant benchmark.

Here's what happens: you've already passed the "continue or abandon in favor of next book" stage; the story has earned your approval. Then, you know you are truly committed when you imagine a friend or acquaintance reading along and enjoying, commenting upon, or even disdaining the book. The point is, you're already sharing the book and prompting a response to it--and you haven't even finished it. Notice how I attribute all this to "you" in the hopes that I'm not the only person who does this?

This very process played out during preparation for yesterday's Baca Center book discussion. The particularly vibrant Great Conversations selection was "Hekabe" by Euripides, a dramatist who can condense more pathos and ethical dilemmas into a few dozen pages than anyone else you could name. As Hekabe (Hecuba) grieved, argued, and plotted her way through the multi-layered tragedy, some of her assertions evoked speculation: what would group members say about that? By "say", I mean not merely comment but also document opinions with passages brought along or reviewed in advance of the meeting. Yes, it's that kind of group.

Nothing like that occurred during my perusal of a title I couldn't resist: Target Underwear and a Vera Wang Gown. Adena Halpern's contemporary dilemmas, e.g., whether to ditch her stylist, registered as so much less compelling than Hekabe's ancient but ageless ones. Without relating myself, it's no surprise that I couldn't channel anyone else's participation.

Already sold my on my current read, Cristina Garcia's wonderful The Lady Matador's Hotel, I found a particularly sensual passage provoking this vividly imagined scenario: my mom has chosen this book for a a group of her contemporaries. They're sitting in her living room, reading it aloud. Suddenly, eyes widen, lips purse, the room goes silent. Finally, one ventures, "Well, I guess we don't know Jean as well as we thought we did!"

You'll find The Lady Matador's Hotel among the titles offered as Book Club Carryouts. All Carryout selections will delight some book clubs, and overall they represent a range of reading tastes. I hope you'll share them, whether your fellow readers are actual or imaginary!