You’ve heard whispers of my novel in progress, perhap? Yes, for quite some time. This month I’m a rebel in the Nanowrimo .(write 50 000 words in a month) You’re allowed to break rules there, because getting novels done whatever way that works is what Nano is all about. Trust me, they ‘get’ writers and have the humour, the ability to debunk the myths, and the tools and the community to keep you going. Like that crazy little wordcounter on the side of this page that makes me feel like I better have something to show there! Ha!
I’m breaking the rules by continuing a novel in progress. And it’s a creative autobiography, not a fictional novel. They have forums for us rebels.
The book was already completed once. But it sat, because the stories I don’t tell were screaming to be told. Now, it’s been like combining two novels in one. I love section one, but the other 200 pages? Total rewrite needed. So for Nano, I am starting section two over…calling the current 200 pages a really extravagant outline…. and going for 50 000 words to complete! Whoot whoot! (I won’t be putting section one in the word count.)
So here’s a bit about the Novel.. with a current working title of: “Beyond All Imaginings”
Synopsis Imagine “Close Encounters of the Third Kind’ and you’ll get a feel of what happened to me when faeries started show up in my clay. Running parallel in my life though was a period of brutal grief and a very different, yet amazing, kind of magic. It began 20 years ago, and now the whole story wants to be told.
This is the story of magic and altering time and dogs that fly and people who died and beings who introduced themselves as faeries… and this is a story of pottery.
It’s about smashed fingers, smashed dreams, smashed faeries and the value of throwing up your arms and saying “whatever.” It’s about impossible things being possible and “Rolling Stones” playing on unplugged radios.
It’s about walking through walls and it’s about faerie sex. (That chapter nearly stopped me in my writing tracks.)
This is the true story of my life: The tragic loss of loved ones; the magic of faerie-like beings showing up in my clay, on my pages, and in my home – which they did, by the way, very much to my dismay – at least at first. And now, the faeries insist they will simply keep blowing themselves up in the kiln until I tell our story.
This is the story that blurs your boundaries between reality and fantasy and leaves you wishing you could find your way into my world, albeit without the tragedies. As you can imagine, this has not been a simple story to write. Hell, if it were fantasy it would have been easy… but this is my life.
It’s been a novel in progress for quite some time, because seriously, how does one tell a story of magic and faeries and people who died? How does one tell the stories I don’t tell, when one knows they have to be here?
One begins. That’s all, I suppose…