Showing posts with label novel research. Show all posts
Showing posts with label novel research. Show all posts

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Continuing the Publication Countdown: Cover Art, Page Proofs, and Author Photo, Oh My!


A good gulp of hot whiskey at bedtime — it's not very scientific, but it helps.
~ Sir Alexander Fleming

The publication process of my novel just keeps rolling on toward the finish line. And, let me tell you, it's a whole lot of work, and a heckuva lot of fun.
Last night I returned from a whirlwind trip to Columbia, South Carolina, where I spent a couple of nights with my aunt, zipped down to Myrtle Beach and back for a photo shoot (more on this), perused the stacks at The South Caroliniana Library for research for the novel on which I'm currently working (slowly, painstakingly slowly), and as a bonus, got to have lunch with an old friend.
Before I detail the trip, let me just say that I was by myself, in the car, for a total of 9 1/2 hours. I can't remember the last time I was alone in a car. I think it was about three years ago. I played my music, loud.
My road trip playlist:
Sugarland
U2
The Pogues
The Dixie Chicks
REM
Sam Phillips
Grace Potter & the Nocturnals
Brandi Carlile
The Corrs
Aimee Mann
Dolly Parton
Robert Plant & Alison Krauss
Suzy Boggus
a mix my sister made for my bachelorette weekend (back in 2004)
"Here Come the 1 2 3s" by They Might Be Giants (yes, this is a kids' CD. I forgot about that fact until halfway through the first song, but it didn't matter, because these guys rock)
and soundtracks from Crazy Heart, Sweet Home Alabama, and Alfie.   
Yes, there's some serious woman power happening there.
I sang at the top of my lungs. I had a milkshake. It looked like this:
Photo Credit: www.grubgrade.com
 It was heaven. (I'm conveniently forgetting about Myrtle Beach traffic.)
In the short time I spent at my aunt's gorgeous 1930s bungalow in the Shandon area of Columbia, we drank adult beverages, ate delicious food, visited with another aunt and uncle, talked to her cat, looked at old photographs, went for a walk around the neighborhood--which is one of the prettiest, if not the prettiest, in Columbia, and just talked. I slept in my aunt's huge sleigh bed, and didn't open my eyes from the time my head hit the pillow until my alarm went off in the mornings. Much as I adore the little voice at home who shouts, "Mama! Daddy! Come get me! I had a very nice sleep! Mama! Daddy! Where are you?! I want out!" this. was. divine.
But back to work.
On Monday, I jetted down to Myrtle Beach for a photo shoot (for my author photo which will appear on the back of the book) with my ridiculously talented and gorgeous cousin-in-law, Paula Player. (You really should check out her web site, especially if you're planning a wedding or event anywhere in the Grand Strand vicinity, but also just to peruse her incredible photographs.) We met at Paula's friend's studio, Paula did my makeup (because I am, still, a tomboy), and had a great time. After, we went to lunch, talked nonstop about life and marriage and our kids, and the seeds were planted for what I foresee to be a beautiful friendship. 
I'm excited to see how the photographs turn out. And nervous. I asked her if she could make me look 10 years younger and 20 lbs lighter. She laughed.
Back in Columbia, within the lovely and hushed walls of The South Caroliniana Library, I played with research for the novel I'm currently writing. It's set in the 1850s in Charleston, South Carolina, just before the whole world is about to explode and change forever with Civil War (or as some refer to it down here: The Late Unpleasantness), and it's narrated by Josephine Scott, the great-great granddaughter of my characters in Keowee Valley, who's a sort of Southern Jo March. On advice from my new friend and pen pal, the writer Philip Lee Williams, I started to create a timeline for the novel by sifting through old newspapers of the period. I pray that this will help my complete inability to outline (or even really plan at all) the story.
Photo credit: http://library.sc.edu/socar/books.html
But The South Caroliniana Library. Oh, that library. It's gorgeous. Quiet. The staff are wonderfully helpful and kind. (Yes, they let me in the place in spite of the fact that my blood runneth orange.)
There's something so wonderfully old-fashioned and high-academic about it. You fill out a request, and they retrieve books from the stacks for you. You get to sit at these lovely desks with your own lamp. I could've spent hours there.
But I digress.
Currently, two booky things are going on in the world of Keowee Valley:
1. My publishers just sent me the Preliminary Page Proofs for the novel. This is exactly what the pages will look like inside the book itself. What I have to do--and what I'm doing now--is to go through the novel line by line, looking for any sort of mechanics errors. This ain't easy. It's a long novel. But fun, still fun!
2. My fabulous publishers have recently commissioned the artist M. C. Krauss to create the cover of Keowee Valley. While she mostly works in fantasy, she also works with individual subjects and covers. Her digital work is stunning, ethereal and cool, and I'm thrilled to see what she dreams up.
So that's what's going on in my world, at least on the book end of things. Add every day life to the mix, and in the words of my husband, minus the expletives, "It's a crazy-fest."
But I honestly wouldn't trade it for a thing.
Enough about me. I want to know: How are y'all? How are your summers going so far? What have you been up to in your writing, working, and reading worlds?  





















Thursday, March 8, 2012

Book Heroin & Writer Lust

I've got a book problem.

I've always had it, but lately it's gotten worse. I am drowning in books.

Over the years--as recently as the Fall--I have made attempts to seek a cure. I've culled my books, my haphazard library. I've donated books to friends, to the county library, to women's and childrens' groups. I became a volunteer for Operation Paperback, and each month I send countless paperbacks overseas to soldiers who desperately need a good story.

None of this has helped my disease. Let me offer proof.

Exhibit A, one of the four bookshelves in my livingroom/kitchen:


This bookshelf just squeaked, "Save me!"


Do not believe my husband when he tells you that I haven't given away enough books. I have. But this is as far as I can go. I won't show you the other seven bookshelves in my house. They're not fit for company.

Some girls dream of shopping sprees at Sephora and Manolo Blahniks. I dream of built-in bookshelves.

Now that I've begun my MFA in Writing, my book problem has gotten worse. Short story collections and essay collections--slim volumes, true--have been added to the stacks. Aimee Bender, Katherine Mansfield, and Jim Harrison have now joined the ranks of William Shakespeare, Diana Gabaldon, Lauren Groff and William Bartram. The books on my shelves speak Cherokee, Gullah, Cockney English, Gaelic and vampire. Yet they get along. I think.

Yesterday, I continued work on a new novel, which opens up a realm of possibilities for research. Okay, fine. A new reason to feed my book problem. Still, the sky has brightened and the seas have parted on a whole new world of topics like the Antebellum women's movement, the cotton industry, and pirates. Ooh, and also horse racing and 19th century politics and riding boots.

I might as well just go ahead and open a vein.

As a result of my book problem, I recently purchased one of the most enjoyable novels I've read in years: A Discovery of Witches, by Deborah Harkness. This book, which I gobbled down in about two days last weekend, satisfied all my cravings. It's centered around a
young American historian in Oxford (a hereditary witch determined to ignore her witchy DNA); a gorgeous, bookish vampire-scientist, and an ancient text. This is no teenager's vampire story: The pace of the novel is lightening-fast, the settings gorgeous, the mystery fun, and since Harkness herself is a PhD in history and a research hound, it totally satisfies the egghead in me. I can't wait for the sequel.

Since I read it, I've been suffering from writer lust. Another of my unfortunate "problems." I'm not necessarily jealous of Harkness's success (okay, maybe a smidge). What I lust after is her skill, her power to meld intellect with imagination. This is the sort of story I always long to tell: one that fuses history and research and books and adventure, and, when necessary (and some could argue this is always necessary), love.

And on top of all that, to create a story readers enjoy--full-throttle enjoy, like I did. On a beach, at the lake, on their couches, on a plane. Heads bent over gripped pages or Ipads or Kindles, completely immersed. Reading into the wee hours, though they have jobs and kids and life to take care of the next day.

It also doesn't hurt that as a full-time professor and author, Harkness is engaged in almost exactly the dual career I've been working toward since I was 24. And she's only in her mid-40s.

Did I mention that A Discovery of Witches is her fiction debut? Debut. First novel. And already a bestseller.

Okay, maybe more than a smidge jealous. But it's good-natured jealousy, non-threatening writer lust. Because for all her success and writerly genius, I get to read what she writes. And that's a gift.

So now it's back to my own projects and the story I'm currently trying to tell. In two minutes, it'll be time to wake my daughter, whom I've already let chatter and sing in her crib for far too long. Then my day really begins.

It's a wild, complicated, frustrating, wonderful, exhausting, exhilirating life, choosing to be a writer. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

I also wouldn't trade this for anything:

My daughter, 2 1/2, head in her own book.


Happy Thursday, all!