I’m nearly finished with the publication of a paperback copy of the ebook MNW and it’s now time to get back to the next book. The working title for this new novel is Esme`. And right off the bat I have created a stumbling block. If I use this title and the name, I’m stuck with some interesting problems. That little ` grave accent at the end of this french name becomes not so little. For instance, I have to stop and use that little bugger every time I use the name in the text. Well, that’s not so bad, but add to that whenever I use the possessive of the name, it’s another detail I fear will become an issue in the manuscript as I move through the book. (And then there is the proofing.) I know I’m being petty, but really, as I’ve thought through this and asked around I see problems ahead. I thought of just dropping the ` from the name, but others have cautioned me on that. (Of course, they don’t have to write the thing.) I need to think this through more. I have other possible titles for the book, but the character’s name is stuck to me, and I like this title more.
Anyway, as I put MNW to the shelf and turn to this new novel, I am reminded of John Steinbeck’s journals he kept while writing East of Eden. He made the comment above to his agent in a letter. It is slightly reassuring that Steinbeck shares some of my concerns. Of course, Steinbeck had little to worry about, but I guess he didn’t know that. (Doesn’t mean I consider myself in his class, but then again, that’s the point, isn’t it?) I suppose there are writers or painters or sculptors or actors or other artists out there who suffer no self-doubt. I’m not one of them. And apparently, neither was Steinbeck. “I have the fear that comes with starting and the usual lack of self-confidence (Really? Steinbeck?). But also there is a kind of craziness it is hard to peg down–a willy-nilly, fly-off-to-the-ends-of-the-world feeling.” Hmmm. Maybe he never read his own books.
It is difficult to evaluate my own work. I try not to, but that doesn’t work out very well. As the book becomes available to others, I think all kinds of things. Most of them are pretty pathetic thoughts. But, in general I have learned to let go of that some and try to simply enjoy the fact that I completed the novel; the characters now have to live with their lives inside the covers (or the virtual covers in the ebook) as I have left them. And I have to get on by reminding myself that I just have to write. And learn as I go with each new book. I really don’t have the luxury of time that I would’ve had if I’d started younger at this incredible adventure of learning how to write a novel.
Hemingway, in a letter to F.Scott Fitzgerald, said: “Look how it is at the start–all juice and kick to the writer and can’t convey anything to the reader–you use up the juice and the kick goes but you learn how to do it and the stuff when you are no longer young is better than the young stuff–” (Note the lack of commas? Classic Hemingway.) I go on. Trying to live up to some standard that I don’t understand myself. See, I grew up with the writings of another era. I love that Russo has put another standard out there for writers, as have others, like Harper Lee, Dillard, John Irving, but the early writers are still in the back of my brain and keep me drawn to a craft that I probably am wasting my time at. I don’t really see it that way. There is something about the process of writing that is nearly addicting to me.
Mother, Night, and Water is about to come out as a paperback. I hope that it is interesting–to others, I mean. But, in the end, I am satisfied that I wrote the damn thing. And I will gain from the experience in a lot of ways that have nothing to do with the end product or what I or others think of it. And I believe that as artists do what they do, some will always remain just artists, and do it for the love of it.
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