Thunder Road

If anyone ever tells you that writing a novel is easy then:

a) they have a very good ghost writer; or
b) they have a rubbish publisher and therefore poor editors; or
c) they’re a prodigy; or
d) they’re a liar.

A), B) and D) are far more likely than C). The truth is, it isn’t easy.

It is a solitary occupation, which rules many folks out. Personally, I kind of like the quiet.

It requires determination and discipline. Distractions are plentiful, as Catherine Deveny recently noted. If you work from home and tend towards a neat freak personality, you’re really going to have a battle on your hands. “Do I sweep down the cobwebs above the TV cabinet or try and write that intro I’ve been procrastinating on for a month… OK, so the cobwebs are down now but the dishwasher still needs emptying…” By the time you crank up the laptop and re-read what you last wrote, it’s time to cook dinner or collect the kids or both.

Being a novelist requires a resilient ego. You need to be bold enough to risk putting your work into the public domain, yet malleable enough to deal with rigorous editing, meagre sales figures and critical flagellation. While you’ll have times when you revel in a sentence that sings, I guarantee there’ll be periods when you despair whether you can write at all. And that’s without picking up book written by someone else and collapsing into an inferiority funk. Comparing your work/career with another author’s - and caring how you measure up - is a recipe for insanity.

You’ll need an eye for detail. If you write using the same phrases, descriptions, adjectives and verbs over and over, you’ll get panned. If you overuse adverbs, the same applies (although commercial success is still possible). There are websites that delight in dissecting books to reveal such failings. Poor research is another minefield.

A good editor will assist with these issues but you can help yourself. Read your work aloud. Listen for words that pop up too often, unrealistic dialogue and sentences that tie your tongue in knots.

Read and re-read. Write and re-write.

Chances are, you’re unlikely to ever feel your work is finished and perfect.

Indeed, you can’t be smitten with your own work. In all probability the passage you are fondest of will be first to fall under the editor’s scalpel. If you’re trying to be funny, you may be in for a shock. What’s funny to one set of eyes isn’t necessarily to another.

I’ve worked as a newspaper journalist so I’m somewhat hardened to being edited. I work as a website editor so I’m accustomed to rewriting contributors’ copy. But when it’s your own work you’re editing it’s much harder.

I’m working on what I consider the 8th version of my current novel and there will be further redrafting required. It took me four days to read it aloud and note changes required, and several more days to take in my own edits. I still managed to miss bits or mess them up and introduce new errors. Writing really can be Sisyphean in the demands it makes of you.

So why do we do it? Because it can be intoxicating and seductive. And if you get the stone to the top of the mountain, there’s a chance that someone will read it and like what you do.

Here’s YA phenomenon Maureen Johnson, courtesy of the vlogbrothers, sharing some other home truths on writing as a profession:

Here’s a list of stuff that writers shouldn’t do.

I’m a true believer in relation to the first #2. Some of the other points scare me.

That said, all readers are different and these are readers’ preferences rather than set-in-stone rules for writers. Some good advice there, nonetheless.

And I am glad to be reminded of the Royal Tenenbaums, which is polarising but a long-time favourite at my place. Here’s some sample dialogue:

Eli: I’m not in love with you any more.
Margot: I didn’t know that you ever were.
Eli: Let’s not make this any more difficult than it already is.

Character development? Bah, humbug. Mr Bump learns nothing and laughs in the face of danger.

He packs his swag and heads to the very same surf beach where his nose, mouth and spine, got so messed up last Australia Day. He dons the boardies, grits his teeth with determination and charges out into the pounding surf…

The second time he gets dumped and smashed into the shallow water he thinks, “I really should be a tad more cautious. I’ll start right after I catch the next wave.”

So perhaps there are signs of maturity emerging. Maybe.

Actually, one advantage of defying the doctors and camping on a public holiday is if a tent door falls on you it doesn’t hurt so much.

So there’s this character I’m working on, right? He’s a bit of a dreamer, a tad impatient and prone to rushing into stuff without thinking things through. As a result, he gets into strife occasionally. Even gets hurt. Here are some scenes from storyboarding his life:

Australia Day 2008
Setting: Front of house. Car with fully laden trailer.

Mr Bump is doing a bit of backyard blitz landscaping that involves hauling a trailer load of railway sleepers to his house with a mate. Trouble is, the friend is recovering from a motorcycle accident and needs a break. Mr Bump doesn’t do waiting well, so he decides to unload solo. All goes well until the tail end of one of the sleepers, the largest of the lot, jams against another piece of timber in the trailer. Mr Bump gives it a heave and it jerks free, all three metres of it. The tail end hits the ground so violently that Mr Bump’s end leaps from his grip and lands on his foot. He hops about for a moment, relieved that he has workboots and not thongs on. He drags the sleeper down the driveway, limping. He fully unloads the trailer and sends his friend home. Then, when Mr Bump stops for lunch, he takes the boot off. The foot swells. So much so that the x-rays just show a swollen mess. A CT-scan 5 days later reveals at least two broken bones.

Anzac Day 2008
Setting: Home office/bedroom to be

Mr Bump is shifting furniture between rooms. The piano has castor wheels but they just chew into the floorboards. Solution. Lift the piano, slide a folded towel underneath and then slide the instrument much easier. QED. So Mr Bump lifts the piano up and bends slightly to check the towel is in position. There’s a sharp twang and it’s not a piano string. Back spasms begin.

Australia Day 2009
Setting: Campsite beside surf beach

Mr Bump is body-boarding. The waves are serious dumpers, perhaps 2 metres high. Catch them at the right moment and you get a brilliant ride in. Miss the moment and you get pounded into shallow water. Mr Bump is waiting, displaying some semblance of patience. Beyond the break the waves rock gently, lulling him into a meditative state. He chooses a wave, paddles forward. Too fast. He falls 2 metres off the face of the wave, head first. At one point his ankles seem to pass his ears and he wonders whether a spine should bend that far backwards. Then his face hits the sand, his nose seems to splatter and a meteor field flashes through his vision. He wonders if his back has snapped. Thankfully, no. His face is ripped from forehead to chin. He has two fat lips and a swollen nose. The lifeguard says Mr Bump is lucky; a surfer snapped his leg the previous day. The surf is smaller the next day. Mr Bump’s face is significantly larger.

February 2009
Setting: Suburban doctor’s consultation room

Mr Bump catalogues his injuries. The doctor advises him to stay home and sit on the couch on public holidays. X-rays reveal spinal “wear and tear” typical of an older person but Mr Bump bounces back to a full recovery.

Christmas Holidays - Jan 2010
Setting: A modern beach-house

Mr Bump is sitting at a dining table inside a newly renovated beach house. A child enters the room, carefully closing the six-foot screen doors. Mrs Bump (AKA Mrs Sensible or Mrs Ask Someone to Help You With That or Mrs You Shouldn’t be Doing That) screams. One of the screen doors somehow makes a bid for freedom, leaving its rails and falling gracefully toward the dining table. Mr Bump’s head saves the table from damage. The timber frame hits him mid-scone and leaves a 4 cm gash. There’s blood, headaches, dizziness and neck pain. Mr Bump looks like he’s been in a pub brawl.

Mr Surgeon (standing conveniently nearby) says wound not quite deep enough to merit hospitalisation and does impro surgery using glue and Mr Bump’s hair to tie the scalp together. Mr Bump turns Mr Grumpy for a while - cranky he can get hurt sitting down but mighty pleased the Junior Bumps had just left the table. And that the door wasn’t solid timber or glass.

Landlord inspects the house and determines that while this occurrence has never been reported before, the door is indeed faulty and could fall out easily. No mention of the word “sorry”. He opts for the phrase “unfortunate accident”. Unfortunately Mr Bump is sore and can’t swim for most of his holiday.

Next up?

Most story arcs would see Mr Bump learn something. Take up meditation, dress only in bubble wrap and strive to keep his skin intact. Then again, perhaps the safety-first-at-all-costs approach is void if he can get injured indoors without demonstrating any obvious stupidity.

Maybe he curses the fates and rebels, switching to BASE jumping, ice-hockey and Paris-Dakkar racing.

But what should he do before his lesson is learned? Should he engage Ms Injury Lawyer and seek compensation?

Over to you, dear readers. What’s next for Mr Bump?

And here’s wishing you a safe and serene Australia Day 2010.