Salsa, Walking, and the Perfect Time to Write

Salsa feet slamming on a salsa floor

Spinning near stacked speakers

My new pulse matches the rhythm of the song

Keeping me dancing all hours of the night

 

Walking home

Pizza eaten on cardboard plates

The gentle voice of a friend sharing secrets

Until sleep covers us

 

Waking, legs aching and we’re happy

Water, glasses of water, and aspirin

Walking only for coffee

Slow motion day and no writing done

 

The next evening I plan to turn left

But in a rare instance the sun is uncovered

I turn right instead

Walking under trees towards the water

 

On a sloping rock just off the path

I undo shoes, take off socks

Roll up jeans, roll up sleeves

Lay back and listen to the ocean

Tumbling rocks under the waves

 

Nature is attentive

The breeze moves over me

Sunlight on my face, my legs, my arms

It is my lover’s summer touch

 

My breath flows easy

Shoulders easy, jaw easy, body easy

Ego dissolved, I am nothing to anyone else

And everything to myself

And the words flow in

And the words flow out

Smash Up: How to Write a Novel

The new novel is now coming along. Thank god. I had forgotten that I need to write the book, scene by scene, not in order, and not try to plan every scene and twist and everything else that goes into making a book. Maybe that process works for Elizabeth George, but it sure doesn’t work for me.

This is what works for me: there is a wife and a husband. Yes. Definitely those two people. And I know the husband is ambitious, but I also know that the spark of his genius always comes from his wife. And at some point she is going to loose it with him because he’s really screwed up.

It is going to be an all-out fight. Something big. A smash up. Yes. Smash. He’ll be in the kitchen pretending to be deep and successful. And she will confront him. She’s a thrower: when she is angry she throws things. I like that about her. At first she throws a few glass ornaments that were sitting on the credenza in the dining room. That’s when she tells him that he is stupid, even though the words had never once passed her lips before.

The man is surprised. Sure, his wife throws things, and he grovels & agrees, and then they’re fine again. That’s how it goes. But she’s never insulted him before. He is unprepared for this. But he sticks to his plan: grovel & agree.

Only grovel & agree isn’t working. Why not? The man wonders. A wine decanter smashes against the cupboard. He has taken cover behind the kitchen island. He is starting to think he may not be safe.  His wife is still yelling: her words are important to the plot. The man knows he messed up. His actions are relevant to his character development.

And once the punch bowl has been thrown, the scene is done.

This is how I write a novel.