This week, more reading than writing happened. I read:
The Likeness by Tana French - Aside from wanting to edit great swaths of dialog at the beginning of the novel, the book crooked it's finger and I became fully absorbed this past weekend, to the detriment of other things like chores and taxes. (Someday I'll pay someone else to get at my taxes.) The protagonist also doesn't gel for me until she's undercover and "playing" another character--intentional? And if intentional could the author have given me, the reader, a wink to show that she knew that I knew that she knew? (I think about these things: how do I let my reader know that this thing I'm doing that might not work on the surface is actually intended?)
Rough Drafts: Writers at Work at the Millay Colony - What writer hasn't dreamed of pushing pause on their day-to-day life and focusing on their creative work at a writers' colony? This new series from Lit Hub satisfies both the residency and seeing works in progress curiosities.
She Didn't Own a Birth Certificate or Go to School. Yet She Went on to Get Her PhD - (Review of Tara Westover's memoir, Educated) This story fascinates and horrifies me--I definitely want to read the book. It is amazing that this woman has escaped her background, but I also wonder what of that background lingers in her life, and whether she addresses this at all in her book. (Pair with Westover's interview on Fresh Air.)
Sherman Alexie Called Out for Sexual Misconduct for over a Twenty-Year Period - Of all the recent news about men in high places using their position to harass and inflict pain, this one saddens and angers me the most.
The Slade House by David Mitchell - Totally creepy, and, like The Bone Clocks, there's something I can't quite put my finger on that didn't click for me.
In Praise of Anita Brookner - Not only did she publish her first (of 23!) novels at age 53, her novels are about women's lives, human complications. I'll definitely check out her work.
Just started: A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles - I loved Rules of Civility.
I recently banged a short story into shape and sent it off for it's first round of rejections. It's a story I've been working on for literal years. One of the reasons it took me so long is that while I'm a great admirer of the short story form I did not, in fact, know how to write one. At all. So I've been working on it through heavy revision and angst, and, finally, I think the piece is in respectable shape. It's not perfect, but it may be as perfect as it's going to be. I was starting to fear I would tinker this thing to death and never send it out to greet its public.
There are two novels vying for my attention. I realized one needs considerable research to understand what's been done in the genre (sorry/not sorry I can't be more specific) so I don't unwittingly replicate all that's been done before, so I can break the mold in some way. (If that's even possible--nothing new under the sun, and all that.)
I'm searching for an entry point to the other novel. I should just forge ahead and worry about entry points later. I want to write something seductively lush that isn't overwrought--again, something to worry about later.
Gah. There are about four short stories in want of editing and polishing and maybe that's where I should turn my attention. Save the novels for later.