I was going to the drafts folder in my email and came across an email. I wrote a couple of years ago and never sent it. It describes some of the processes I go through writing and specifically address the second novel I began to write. It’s the novel I hope to finish within a few months. Here it is
The second novel I’m working on came to me pretty well, complete as a story, from whence I don’t know. I reckon a lot happens in the subconscious. It’ll publish the idea to the conscious mind when it’s ready. In my case, I woke up one morning with it in my head. I shared it with someone at work, and they said great, go for it, and that’s what I’ve been doing.
Generally, when I have a novel like this in my head, I’ll have the beginning and the end and bits and pieces in between. I’ll know what the story is about and what I want to say, but there’ll be a lot of gaps in the storyline. It’s like planning a trip from Melbourne to Sydney and knowing you’ve got to go through Upper Kumbucta West, but otherwise, you don’t know what route you’ll be taking until you’re in the car driving.
What I’ve found writing this is that while the story was clear to me, many of the underlying themes only became apparent as I began to write. I knew the headline themes and could have explained to anyone who asked this is what it’s about. But then you get into the nitty gritty, and there’s much more complexity than a sheer headline. You advance carefully, feeling your way, like walking through a minefield. Many times you retreat knowing it’s not quite right. That’s when you sit in front of your screen looking blank while your mind goes a million miles an hour. You live the moment, searching through it and clarifying details with your mind. Is this right? Or this?
You’re searching for truth, but it comes from the story, the text, and not anything you impose upon it. By now, the story has its own life. It’s your job to understand and to chart it. That sounds a bit of a toss, but that’s how it is. Quite often, I start writing thinking it’s about one thing before discovering there’s more to it than that, and my job is to listen well and get it right.
I had the experience halfway through writing this novel when I read of Homer, specifically, of Achilles, the mighty Greek warrior. As I read, I reflected on my story, seeing the parallels for the first time.
In the Iliad, Achilles is nigh on invincible. By myth, he was held by the heel and dipped in a magical pool that made him immune to injury. He’s a proud, somewhat arrogant character, though capable of great complexity. Ultimately – beyond the pages of the Iliad, he will perish victim of his only flaw – an error to the heel left unprotected.
But what if Achilles doesn’t perish? What if he lives on well after the sacking of Troy and the death of so many mighty characters? What if he passes into middle age, a warrior of legend but creaking, aching, and grey now? His days of might have passed. He has defeated thousands in battle, but in middle age, he has settled into an existence where he wonders what it all means. Looking back, he knows it was real but feels distant and lost, as if he is a different man. It is this he must reconcile.
That’s what my story is, in a way, though inadvertent. It’s modernised, and instead of a warrior, the protagonist is a once great sportsman.
I’m not far off finishing the first draft of this novel, and there will likely be a couple of rewrites before I’m happy. The point is that I started with an idea that still holds true, but I’ve found unexpected complexity as I’ve gone along. That’s not surprising, but I learn from it myself as I reappraise, reflecting on its depth and meaning.
One thing I know is that this has a strong theme in me—we tell our own stories. I’ll post something about that another time.