Hidden in Plain Sight

I think I’m at the end of the Hidden in Plain Sight series, and that’s part of the reason I am facing writer’s block. I have been with that series for over ten years, and my involvement in that world has been extensive.

My books involve an ecocollective in the middle of Illinois, an experiment in living with a small carbon footprint, on a working farm, with principles of pacifism. But the place has secrets. A fight for humanity on its grounds. Two trees that give people inexplicable talents. Immortal beings and their long-lived offspring. Flying cats. Barn Swallows’ Dance is, necessarily, hidden in plain sight.

I have written seven books about the world. Gaia’s Hands introduces us to the collective and its miracle food forest, which grew up literally overnight with Jeanne Beaumont’s talent. Apocalypse pits the pacifists of Barn Swallows’ Dance against three immortals who want to end humanity. Reclaiming the Balance visits justice, as even the utopian collective falls into prejudice and discrimination. Avatar of the Maker involves a young adult who is called to stop a battle among immortals that could decimate the world. Carrying Light takes the reader to the edge of the riots that will ultimately bring down the United States, while Whose Hearts are Mountains explores the world on the other side of those battles. Finally, Hiding in Plain Sight features an early glimpse of the immortals as one of them falls in love with a human.

One of the important themes of the books is relationships. Not only the romantic ones, of which there are many — the 6000 year old linkage of Adam and Lilith, the odd couple Jeanne and Josh, the star-crossed lovers Alice and William — but the everyday relationships of the members of Barn Swallows’ Dance. The characters, and how they relate to each other, are important.

Barn Swallows’ Dance is almost itself a character. Part utopia, part cauldron of preternatural turmoil, it serves as a uniting principle of the stories. (Only the prequel, Hiding in Plain Sight, does not feature the collective).

This is the world I am leaving behind. It hurts, but I don’t know what else I can write in the series. Nothing is speaking to me. I feel like I have explored everyone’s stories.

What can I do to top this?

Done with the book

I am finally done with “Hiding in Plain Sight”, my latest book. And I am done with the whole thing. I think this book needs a long hibernation in a dark drawer before I touch it again. It is not a good book, and I don’t say that lightly. It is the first draftiest version of a first draft I have written since my first copy of my first book. It tells rather than shows way too often, and I don’t know if it’s salvageable.

At the same time, I already know what I need to do with the last two chapters. I just don’t know if I have the energy to do it yet.

These Chapters are All Wrong

I wrote two or three chapters that are all wrong. The main male character seems perfect, the main female character is too ambivalent (although ambivalence is not a bad thing here), and it’s too talky. What does one do when the characters are all wrong?

Revise, revise, revise. I know writers say not to edit your work until you’re done, but this section can’t stand as is. It’s wrong. It’s going to lead the reader to the wrong place. It’s already leading the writer to the wrong place. So, there’s at least 5000 words down the drain (two of the chapters were only partially written) and time to write them over again.

I know what I will be doing at Starbucks today.

Current Work-In-Progress

I am finally back to writing. The current book, which has the same name as the previous book I was having trouble writing (Hiding in Plain Sight), is flowing nicely so far and is enjoyable to write. No feeling like I’m drifting along killing time. So far.

I am using the usual “plantsing” method for writing this book. I have a rough plot outline in Scrivener that I follow — it tells me what to expect in the chapter. Then I fill in the action from there. I feel more secure in this outline so far. I might get to the point where I wish I was writing a novella, or I beat my head against the wall looking for plot, but it hasn’t happened yet.

I like Alice Johnson as a protagonist. An anthropology grad student, a little absorbed in her folk tales, perhaps a little naive, she seems the perfect protagonist to contrast with the centuries-old yet new to relationships William. I think there’s enough to keep going.

Wish me luck.

Starting from Scratch

My husband suggested to me that I might be writing the wrong story.

I have been writing on a novel that has been, simply, lackluster. I don’t like the main character well, it’s writing slow, and the drama comes too late. Everyone’s sitting around talking. There’s no love story. There’s no tension. Writing it is an exercise in tedium.

Richard suggested I’m writing from the view of the wrong main character. And he’s right. Much of the main story, which in the current novel is written as a side story, is the relationship between the human Alice Johnson and the Archetype William Morris. Alice is an anthropology grad student who is persistent in following her suspicions that William is not what he seems. William doesn’t want to be discovered, but he is falling for Alice. And they have a rocky relationship, given William’s trauma and Alice’s persistence. All this in the backdrop of beings that cannot afford to be discovered.

I still don’t know if there’s enough tension in this one other than William and Alice, who eventually have the daughter Anna Johnson, later to be adopted by Arthur Schmidt. She is the main character of Whose Hearts are Mountains, which explores the mystery of her birth. But there is something to hold onto, something that might keep me writing.

I’ve Lost the Fever

The book is going slowly; I’m writing an average of 1000 words a day, rather than my typical 2000. It’s a stubborn book; it doesn’t know if it wants to be written. I’m writing it mainly because my husband suggested I should when I told him I had no more books to write.

Writing is no longer the fever it was when I started writing. I have gone through all the obsessions, all the stories that clamored to be written. Writing now is not exactly a trudge, but it’s no longer the force it was when I started. I suspect this is natural, a consequence of time or age. Or of the change in medication I went through about a year ago, and then it’s a matter of finding my equilibrium again.

I miss the writing obsession. It gave me a sense of purpose, a feeling that I labored for something bigger than myself. Maybe it was delusional; maybe it’s a good thing to lose the fever. I miss it, however.

The Latest Work in Progress

I’ve been making progress with the book. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

If I haven’t mentioned, I am working on a book called Hiding in Plain Sight, which is an origin story of Hearts are Mountains, the Archetype commune in Whose Hearts are Mountains. The origin story is not a small thing, because Archetypes are supposed to be solitary beings, so how do they get into a commune together?

The solitary tendency (an inborn taboo) is breaking down among the Earthbound Archetypes, who are exiled from InterSpace by their unsanctioned birth. But Archetypes in gathering are dangerous, in part because they could draw attention to themselves. As practically immortal beings who are stronger than humans, Archetypes’ discovery could end in a war against them. The Council also fears the commune’s numbers because they could go up against the Council of the Oldest. The book is building to a showdown between the commune and the Council of the Oldest.

But first, the main character, anthropologist and Archetype Dr. MariJo Ettner, has been discovered by a human, her research assistant, Alice Johnson. She is in the position of answering Alice’s questions while impressing upon her that she should not tell a soul about Archetypes’ existence. This works great until Alice wants a child by Mari’s adopted son, William. A half-human offspring, born fully adult, may break the secret.

The book is about hiding a culture, a culture that would shake Earth’s foundations were it discovered. And the culture itself, made up of so many ingrained taboos it hardly exists. It’s writing slowly, as I’m largely pantsing it. Wish me luck.