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Bad Days At Work

As much as you want ideas to turn into good then great prose, some days and weeks it just doesn’t happen. Last week was particularly bad. All that turgid writing. I was working on a new section, my characters going down paths so completely wrong in tone and emotion that I felt I’d lost them, that I no longer had control. I’d had bad periods of writing before but this was something else. The things I told myself: this was proof that I was a weak writer, that I really don’t have anything whatsoever to contribute to the world of literature. I told myself to walk away now while the going was good. No one need to know about this failed novel, you imposter. Maybe allow a more talented writer to find the seed of this novel and turn it into gold.

I realised after a few days that the problem was that I wasn’t connecting with anything that was happening on the page. And if I wasn’t connecting, what hope would the next draft have? 

So I went for a walk. Several walks:

Construction. Cycles of life and death. Breathing. Perspective. There would be answers to the narrative problems I was having.  Perspective.

I have been here many times before: this period would pass. Besides, it’s only writing. That can be fixed with perseverance and trying new approaches. That can be fixed by getting out of your own head and being in the world. And when you’ve been there, come back to the page and try again tomorrow.

Small Things That Happened Last Week

A small snapshot of last week:

My publisher sent me a proof of Sally Abbott’s debut ‘Closing Down’

I returned to Blue Mountain and wrote more scenes for one of the many difficult characters who’ll live in the fictional town of Winton (yes, there are Winton’s that exist in Australia but not quite like the Schmidt version of Winton).

I also started notebook 4. Writing longhand. That shit really slows things down. But I love it. 

I saw these boys riding their bikes, heard them talk footy, tv and school, heard them sibling-tease each other. Old young friends. I hope when they grow up they don’t shed this particular skin of theirs. 


That’s it. There’s nothing else. I was pretty much writing the rest of the time.

When Emma Borden Became a Narrator 

Previously I told you about Bridget’s inclusion in See What I Have Done as a narrator, told you the way your manuscript changes over time can be a miraculous thing. This beast of words that has shape shifted so much over the years has been able to adapt, in various degrees of success, to whatever ‘new visions’ I had for it. 

I think I’ll continue the theme of process and drafting, especially as the Australian publishing date of See What I Have Done draws nearer (and as I try to wade through the thicket of mush that is the new manuscri ptwhich is making me have all kinds of self doubt). This post is one of a many I’ll probably do about Emma Borden, Lizzie’s older sister. I’m somebody’s older sister and so I thought even on a loose base level, I might be able to identify and draw out something from Emma, explore  that kind of relationship to a sibling, the way you become a protector. 

In a notebook dated 29 December 2012 I wrote:

Continue with the idea of people ‘confessing’ to Emma. 

At the time the introduction of Emma as narrator was a year old – I’d started weaving her into the main fabric of narrators sometime around early 2011 (probably. It may have been mid to late 2010 but memory, as it does, alludes me) – and I was still etching out all her possible roles and uses as a narrator.
It became clear to me through different newspaper articles I had read that she might have been somebody who was used to absorbing the feelings of others. Emma, the vault. While people told her secrets, perhaps all she ever wanted was the truth from her sister. Would she ever receive it? As far as Emma the character was concerned, would I keep her historically accurate, use her as the reliable narrator and allow the ‘real life’ Borden case to funnel through her lens? OR was it better to continue what I had been doing, fuse reality and fictional reality together?
In the 29 December scene I had Emma and Bridget meet each other on the backstairs (this still happens in the final version of the book albeit a slightly different version of the conversation). Bridget confesses to Emma that the police have been questioning her and that she is going to leave the Borden’s employment. She also tells Emma that she heard Lizzie laughing on the front stairs earlier that day.

Bridget’s ‘confessions’ happened, just not in this way, not on the public record. But maybe it did. Maybe she told Emma things that day. Originally in the scene I made Emma imagine a secret sisterhood between Lizzie and Bridget, one that she was jealous of. On and On the scene went but in the end, not all of it rang true to the characters as they developed. So it was cut. Many many weeks and months of work, cut. 

Not all was lost. Having Emma vault secrets meant she was capable of protecting her sister. Emma may not be that trustworthy after all. 


Above: Emma Borden, approx the era of the crime

Whatever was between the sisters ended in 1905. There’s endless speculation as to why they essentially ended their relationship, never speaking to each other again, and although I touch upon it in the book, it was never something I wanted to focus on. For me, the book was all about that day, that family, that awful entanglement of love.

Supposedly Emma gave an interview to the Boston Post in 1913 (I say supposed because it’s debated amongst Lizzie scholars whether this interview actually took place). When the article was published it was quite the sensation. I would read the article many times as I was developing Emma and it became a semi touchstone, something that proved a pattern I was trying to write about. 

At the time, Emma was in a self imposed exile. Somebody somewhere claimed that Lizzie had confessed to the crimes. But here was Emma defending her sister once more, telling the reporter that her sister had nothing to do with the crimes. And yet. She said the strangest thing. When asked why she moved out of French Street she said ‘The happenings at the French Street house that caused me to leave I must refuse to talk about…I did not go until conditions became absolutely unbearable.’
Emma, the vault. That great protector. 
If you’d like to know more about the 1913 article or want to delve head first into the case, I highly recommend you head over to lizzieandrewborden.com . Don’t solely rely on Wikipedia for this one. 

But ask yourself this: am I someone who loves spoilers? Do I want to know what is true and what isn’t as I read See What I Have Done? If you do, by all means go at it and have a great time researching. But if you want to know nothing, let yourself become immersed in this reimagining of the case, resist temptation. Wait. Then go forth and see what you can make of it all.

Beginning and Developing a Scene: See What I Have Done

First attempts at your novel are almost never right. The second and third attempt doesn’t fair much better but it gets closer. Everyone has false starts but the point is to write those false starts one word after the other and build on that,  see what you can make of it. You can’t be proud of something if you never write it in the first place. You also can’t be proud of it if you don’t revise or reimagine. At least, this is how I feel. But beginning’s are daunting. Every time  I start something new I have the same feelings and thoughts: I panic I won’t finish it, I fear the ugly work that will come, I worry I won’t get better as a writer, and there’s always little voice that tells me ‘You’re not good at this. Give up now. You’ve nothing to offer.’ I both dread and embrace the beginning of a new project.

But then I start. I’m very stubborn. I hate being told I can’t do something (especially when it’s me telling myself!) So I wrestle with the slumps, am overjoyed when it goes well. Then I get ready for the drafts (these have their own set of feelings but no need to go into that). I tell myself: I love these characters so much that I’m prepared to do almost anything to get their story down. I’ll rewrite and rewrite until I mentally can’t do it anymore. And sometimes that little voice will crawl into me again. But I persist. 

I have lost count of the drafts I wrote for See What I Have Done. Over the eleven years it took me to write the book I know there would have been at least twelve drafts (more. I know there was more). Some drafts changed dramatically, while others very little, perhaps only a narrator’s storyline was drafted, perhaps the draft concentrated in building the mood of the manuscript. In hindsight I know I wrote this book in the worst possible way. But living, learning.

I was terrified and overwhelmed when I began writing Bridget as a narrator into the novel (she was once a peripheral character. Now she’s probably my favourite part of the book). Want to see me at my most vulnerable on the page? Here are some Bridget excerpts from various stages of drafting, right to the finished page. Much of what I wrote never made it into the manuscript that was submitted to publishers, let alone the final version of the book. But writing passage after passage of false starts helped me shape the character and allowed me to strategise how I would use Bridget in the book. 
The very first day:




As you can see, it’s not particularly interesting, not even particularly good writing but each day I sat down with Bridget, her voice shifted into her own and I started getting a better sense of how she might have felt about the Bordens and what she might know about the family, the secret things.

Eventually I began writing actual scenes. Here is the first attempt to write the ‘winter lock in’ that eventually made it into the final version:



I worked this draft a few times. When the manuscript went out to publishers, this is what the scene looked like:



Once I sold the manuscript I went through a whole year of edits and a bit more rewriting. This is what that fragment of the scene looks like in the uncorrected proof version:



Could I have kept going, kept revising and reimagining? I’m sure I could’ve. I’m sure some readers out there will think I shouldv’e scrapped the whole thing. Maybe maybe not. But this is what the book is. I’m taking what I learnt about See What I Have Done and using that knowledge for my second novel, discovering what type of writer I’ve become, where I might go next. 

Things I’ve Seen This Week: US Edition 

Maybe I need to take this blog up a notch and actually post on a regular basis. I won’t always have something to say but there’s always something I’ve seen that I can share with you.

I’ve just returned from the US and  this particular trip will forever be special to me. I was there because of See What I Have Done. I never imagined that this novel that I thought of giving up on so many times would literally take me to the other side of the world. There’s something to be said for a healthy dose of stubbornness and persistence…and characters that never let you go. 

Here are some photos I took while there:


Music for Looping, Music for Recovery

I don’t like to overthink my writing habits too much but music is very important to me both during a writing session and after.  For See What I Have Done I listened to the same songs (adding very few to the playlist) for eleven years.

It’s time again to live in an aural loop until a book is complete. Here is a small sample of music for Blue Mountain that I will be listening to until it becomes a skin, the tip of a pen:

Below is a very small selection of songs I like listening to after a day of writing. They change all the time (unlike the loop). This week I listened to:

A Little Something to Hold Us Over: Photos

I often forget I should regularly post to this blog. I’m working on a new post about Lizzie Borden and writing history ( I figured rather than my usual  ramblings, I should, you know, plan a post ) but felt like adding some photos here today. I’m in my composting and early writing phase of my new novel and that has led me to be drawn to particular images as I walk around and explore. All of these are foundations for theme and aesthetic but may not necessarily turn up in the novel in quite the way you imagine.

WARNING: Some of these photos are of dead animals I came across while walking and may not be your thing. 

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