Stalling tactics, word count 23, 865

I'm almost halfway - tomorrow I should cross that line. Very, very exciting. I have been stalling a little bit before getting to the next big plot event that will have to happen, because I think that might start to cause the denouement. (It's not very clear to me what will happen after this big event... so I can't tell if I should make it happen now or keep stalling for a bit.) I guess I'll allow it to happen around 30 or 35,000 words. That should give plenty of time - but not too much time - to wrap it up.

So, today, I just wrote a couple of little letters that didn't do too much to advance the plot, but they do give you some insight into some of the characters. That is, they raise questions about the characters. The interesting thing (I know, I've said this before) about writing a novel entirely in letters is that you get to see how people represent themselves. And when the same person writes to two different people (or when you get to see rough drafts and then the finished version) you can see that they may not be telling the whole truth in each letter. In fact, many of my letters are filled with lies or at least misdirection. Since one of the things that consistently appears on my Magna Carta list is complex characters who have some good, and some bad, or characters who are ambiguous, this is fun for me.

There isn't really anything very interesting for me to report. When I'm not with the Esmondes, I tend to put in a lot less hilarious stuff. Since today's session was pretty boring, I decided to post something that was half yesterday, half today. I don't know what it will be like to read it, but it was fun to write. It is three drafts (two rough drafts, and then the final version that was actually mailed) of a letter from Nicky to Kiefer, responding to his request that she be his muse.


Letter 54. July 25, 198x (rough draft)
The Big City

Kiefer,

Thank you for sending me the letters and poems.

I gathered that you want me to write to you. You and I are not friends and I don’t have any responsibility towards you. But I can write to you occasionally, I guess.

I don’t have a shopping list to send you or any song lyrics (lyrics to what? Songs I wrote? Songs I like?) but I can send you a detailed description of the outfits that I wore last week during the street festival around Jackie’s Place.

On Monday, I wore a black dress. It was very short and so I paired it with knee-high black boots, a pair of knee socks that had little pictures of glasses on them – nerd chic – and of course I wore my granny glasses. I put on a tall pink beehive wig with little black bows tied throughout it. No jewelry, but a purple belt cinching the waist.

On Tuesday, I was going to the concert in the park and so I wore this amazing multi-colored bubble dress that I just picked up at the vintage shop Surrender Dorothy. It was pink and blue and had a little crocheted waistband, very cute. I paired it with about ten necklaces and lots of jangling bracelets around my wrists. Pink leggings. I put another skirt on under the bubble dress because I’m never satisfied unless I’m wearing animal print - it was hot pink leopard print. I thought it would be overkill to wear my faux fur leopard coat, so I wore my soft cream-colored faux fur jacket with the short sleeves. I finished it off with my purple high tops for dancing in.

Are you bored yet? I’m bored. I really, really don’t know what you want me to write. I’m not exactly sure why I’m writing to you, in fact, since you actually don’t seem to like me and I don’t even understand what a muse is. It sort of sounds like you want to be my lover – is that some kind of metaphor for muse? Couldn’t you find someone else to fill that position? Some guy with abs so cut you could grate cheese on them for a nice lasagna? A girl with mousy hair and a penchant for wearing seventies style green parkas that could use a good washing? People with multiple unpronounceable names that you could write over and over again on a little pad of paper while you are waiting for inspiration to strike? Honestly, why me? I’m starting to rethinking this idea of writing to you… I don’t know what it would serve or how it would help anyone, anything, anywhere, anywho… And now I’m rambling. STOP IT NICKY START OVER


Letter 55. July 25, 198x
The Big City (rough draft)


Dear Kiefer,

I will write to you occasionally. I don’t know what I will write because we don’t know each other well and I’m not sure how much of my life I want to let you know about. But I’ll write you a note now and again.

I won’t send you shopping lists or song lyrics, maybe just a few words about my day, about the neighborhood, about the weather.

Like, today it’s really hot. So hot that the people on the street look angry as they hurry around. I want to ask them why they are hurrying, since that will only make them hotter, sweatier, more tired. But I just leave them alone, enter the cool, dark interior of Jackie’s Place. They always have the best music but when the weather’s hot, there is nothing so good as a nice Aerosmith cover band.

Last night a great one played – their name was TylerSmith (clever, right?) and I think they were the best one yet. This old guy (who rolled in through the door just like you used to do) kept staring at them fiercely and muttering under his breath. He disappeared for a minute and came back with a sock that smelled pretty strongly of urine that he was holding over his nose. The bouncer had to hustle him outside because he wouldn’t stop yelling obscenities and pulling at everyone else’s socks. Strange.

I hope you’re doing well.

Nicky

Letter 56. July 25, 198x
The Big City (rough draft)


Dear Kiefer,

I will write to you occasionally, if it means that much to you.

I won’t send you shopping lists or song lyrics, maybe just a few words about my day, about the neighborhood, about the weather. Events at Jackie’s Place, that kind of thing.

You know how Jackie’s Place always has the best music? So much so that it’s become their tagline? Well, yesterday’s show convinced me that when the weather’s hot, there is nothing so good as a nice Aerosmith cover band (ACB) and a cold pint of the Jackie Special Amber. I’d take that delicious beer over a Silver bullet anyday.

Last night a great ACB played – their name was TylerSmith (clever, right?) and I think they were the best one yet. This old guy (who rolled in through the door just like you used to do) kept staring at them fiercely and muttering under his breath. He disappeared for a minute and came back with a sock that smelled pretty strongly of urine that he was holding over his nose. The bouncer had to hustle him outside because he wouldn’t stop yelling obscenities and pulling at everyone else’s socks. Strange. But even that strange and somewhat frightening man couldn’t distract the crowd from the sheer goodness of the music.

You would have loved it!

Nicky


P.S. Please do let me know when you find another muse. I’m sure it won’t be long… forgive me if it sounds rude, but it seems to me that your search for a muse is much more about YOU than it is about ME. When you find another muse, I’ll be happy to just fade into the background again.