After months and months I’m actually back reading a novel. Previously, I’d limited myself to technical treatises on writing and such. It seemed every time I picked up a story (that is: read the Look Inside/Preview on amazon or google play) my internal editor would dismiss the offering.
Audrey Driscoll tenaciously slogged through my noobescent first novel and so I felt obligated to return the favor. Audrey’s The Friendship of Mortals is the story and her writing is levels above mine. I mentioned on her WP blog that I thought she seemed to have channeled Mary Shelley with her Victorian era descriptions and details. The characters are exquisitely developed and knowable. It’s told first person which helps in this regard.
But not much happens. I mean, there is story line, but not like I’m used to. Wham! Bam! Grab it and run!
And yet I’m enjoying it.
Which brings me to mention the quandary I continuously find myself in: I can’t write people. Not well anyway.
Audrey can. I see how she does it. She spends time with her people and they with each other—much more time than I can muster. Which means that somehow, in order to get my stories’ characters to feel more real, I’m going to have to spend time with them. Which is harder than you’d think…
Me: What do you want?
You: Well, there this coffee shop down on the corner which sells the most delicious…
Me: Get to the point.
You: You don’t have to be curt.
Me: Yeah? Hmm. Go away. I’m busy.
You see my problem. Oh, I can exchange written words just fine. But conversation? Reflection? Of/with people? Ugh.