The Music of My Novel

The Music of My Novel

I’m writing a novel. Well, I wrote a novel. A draft of a novel. 85,000 words, 250 double-spaced pages. The novel follows a seventeen-year-old girl, Beanie, as she searches for her missing father while simultaneously becoming an Academic Games superstar. Set in the late 1990s, the novel is inspired by parts of my childhood and set in my hometown – New Orleans. While the setting and the time period are, hopefully, well-represented in the book, one thing is not present, and that’s the soundtrack. Partially, music is absent because I didn’t know how to write a book with music that isn’t about music. I didn’t want to just name-drop certain songs so that reader’s could identify the era. And, to be honest, my character, Beanie, isn’t really into music. It’s not part of who she is in the scope of the book. So, while she does listen to her Discman once in order to drown out something she’s afraid to hear, she doesn’t watch music videos on The Box or order CDs from that awful subscription service, Columbia House.

That being said, in the late 1990s, I did those things! I think I mistakenly ordered an Amy Grant CD and had it up until Hurricane Katrina. I would sit in front of the TV and write down the codes for all my favorite songs on the Box, then order them after begging my mom to allow that extra $2.99 to show up on our phone bill.

So, in honor of Beanie, here are some songs that she maybe would have heard if she had been in my Mid-City house instead of hers, back in 1999.

Time” and “I Only Wanna Be with You,” by Hootie & the Blowfish

Before Darius Rucker became the country superstar that he is now, I used to live to hear the strumming of his guitar and the beginning of “I Only Wanna Be with You.” And, I remember being asleep in the passenger seat of my dad’s old Honda Accord, driving home from Florida, waking up to “Time,” when we pulled in front of our house. Both these songs give me goosebumps, still.

Diggin on You,” by TLC

Ah, TLC. “Diggin on You” was our song, me and my eighth grade boyfriend. So sappy, but so sweet.

And finally, “One Sweet Day,” by Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men. This song makes me so weepy, because whenever I hear it, I think of my dad. I remember sitting on a sofa at an eighth grade dance, singing the words with my eyes closed, bawling.

Even though these songs didn’t make their way into the book, I thought about them often while writing. If I ever felt blocked up or like I couldn’t get into the mood required to write, I would make a – admittedly cheesy – YouTube playlist and get revved up and back in writing mode. I definitely had all of the CDs at one time or another – what up, Columbia House – but, in the techno-connected-web-mess of now, they are all just a few clicks away.

 

 

That Time a Book Totally Slayed Me: All the Bright Places edition

That Time a Book Totally Slayed Me: All the Bright Places edition

I had never heard of Jennifer Niven before, and after having read her novel All the Bright Places, I am absolutely convinced that there are, literally, one million or more amazing writers out there who I’ve never heard of because, how I had never read her before is a mystery. This novel killed me. Killed me. I have been reading a lot of Young Adult lately because the novel I wrote and am preparing to query is YA, focusing on how one high school girl deals with the uncertainty and pain of a missing family member. All the Bright Places is similar in that the main characters, high school seniors Finch and Violet, are both suffering: Finch struggles with the way he sees and feels the world; Violet is traumatized by the death of her older sister. They meet, at the beginning of the book, on top of the school bell tower, presumably as they both contemplate suicide. The novel is told by Violet and Finch in alternating chapters.

Niven’s novel is a great example of a work that deals with a difficult, BIG topic – suicide – and a number of associated sub-topics – bullying, popularity, high school drinking, adult indifference – that does not beat the reader over the head. Yes, these topics are very important, they are timely, the should be talked about, but the novel is not didactic or editorial at all. I was completely captivated by her characters, their realistic and highly individualized personalities that were not quirky or interesting but were just true, as if they couldn’t be any other way. Violet, for example, wears her sister’s ugly eyeglasses, the ones that looked so great on Eleanor but look silly on her, because she is trying so desperately hard to hold on to someone she’s lost. The eyeglasses aren’t a gimmick. They are a totem for this character.

The novel could have been too-much, overly-sentimental, but Niven is expert at getting in and out of emotional moments with impeccable timing. For example, in a Violet section, she looks at her mother and contemplates her role in the family, her genetics:

“Eleanor looked more like my dad and I look more like Mom, but she and Mom had the same gestures, same mannerisms, so everyone always said, ‘Oh my God, she looks just like you.’ It hits me that my mother may never hear that again.”

UGH! And then she leaves the subject. It’s such a sad, sad thought, sad for the mom whose daughter is dead, sadder still that the 17-year-old sister/living daughter has to realize it, and even sadder that it’s just one of the many facts of her life in the aftermath of Eleanor’s death. And we know it is just one of the many facts of her life because after she states it, she matter-of-factly begins talking about something mundane. Niven gets out of that sad sentiment just in time, without lingering. The effect is crushing (in a good way).

And this book is not really a mystery, and yet, I had to keep turning the pages, to find out what would happen next. I think it’s because I’m rooting so hard for the characters, not because of any of the sad stuff that’s happened to them, but more because of how interesting they are, how much they deserve to become adults, because they’ll be good ones, good people, empathetic, creative, interesting. Reading this book really felt like what I imagine being a parent is like, being just so excited and invested in watching your kids grow up and fully inhabit the person they are meant to be.

Talk about #BookGoals!

Such a great read, and a reminder that YA is just a label, that great writing is great writing. Period.

Crazy Sh*t That Really Happened

Crazy Sh*t That Really Happened

I have said that I feel a bit more liberal about mining my real life for writing topics – something I tried really hard not to do, basically because I didn’t want to just fictionalize my life. It was boring when it happened and it would be boring on the page. Jk, jk – it wasn’t boring, but it wasn’t – and isn’t – fiction. It’s real life, and maybe I’ll write a memoir one day, when I’m rich and famous – lololol – but until then, my goal is to write compelling fiction.

Even so, a lot of what has happened in my life has very definitely informed what I end up writing about in fiction. For example, here is something that happened in real life once:

I was driving on S. Carrollton Avenue in New Orleans, approaching Earhart, and a group of well-coiffed 7 & 8 year-olds were on the streetcorners with buckets, asking for money to attend a basketball tournament out of state.

I used this scenario to write a story, called Service Learning, whose protagonist, once upon a time, did this very thing. Eventually, her mother stopped giving a shit about her but luckily she took the reins, managed to get a scholarship to a private high school, hoping it would be her ticket out of her bad neighborhood. All goes pretty well for her, or at least well enough, until the service learning trip for her grade goes back to that bad neighborhood, her neighborhood, in order to “help” people like her.

The story is wildly different from the scenario at the corner that I saw, but the two things go hand in hand. I wouldn’t have had the story without this experience.

I was thinking today about some things that have happened in my life that could be good fodder for stories or novels – these kernels of things that could provide an image or a scene. I was also trying to describe a setting and fumbled, describing the place I was (a university) because it was right in front of me. I had to scold myself into writing the setting I saw in my imagination. Fiction, after all.

Anyway, here is a short list of some of the many crazy things that I’ve experienced that could inspire something fictional:

  • When I was climbing out of the above-ground pool in my childhood backyard, I slipped and slammed my vagina – straight-up scissor-style – on the wall of the pool, but was WAAAAY to embarrassed to let anyone see.
  • At 18, a bouncer checked my ID at ladies night, saw I was 18 – old enough to get into a club but not to drink – and then handed me an empty cup because, “Ladies drink free til midnight.” Ok, so he shouldn’t have really wondered why I ended up rolling around the concrete at 2 in the morning, completely blitzed. His fault, am I right?
  • My then-boyfriend, now-husband, and I had breakfast at the same place almost every Sunday when we were in college. Once, I opened a packet of butter and slammed it on his glasses, rubbing it in. He had to get new glasses. We still talk about this, ten years later.
  • I have stayed awake for 72 hours, biking, running, hiking and canoeing, as an adventurer racer on Team Engine.
  • I bought my first plane ticket abroad – to Paris – the day in fall 2001, on November 12, 2001, two months after 9/11, when AA Flight 587 crashed in Queens.

I’ve been alive now for almost 34 years and, trust, this is just a SMALL sampling of crazy or interesting stuff that I’ve seen, done, experienced or caused, that could inspire a short story, a novella, a full-length book. I think keeping this list is a great way to force myself to feel inspired, to remember something wild, to start with a scenario or a spark and then just free-write.

What would be on your list?