Diary of a writer
“This is interesting”, said Paul, and hands over the pad to Solange who’s working at the other end of the long desk.
Solange reads:
“Today’s is a bright, frosty morning, perfect for writing. Sol, already near its zenith, is about to turn around the corner of the house, and for a couple hours the garden and my desk will be lit by the subdued colours of a clear winter sky. Small patches of frost-free grass appear along the hedge…
Characters
Characters and scenes are slowly falling into place, the novel has made more progress in the past two weeks than in the previous four months. The Angel helped a lot: one should never neglect one’s Angel. And I have been asking myself about this: if someone – deity, daemon or superior aliens (superior as in “wiser” than us and more experienced – “ancient” maybe) – is observing us, what do “they” see? What do they think of the way “we” persecute the weak, the poor, the lost, the other species – how we torture our world, incinerate cities, molest women and children, murder people with drones or other assassins, etc…? The liars of the politicians, the cowardice of the media, the greed of the powerful? What does it mean to “them”? How do “they” judge us, if at all? It may be that one day, a lovely winter day like this, we will get the answer we deserve to those questions. In the meantime is it right to make this a matter of fiction?
Turning the page
Turning the page, as this is only one of the many questions writers should ask themselves, I am simply happy the way things are going, as writing goes. A way was found to link the past to the present, actual or imagined, to marry reality to the dream, and the story feels the better for it – or at least I hope it will, to the readers. The books I have most admired are those that allow the reader some freedom of interpretation of one of the pivotal characters. For example in The Stand, Mother Abagail. She sees and never judges, and she appears powerless, and yet… In Snow Crash, Y.T., the kourier, Hiros’ not so secret love and guardian.
Her patience
So I have latched on one of those, and her character is developing well. There is a degree of ambiguity as to where her loyalty – or patience – lies, that is how long she’s prepared to witness the misbehaviour of the rest of us. The other characters are taking notice, fortunately for them and for the story, they will soon get out of themselves and their parochial prejudices, and see the light. So will I.
There is a lot of material to edit, some of which will be moved to the bin, as it should. How far am I to have a complete draft? Please note I did not write “first draft” since whatever there is has already been edited and rewritten at least twice! At this point I cannot predict, possibly till the summer, who knows! I am in no hurry to complete, but I want to make progress. The opposite is demotivating!”
A good example
“I think this is a good example of Julian at work”, replied Solange with a smile. “Influenced by his characters, his reading, real world events…”
“By the way”, Solange continued,”Do you remember I mentioned my tutor, Dr Martin. Well, he wrote to me to say that he wishes to talk to you about your father, his illness, and his work. He will be coming over next month.”
“Yes”, says Paul, “I want to see him.” The two of them take a break, and Solange goes to the kitchen to get coffee. The apartment bears now her style, the prints and photographs on the walls, the furniture she got from a second hand store in Reinickendorf. Sarah’s out talking to estate agents and visiting apartments. They have decided to stay here in Tegel for at least a year, and Sarah’s looking at the longer term, to acquire a property.
“This post you showed me, this tells us the novel was already well advanced at the end of 2012. I suppose you can’t retrieve the draft as it was then?”
Zen
“I am still looking, this is from the web version, his old blog, I have got the archive, but few of the links work, and he deleted the actual web site for the novel. The versions I have were written and edited when they were already in Berlin, nearly four years later.” Paul is thinking and wondering why his dad did not keep all the drafts. On the desk lies a copy of Ray Bradbury’s “Zen and the Art of Writing”.
Solange then suggests they take a bike ride along the canal, Paul says he’s ready. They leave the apartment and pick up their bikes, the morning is fresh, the sun already warm. They kiss and take the direction of the shore, a route often taken by Paul’s parents when they lived in Wedding and often visited Tegel. This route used to stretch along Tegel airport, now a park.
“This landscape has not changed much, but now this is one of the quietest parts of the city”, says Paul with a smile. They stop to look at the Hohenzollern Kanal: its tranquil waters flow to the lake. Soon they are riding to the entrance of the Volkspark Rehberge. Paul says: “Melissa was real, she and Julian met when they were both at the old lycée in Chalons, what I don’t know is whether the woman he later met, who pretended to be her, was real also, or only lived in his imagination. Maybe Dr Martin will be able to help me answer this question.”
Solange kisses him: “I am buying you another coffee near the Tor”, she says with a direct look. Her phone rings: it is Sarah who is done with her real estate appointments, she will meet them on Unter Den Linden.
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