Wanna watch me write a novel?
So in November, I attempted to participate in the National Novel Writing Month competition. (The goal is to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days.... yeah, it's as crazy as it sounds, but it's possible.) However, because I was just starting some treatments, I was in a lot of pain and had to set aside my novel with just 10,000 words.
I'm gearing up for this November (don't expect to see much of me) and am planning to base the book on this short story I wrote shortly after covering a tragedy on Lake Minnetonka that resulted in the deaths of two teenagers. It's kinda dark ... as my short stories tend to be. And it's a far cry from the comedy I started last November. But it's the foundation.
My hope is to blog the process. I've always wondered how novelist ... novel. So here you go. I can't actually write any of the book until November, but I'll try to share my outlines, etc. Let you peek into the writer's window, so to speak. Unless I get all paranoid that you are going to steal my idea. ;)
Comments are appreciated.
The world is white. An overnight snowfall has blanketed the trees, covered the yawning lake, drawn down a colorless sky. Dawn has come and gone, leaving frozen silence behind.
Her body, curled tightly into a comma, is just one hundred yards from the sloping shore. Open water shimmers one hundred yard beyond her.
Snow has covered her, coating her in a fine film. Her features are contorted with pain and sorrow and fear. Beneath the coating of ice her skin is blue, pale and terrible.
Behind her, footprints lead to a black abyss. A frantic ring circles the chasm; footprints, knee prints, clawed ice.
Deep beneath the arctic water his fingers cling to her right mitten. It is red. His lungs are filled with water, his eyes stare into the deep.
As the wind whistles across the lake, a man approaches. Garbage, he thinks, something kids left behind. The snow squeaks beneath his boots. His footsteps falter as he grows closer. Suddenly he races forward. He falls to his knees. He stretches his hand to her face. Before he feels the startling cold, he knows it’s too late.
w w w w
I can’t feel my arms. This thought slogs through her mind.
She looks up. The shore seems so close. There is a house; there is help. She can see shadows moving behind the bright patches of light that mark the windows. The sight prods her, moves her forward. A cold breath of wind shocks her, sends her to her knees. The world circles around her as she rubs her hands together frantically. The darkness is absolute. She cannot see their frightening pallor.
She lurches to her feet again and takes three quick steps toward shore before her legs collapse from under her. Then she crawls; her fingers no longer feel the cold. Her fingers no longer feel anything.
Cold, she thinks, drawing her knees to her chin. She curls her body around her legs. Tears freeze on her cheeks. I have failed him, she thinks. He will die. She rocks slightly but quickly grows too cold to shiver. Mother, she whispers.
w w w w
She is sobbing as she pulls herself onto the fragile surface of the lake. The ice cracks loudly and she feels it give way beneath her. Then his hands are on her thighs, pushing her past the perilous edge.
She draws herself to her knees before turning and reaching for him. The ice shatters below her and he shakes off her grip. She circles away and reaches for him again. She pulls, but the sub-zero wind has weakened her arms.
Again and again she tries. Again and again she falls back on her heels. Her tears are a frozen stream.
For a pitiful moment he claws at the ice, straining to reach a fissure, a finger hold, a ridge. Then he waves her away.
I will get help. The thought jolts through her mind, startling her. She lurches to her feet. She gives him one last desperate look before running for the lights.
w w w w
With a sickening lurch the Volvo plunges into the dark water. As the car decides whether to sink, he pushes her toward the open window. Get out, he cries. Frantically she pulls herself through. He watches her legs disappear and then he is submerged.
The water takes his breath away and shocks him. It’s electric, he thinks. The car is rapidly plummeting now. He pushes himself through the open window and stretches toward the surface.
She is floundering. The weight of her peacoat is pulling her down. He swims to her and pulls it off her. She kicks off her shoes. Her fingers have found the ice and she scrambles for a grip.
w w w w
They are laughing as the car spins. He pulls the steering wheel sharply left, sending the Volvo into another exhilarating loop.
Her mittened hand grips the door handle as he presses down the accelerator. He looks at her and grins. She is beautiful, he thinks.
The carefree smile disappears and she screams. He pulls his eyes from her alarmed face in time to see the dark abyss looming. Frantically he pumps the brakes as the Volvo plunges toward the open water. Her scream cuts the air, fills his brain, seeps into his being. Then he is screaming, too.
