A Cute Bit of Writing // And Let's Talk about Stories

My siblings and I bought our dad a set of Frances Hodgson Burnett books for Christmas.  He is now reading them aloud to the family. 

 

You know what I never knew though?  A Little Princess as we know it is not the original published work.  In fact, it was much shorter when Frances Hodgson Burnett first published it.  There's an explanation in the beginning of my dad's book which tells all about it, and I found it very sweet the way the author chose to write this explanation. 

 

Which is why I'm here, actually.  Because I wanted to share it with all of you. 

 



The Whole of the Story

I do not know whether many people realize how much more than is ever written there really is in a story--how many parts of it are never told--how much more really happened than there is in the book one holds in one's hand and pores over.  Stories are something like letters.  When a letter is written, how often one remembers things omitted and says, "Ah, why did I not tell them that?"  In writing a book one relates all that one remembers at the time, and if one told all that really happened perhaps the book would never end.  Between the lines of every story there is another story, and that is one that is never heard and can only be guessed at by the people who are good at guessing.  The person who writes the story many never know all of it, but sometimes he does and wishes he had the chance to begin again.

     When I wrote the story of "Sara Crewe" I guessed that a great deal more had happened at Miss Minchin's than I had had time to find out just then.  I knew, of course, that there must have been chapters full of things going on all the time; and when I began to make a play of the book and called it "A Little Princess," I discovered three acts full of things.  What interested me most was that I found that there had been girls at the school whose names I had not even known before.  There was a little girl whose name was Lottie, who was an amusing little person; there was a hungry scullery-maid who was Sara's adoring friend; Ermengarde was much more entertaining than she had seemed at first; things happened in the garret which had never been hinted at in the book; and a certain gentleman whose name was Melchisedec was an intimate friend of Sara's who should never have been left out of the story if he had only walked into it in time.  He and Becky and Lottie lived at Miss Minchin's, and I cannot understand why they did not mention themselves to me at first.  They were as real as Sara, and it was careless of them not to come out of the story shadowland and say, "Here I am--tell about me."  But they did not--which was their fault and not mine.  People who live in the story one is writing ought to come forward at the beginning and tap the writing person on the shoulder and say, "Hallo, what about me?"  If they don't, no one can be blamed but themselves and their slouching, idle ways.

     After the play of "A Little Princess" was produced in New York, and so many children went to see it and liked Becky and Lottie and Melchisedec, my publishers asked me if I could not write Sara's story over again and put into it all the things and people who had been left out before, and so I have done it; and when I began I found there were actually pages and pages of things which had happened that had never been put even into the play, so in this new "Little Princess" I have put all I have been able to discover.

 

~Frances Hodgson Burnett~

 

 

Isn't that so cute, though?  I love the way she talks about her characters as if they were real people with minds of their own.  And how she practically scolds them for their "slouching, idle ways" in not making their appearance into the story much sooner.  *chuckle*

 

Also the point she makes about stories being like letters, with so many things omitted in the telling.  This really struck a chord with me.  I've never written a complete story myself, but from the pitiful attempts I've made over the years, I've long since discovered that it is very hard to express all that one would wish to express.   And I think it must be very true that there is much more to a story than what actually makes it onto the page. 

 

 

Tell me, have you ever written a story?  If so, have you ever had characters who surprised you by popping into your story unexpectedly?  And when you were finished writing, did you feel like your story was complete, or did you feel like there was still more to be told? 

 

Let's talk about it!

 

Well, I'm back // NaNo Update No. 1

Good-day, old chaps.  I'm here to announce to you that I have officially made it through National Novel Writing Month!  (And yes, I know you're simply bursting with pride at my accomplishment, but please hold your applause.  I haven't told you the half of it yet.)

 

Now.  Are you ready to hear about my bold and daring exploit?  My courageous endurance in the face of such alarming odds?  My perseverance, my strength of character, my stick-to-itivness.  In other words, are you prepared to be blown away by my utter brilliance, and dazzled by my extreme novel writing abilities?

Well then, be amazed, folks!  For I, Miss March, wrote an earth-shattering 6,948 words in just 30 days! 

Aren't you absolutely astounded?  I have a feeling you must be.  Though maybe not by my brilliance, so much as by my utter lack of it.  Because, yes, folks.  6,000 words is piddling.  I knows it.  And I'm sure you're all wondering now how I could possibly have managed, after all this time, to come up 44,000 words short of the goal. 
 

Well, I'll tell you.  It's a trick I've learned, see?  I'm calling it the "Miss March Maneuver", but ordinary people usually just refer to it as "giving up."  There's nothing to it, really.  And yes, that's pretty much what I did.  Though not completely, mind you.  I continued to think about my story all month long, and wrote out a scene now and then whenever the mood struck me; but as for real, focused, determined work.  No.  I'm afraid that went out after the first week.

Here's the process in a nutshell:

Week 1:  Sits down at desk with loads of good intentions.  Starts writing.  Gets stuck.  Goes and cries.  Comes back.  Writes more.  Feels good about it.  The end.

Week 2:  After a weekend of feeling majorly stressed out, Miss March returns to work with the intention to relax...which translates into having no motivation whatsoever.  Sits down at the desk.  Thinks about writing.  Gets up, leaves the room, and watches Get Smart instead.

Week 3:  Manages to write a little more than last week (which isn't saying much).   Feels fairly content with the idea of failure, especially as there doesn't seem to be much chance of anything else at this point.

Week 4:  Watches a certain friend's word count go up at a steady and consistent pace, and suddenly decides it's time to put a little more effort into this thing.  So she does.  A very little effort.  Writes another whole scene.  Woohoo!

Week 5:  Plans to write two more scenes.  Doesn't succeed.  Cries.  Despairs of ever being a writer.  Has a sudden, unexplainable mood change and finishes out the month actually feeling semi-hopeful that one day she will write a story.  (Don't even ask.  Her moods are constantly changing.  I can't keep up with them.)

*****

So, yeah.   That's about the size of it.  The month certainly didn't turn out as originally planned.  I had, of course, intended at the beginning to be much more purposeful about reaching 50,000 words, but...well...that was before I knew what I was really getting into.  It's okay, though.  Despite my failure to come within shooting distance  of that elusive word count, I still consider this month to be a success.  Because hey!  I actually started a story!  And that, for me, is huge. 

And I love my story.  Not so much how it's turned out on paper so far, but the story in my head.  Doing NaNo certainly pushed me to think about it a lot, and a plot has now begun to take shape in my mind, which is super encouraging.  (You know, because it's always nice to have a bit of an idea where your story is headed...) 

I still very much want to finish this story someday, but as a dear friend so kindly pointed out to me: "Some stories just need more time to simmer. This may not have been the right time for every plot detail and character to come together in your story, and that's all right. That day will come soon, I'm sure."  Thank you, dear friend!

And thank you to ALL of you for being so kind and encouraging to me this past month!  You all are the best! :)
 

In which I go out on a limb and share part of one of my stories with you



Yes, dear people.  Let's get our solemn faces on, for this could very well prove disastrous.



Okay, I guess I really shouldn't say "part of one of my stories", as this is in reality the "whole" of it.  You see, I don't actually write stories, I write scenes.  Scenes which I later read over and over again hoping that by some miracle they will turn themselves into a story before my eyes (a method of writing which has not proved altogether successful, I must say). 

 

Anyhow, the other  day I got this idea for a scene, and after enjoying it very much in the writing, I began to wonder, "Would anyone else find this sort of thing interesting?  Am I in any way capable of creating characters that people want to know more about?"  Having a good many doubts on that score, I thought perhaps I would share it with all of you and see what you make of it.   And this is where I go out on a limb...because, frankly, it's a very difficult thing for me to share my stories with other people.  Why? Well, because.  "Sink me, m'dear, I'm far too embarrassed." 

But today I have decided to be brave.  So here it is, and if you think it's perfectly awful that's okay.  It's not as if it's some major work which I've been pouring myself into for the past decade.  If it's a dud...well, it's dud.  Please excuse any mistakes, inaccuracies, misspellings, misuse of words, and the like.  I've read over this so many times now, I'm almost certain there's a mistake in it somewhere.  But I haven't time to belabor the point, so -gulp- here we go.

(Oh! And for a little background.  The two girls in this passage have been friends since childhood, and are now college roommates.  It takes place back in the early 60's or somewhere there about.) 

 

***** 

"I could set you up a blind date for Saturday," Rosa said nonchalantly, peering at herself in the mirror, and picking microscopic lint balls off her starched collar.
     "Why?" Nancy asked innocently, looking up from her desk by the window, where she sat working on a paper for her English class.
     "Why not?  It would be fun!"  Rosa smiled cheerily at Nancy's reflection in the mirror.
     "Awkward more like," came the stolid reply.  "I already have a boyfriend."
     "Oh, that's right.  Billy.  What a bore," Rosa cast a disgruntled look at her own reflection as if it were Billy standing there and not her.   "I forgot about him."
     "No you didn't!" Laughed Nancy.  "You can't forget a guy like Billy that easily." 
     "Mores the pity.  It's not as if I haven't tried," Rosa said, drearily. 
     "And he's not a bore, either," Nancy continued, turning back to her paper with a funny little grin on her face.
     "Isn't he?  Honestly, Nan, you've been dating him since high school.  What does he ever do but get up every morning at 7:00, go to work--at a drugstore, no less--come home and play basketball with your brother--which consists of them barking at each other the whole time because they can never agree who's playing fair and who isn't--and then going home and eating his dinner--with a relish--and hopping over to your house in the evening to watch Father Knows Best or The Andy Griffith Show...and eat more food.  Or, if his favorite shows aren't on television that evening, talking endlessly about his car and all that junk till you're blue in the face.  If that's not a bore, what is?"
     Nancy must have found this description of her "beloved" quite amusing, for she smiled broadly throughout the whole of Rosa's tirade, and then chuckled something about Billy certainly liking his food...but didn't all boys?
     "Nan, I'm serious.  Don't you ever wonder what it would be like to date someone else?"
     "No.  Why should I?"  And she truly looked as if it were a completely foreign idea to her.

     "Why, because.  Billy's the only one you've ever gone out with (if you can call watching television at your house going out, that is).  How do you know what kind of guy you'd really like unless you spend time with different ones?  I don't mean you have to go from boy to boy, but honestly it's a shame you've never actually been asked out on a date by anyone.  Billy's been your friend and neighbor since you were ten, and your boyfriend since you were fifteen.   I don't think he's ever actually asked you out on a date at all.  You just sort of fell into the relationship.  Totally unromantic, in my opinion."

     Nancy shrugged, as if to say, "Who cares about romance?" and still smiling sweetly replied, "What does that matter?  I don't care what I do with Billy.  I just like being with him.  Because he's the dearest, sweetest, most adorable person ever."

     "Well, he certainly fooled me," Rosa huffed, turning back to the mirror, and beginning a survey of her hair, trying to decide how best to fix it for the evening. 

     She was a curious sort of girl, Rosa.  Such a confused mixture of teasing and utter seriousness, that it was often hard to know where the one left off and the other began.  But it was obvious enough from her words that she really did have a very low opinion of Billy Myer and in fact considered him altogether unworthy to be the steady boyfriend for her "darling Nan." 

     "Nancy, really.  How do you know there isn't someone better for you out there?  Someone more exciting?  More gentlemanly?  More romantic?" 

     "Well, if you're going to take that view of things, you'll never be satisfied with anyone.  I can't date every single man in the whole wide world, you know.  Why would I waste my time looking for some unknown man, who might be better, when I like Billy well enough and he's right here?"  Oh the simplicity of the question.  Why indeed?  And yet, Rosa--that unfailing romantic idealist--couldn't see the sense in it at all.

     "Exactly," she cried, spinning around and pointing her hair brush in Nancy's direction, as if she were a teacher directing orders to her class.  "That's the whole problem.  It's the convenience of it.  You won't even take the risk of finding someone better.  Yours and Billy's relationship is just too comfortable." 

     "Can you be too comfortable with the man you intend to spend the rest of your life with?"  Nancy asked, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, knowing full well what Rosa's reaction to this remark would be.  And oh! she was by no means disappointed.

     "What? No!" Rosa, gasped, clutching her hairbrush to her heart as if it were her only protection against the shock of this mind-boggling news.  "It hasn't come to that, has it?  Oh!  Spare me!!  You aren't seriously talking about getting married, are you?"

     Nancy fell back in her chair, laughing.  She did so like to shock Rosa every now and then.  It was a most amusing pastime. 

     "Please tell me it isn't so," wailed Rosa, dramatically.

     "Oh, I think we've always known we would get married eventually," Nancy replied, in a most provokingly calm voice.  "Billy wants to save up a good amount of money first, though..."

     "On his paycheck?  That could take centuries."

     "...and of course I need to finish school," she concluded, ignoring the interruption.

     "Ohhh!"  Rosa groaned, putting her hand to her forehead as if she were about to faint.  "The utter insipidity of it all.  How can this be happening?  I mean, of course you want to be comfortable with the man you marry, but you and Billy? You're just too...I don't know.  You and Billy.  You've known each other forever, and you're so used to each other.  How do you know you're not just dating him because it's the expected thing?" Rosa paused, and the drama seeped out of her voice, as her brow contracted into a highly concerned and serious frown.  "How can you be sure he's the best man for you unless you date some other guys first?"

     "What?" Nancy choked down another laugh at the absurdity of such a question.  "You mean I have to spend time with another guy in order to know whether I like Billy?  Think about it, Rosa.  That doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

     "Oh, but it does," Rosa persisted. "Until you see what other guys are like, you don't know what you're missing.  Maybe there's a man out there who will actually make your heart flip, and your stomach fill with butterflies, and...Billy doesn't do that to you, does he?"

     "Well..."

     "I knew it!!"

     "Well, actually, it's never been my opinion that love consists of flipping hearts and fluttering stomachs, so I can't say that sort of thing really matters to me that much.  I've always considered that love comes from having a deep and personal knowledge of the other person's character and personality.  Until you really understand and know a person, you can't truly love them, now can you?"

     "Right.  So tell me why you like Billy again?  Because honestly, I'd think a closer knowledge of Billy's character would turn you off to him completely."

     "Maybe a closer knowledge than what you've got, but go a step further than that and he's alright again," Nancy said with a wink.  "With some people you have to go about three or four levels of deepness before you really know what they're like."

     "I don't think Billy has any deepness."

     Nancy giggled.  "I'll tell him you said that.  He'll find that quite humorous."

     "I bet he will.  Is there anything Billy doesn't find humorous?"

     "Missing a meal, for one.  Or having his food get cold because some neighbor lady had a question for his mom (they're not allowed to eat in their house until everyone is seated around the table, you know).  Oh!  That and having Lily's cat jump on his lap.  He abhors cats."

     "Oh, I give up," Rosa sighed, defeated, throwing herself onto the bed, and forgetting all about her recent primping in front of the mirror, as she rumpled her dress and hair most dreadfully; making the hard labor of the past hour all but wasted.  "You don't know what you're missing, but go ahead and have your old humdrum life, if you want it.  As for me, I'm not settling for some namby-pamby old bore.  If I can't love my man passionately--flipping hearts and fluttering stomachs and everything--it's a no go.  I'd far rather remain single than go into marriage with a man who thinks of nothing but cars and food and whatnot.  That's not my idea of a soul mate."

     "Of course it isn't," Nancy said, sympathetically.  "And I'd never want you to settle for someone you didn't love.  But, maybe we just have different ideas of what being passionately in love looks like.  I love Billy, and I always will.  And for your information, though I hate to admit this to you, he does give me butterflies in my stomach sometimes."

     Rosa rolled her eyes.  "Oh, groan.  I don't believe it.  Billy couldn't give any girl butterflies, even if he tried to be charming." 

 

*****

 

Okay, so reading over this again, it's striking me as rather lame, but perhaps that's only because I've been reading it too much.  Anyway, I still very much want to know what you think of it, so tell me...

 

Did this random scene spark your interest or imagination in any way?

Do you think this is leading to Nancy finding a more romantic hero, or remaining with Billy?  (Just curious.) 

Do you have any curiosity to know what happens next?

Or did you find this completely boring and not worth worrying about at all? (If so, I don't blame you. ;))

 

Well, that's all.  I realize now this was really quite long.  Sorry about that.  But thanks for taking the time to read it.

(And now I shall go and pretend I do not exist, because I know the embarrassment is just about to set in.  ;))
 

Incoherent Thoughts, Attempting to be Coherent

I'm feeling restless tonight.  I don't know what comes over me sometimes, but I'm in one of those moods where I can't seem to sit still.  There's a stirring inside me, a longing for something...

On nights like these I have an irrepressible urge to run through a field of flowers.  To feel the wind whipping through my hair.  To sing at the top of my voice until I'm exhausted and can sing no more. 

 

 

I want to write.  There are so many feelings and emotions inside me; all I can think of is getting them down on paper.  But I can't.  I don't know how to convey the thoughts churning in my brain.  I want to write words that stir people's hearts and make a difference in this hurting world.  But words fail me.  All the time.  I can't hold on to them long enough to put them into any sort of coherent order.   

 

It's a helpless feeling.    

 

When I hear certain strains of music, when I read powerful words which other people have written, when I see the beauty all around me in God's creation, my heart responds.  Something leaps inside me and I wish that in turn I could pass those feelings on to someone else by the words that I write. 

 

 

But maybe that isn't the point.

 

Maybe I will never be a real writer.  Maybe expressing myself in words never will come easy to me.  Maybe writing is not the area in which God will truly use me. 

 

It doesn't matter.  If I never get beyond wishing to be a writer, it's okay.  All I truly want is to fulfill God's plan for my life.  Wherever He sends me, whatever He tells me to do.  I want to be doing that with all my heart and soul. 

 

Okay.  So now you're probably wondering, "What's she babbling on about?"  Your guess is as good as mine.  I really don't know.  I told you, I don't express myself very well in writing.  Even I don't understand what I'm trying to say.  :)

 

Let's just end this incoherent post with a song that's a whole lot more powerful than any words I could ever write.  (And no, this post was not written merely as an excuse to include this video.  But really, if I can't share my feelings in my own words I may as well use somebody else's.)