A confession

I'm an emotional novelist, with little notion of what will happen in advance of the stories I tell. All I know is characters and a little oomph of a situation, a few scenes, a place to begin. It came clear as glass by re-reading O. Henry, whose plots are worked out in reverse, a tidy ending in mind which all else must chug along to achieve as a chortle. Despicable John Irving and John Steinbeck did it too. I don't.

For example, in A Portrait of Valor all I knew was that Chris and Peachy must meet. His war buddies would stand by him. She would cleave to him and fight at his side. What began as passionate sexual chemistry would evolve into lasting love.

In The Tar Pit, all I knew was that Nick would be in the wrong place at the wrong time, falsely accused of killing a movie studio big wig. I didn't know who the real culprit was until the 5th or 6th chapter. My plots evolve by discovery, one clue at a time.

In Charity, I wanted to send them on an escapade, pay the price of charity, period.

My current project was a 2 cent idea, to show the same series of events from his POV and hers, without knowing anything about Finding Flopsie or who Flopsie was. Once begun, my stories tell themselves. One step into the unknown forces another, until the expanding edifice of necessity impels dramatic outcomes, because it must be so.

As an emotional author, every word matters, every moment of fictional life, even the bit players like taxi drivers and hotel clerks. My principal players grow into roles that they themselves shape and often regret. They make foolish mistakes. They gamble and they love life as voyagers who kick down obstacles and break their bones if necessary to win, lose, or draw. Most of life is a draw, nothing gained or lost. We always get what we pay for. So Chris remains Chris, and Peachy remains Peachy, bonded as they began many hundreds of thousands of words ago, a chemistry I honor with every hour and in every syllable. Spinning tales is fairly easy for me, it's the writing that vacuums my heart and all the literary skill I can muster, exhausts me, begs to be edited and tweaked and re-read many times to find and fix a single word. Every word matters.

By comparison to writing, the flow of life on the page, story is pff.