Jane: It would have been easy enough for me to look up copyright law as it pretains to blogs, but for the moment let's throw back the curtain on the wizard, shall we?
As you must know by now this blog is a "work in progress", the basis and outline for an upcoming novel. The title of the novel is what heads this blog, the posts are the "gimmick", the device to move the book along. Think electronic diary. I think of Like Water for Chocolate and know that recipes are the thing that keep the pages turning. Then there is that one novel about the subway car crash and each chapter is a car in the subway train with each character being fleshed out as they head for their doom (that was first put out on the 'net, too, if I remember correctly). This particular book will use a satchel as the device, with each blog post describing the things that are pulled from it. Not outrageously clever or original, but there it is, romance novel, mystery, cookbook and second handing adventure all in one. I figured each "post" or chapter would have a bit of reader's advisory or a movie recommendation or a recipe thrown in, something like that, yet another "gag" to keep the story moving. Pen and ink drawings or photos or paintings by my friend Santa Fe. All to be figured out, just like who ends up with the librarian.
But I must say that I do like the opening: we find The Professora late in life, living with her youngest daughter in Colorado. There is a knock on the door. Holiday time, thinking, just more presents for the kids arriving UPS. But the two boxes are for her, one large and heavy, the other bulky and soft. With the help of her daugher and grandchildren they wrestle the parcels into the room. She struggles whether to open then right then or to save them for Christmas, but being the traditionist, she decides to wait. Weeks go by with the mysterious packages sitting patiently in the corner of the room. On a whim she decides to wrap them in festive colors so that they wouldn't seem so out of place in their weathered brown paper, but after a few days sees that the rough exterior of the boxes was where the beauty lies. She takes off the fancy wrap and lets them be.
Christmas morning comes, her children and grandchildren arrive, presents get opened and church is attended. Christmas supper comes and goes, The Snowman is watched and yet the mysterious brown packages stay wrapped. The evening gets late and the last of the guests go, all wondering why grandmother has not opened her packages.
You see, somehow she knows what those parcels contain, is afraid to go further with those boxes. She knows to open up those well sealed boxes is to somehow open up a long sealed door in herself. Somehow the softness of the one parcel, the heaviness of the other, betray themselves. She has a pretty good idea what those packages contain, but has no sure way of knowing until she opens them. The following morning she goes to the kitchen, has her coffee, gets out the Yellow Pages and looks under "restaurants". She finds what she is looking for.
"Make reservations for New Year's Eve at the Golden Chef", she tells her daughter. That will be the night she'll open those packages. That was the night so many things started oh so many years ago, and that's the night they will wrap up. Or so she thinks.
The big questions yet to be answered ..who was it that sent the parcels? The Librarian? The woman who ultimately became the Librarian's fifth wife? The Librarian's lawyer? His kids? Was it stumbled upon or was it purposely sent? Was it locked away with a message to send upon The Librarian's death or did he sent it himself? What kind of messages or writings are lurking within that heavy box? Are they confessional or mundane or even exquisitely mundane? Will The Professora have to go back in time, back to the places mentioned in the posts in order to truly understand the implications of the writings and the outcome of her life, or will she do it out of nostalgia's sake? Will she find who she is looking for or will she just finally find herself? Will she finally have some questions answered about her life and her heart after twenty years or will it all be a big dead end, questions that can only be answered at the end of a well lived life?
So there you have it. A work in progress. Oops on the names, but know, too, that the axiom stands and that is that we are supposed to write what we know. Can't have everything here be real, can I, considering everything ended between us so long ago. Just to keep things moving we'll have to use our imaginations to flesh the novel out, to pull off crisp dialogue, to tell a compelling story.
So compelling, it seems, that we are already in lights, my dear.
Your WHMB
As you must know by now this blog is a "work in progress", the basis and outline for an upcoming novel. The title of the novel is what heads this blog, the posts are the "gimmick", the device to move the book along. Think electronic diary. I think of Like Water for Chocolate and know that recipes are the thing that keep the pages turning. Then there is that one novel about the subway car crash and each chapter is a car in the subway train with each character being fleshed out as they head for their doom (that was first put out on the 'net, too, if I remember correctly). This particular book will use a satchel as the device, with each blog post describing the things that are pulled from it. Not outrageously clever or original, but there it is, romance novel, mystery, cookbook and second handing adventure all in one. I figured each "post" or chapter would have a bit of reader's advisory or a movie recommendation or a recipe thrown in, something like that, yet another "gag" to keep the story moving. Pen and ink drawings or photos or paintings by my friend Santa Fe. All to be figured out, just like who ends up with the librarian.
But I must say that I do like the opening: we find The Professora late in life, living with her youngest daughter in Colorado. There is a knock on the door. Holiday time, thinking, just more presents for the kids arriving UPS. But the two boxes are for her, one large and heavy, the other bulky and soft. With the help of her daugher and grandchildren they wrestle the parcels into the room. She struggles whether to open then right then or to save them for Christmas, but being the traditionist, she decides to wait. Weeks go by with the mysterious packages sitting patiently in the corner of the room. On a whim she decides to wrap them in festive colors so that they wouldn't seem so out of place in their weathered brown paper, but after a few days sees that the rough exterior of the boxes was where the beauty lies. She takes off the fancy wrap and lets them be.
Christmas morning comes, her children and grandchildren arrive, presents get opened and church is attended. Christmas supper comes and goes, The Snowman is watched and yet the mysterious brown packages stay wrapped. The evening gets late and the last of the guests go, all wondering why grandmother has not opened her packages.
You see, somehow she knows what those parcels contain, is afraid to go further with those boxes. She knows to open up those well sealed boxes is to somehow open up a long sealed door in herself. Somehow the softness of the one parcel, the heaviness of the other, betray themselves. She has a pretty good idea what those packages contain, but has no sure way of knowing until she opens them. The following morning she goes to the kitchen, has her coffee, gets out the Yellow Pages and looks under "restaurants". She finds what she is looking for.
"Make reservations for New Year's Eve at the Golden Chef", she tells her daughter. That will be the night she'll open those packages. That was the night so many things started oh so many years ago, and that's the night they will wrap up. Or so she thinks.
The big questions yet to be answered ..who was it that sent the parcels? The Librarian? The woman who ultimately became the Librarian's fifth wife? The Librarian's lawyer? His kids? Was it stumbled upon or was it purposely sent? Was it locked away with a message to send upon The Librarian's death or did he sent it himself? What kind of messages or writings are lurking within that heavy box? Are they confessional or mundane or even exquisitely mundane? Will The Professora have to go back in time, back to the places mentioned in the posts in order to truly understand the implications of the writings and the outcome of her life, or will she do it out of nostalgia's sake? Will she find who she is looking for or will she just finally find herself? Will she finally have some questions answered about her life and her heart after twenty years or will it all be a big dead end, questions that can only be answered at the end of a well lived life?
So there you have it. A work in progress. Oops on the names, but know, too, that the axiom stands and that is that we are supposed to write what we know. Can't have everything here be real, can I, considering everything ended between us so long ago. Just to keep things moving we'll have to use our imaginations to flesh the novel out, to pull off crisp dialogue, to tell a compelling story.
So compelling, it seems, that we are already in lights, my dear.
Your WHMB
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