The worst is over
Getting through the middle, heading for home
A couple of weeks ago, the first snowdrops popped up in our yard, gaily defying the still-wintry weather. It was a hopeful sign that we were finally getting a break from an unusually frigid and snowy winter, one that saw record-breaking single-digit temperatures day after day, and the longest-lingering snow in decades. I felt as though I was back in Montana, although this year Missoula has experienced an eerily warm, largely snow-free winter. Go figure.
Then, last weekend, whomp. Eight more inches of snow fell from the sky overnight, burying the delicate little blooms.
I imagined they were feeling something akin to my own emotions as I struggled past the halfway point of my work-in-progress. A novel’s middle is widely and rightfully despised by writers. (See: the mushy middle, the murky middle and my oft-cited favorite, the m-f-ing middle.)
A book can start with a great idea or three and you happily write along until that initial brilliance rudely abandons you and you’re left with nothing but the blank screen and an even emptier brain.
For the record, this usually applies to pantser (as in seat of) writers like me. I’ll bet the freaks who outline never find themselves groping around in the m-f-ing mush and murk. Bless their hearts.
When I first started writing novels, I thought the middle would get easier. I’m now fortunate enough to be working on my fourteenth, and it has sucked each and every time. Here’s what’s changed over the thirteen years since that first novel was published:
I know I’ll get through it and that a wonderful point comes afterward, one I’ve just hit in the WIP. The mists clear, there’s solid ground underfoot, or – to activate a strained metaphor – the latest snowfall melts away and the snowdrops emerge even cheerier than before.
Now, with a mostly clear path ahead, it’s just a matter of getting to those magical words, “The End.”
Bakes: New flavors and textures for old favorites
Gochujang is one of my favorite flavors, but never in a million years would it occur to me to add it to cookies. But I was all in because said this recipe for giant gochujang caramel cookies came courtesy of the New York Times’ wonderful Eric Kim, along with nearly 11,000 five-star ratings. (My favorite comment: “You will make a lot of mistakes today. Making these will not be one of them.”) I made them. They were not a mistake. My second-favorite comment: “There is a critical problem with this recipe: it is far too small. I strongly suggest doubling it.” Second the motion.
Last week, when Snowmaggedon and bomb cyclone alerts were coming fast and furious, I went for the guaranteed comfort of cinnamon buns. This time, I tried the tangzhong method for the dough, which King Arthur Baking promised would yield “perfectly pillowy” buns.
That may have been an understatement. The results, while sloppy (we were in a hurry to eat them), were like biting into soft, sweet clouds.
What I’m reading: Crossing the Atlantic again
It’s a cruel fact that as the writing process intensifies, reading for pleasure dwindles. But this month provided a couple of enjoyable escapes.
Joanna Miller’s The Eights is a fictionalized account of the first class of women to attend Oxford (it only took a thousand years), told through the experiences of four characters. The timing – shortly after the end of World War I, with the losses of brothers, friends and beaux still raw – adds extra poignancy to their riveting stories.
I’ve slogged through other books or short stories in Italian, dictionary at hand, but it’s always been a struggle. I’d already read the English translation of Jhumpa Lahiri’s In Other Words, her memoir of learning to both speak and read in Italian. Now, tackling it in Italian, I’m finally finding the same pleasure as I do when reading in English. It still feels as though I’m looking up about every fifth word, but it’s made for a lovely sense of progress.
Appearances: A book group and a class
Book groups are always fun, but the E-T (for abbreviated street names, not aliens) group in my hometown took fun to a whole new level when discussing A Senior Citizen’s Guide to Life on the Run. They picked up on the mentions of beloved local convenience chain Wawa, serving Wawa hoagies, salad and soup, while the winners of a quiz won gift bags loaded with necessities for life on the run – toothbrush and toothpaste, Kleenex, combs, etc. I don’t remember the last time I’ve laughed so hard. At the end, with an eye toward Valentine’s Day, we all left with heart plushies.
Cyndy Koures was a kickass TV journalist when I worked in Missoula, and now she’s a kickass journalism lecturer at Central Washington University. She graciously invited me to talk with one of her classes, an experience that eased my despair about the forces aligned against journalism today. If her small but mighty class is any example, the young people entering journalism are up to the challenges they’ll face.
I love talking with groups about books or writing in general, either in person or via the magic of Zoom. I also give writing workshops, perfect for libraries and writing groups. Interested? You can contact me via my website or by messaging me here.
And, as always, thanks for reading!
Ah yes. I'm in that murky middle now. But I'm so happy to be writing again that it's almost worth the struggle.
Almost. ;)
Middle sections are tough to muddle through. What a pleasure to read what you have been up to!