Posts Tagged ‘writing’

One of the most gratifying parts of writing The Heroine’s Bookshelf was discovering the backstories behind the women who wrote some of my favorite books.  And it wasn’t all fun and friends.  During the course of the book, I got to look at the underbelly of some of these women’s lives:  depression, chronic illness, opium addiction, adultery, even suicide.   And you know what?  I loved every minute.

Why embrace the serious sides of my literary heroines when many of them left such happy, pert, intelligent women as their legacy?  (Anne of Green Gables or Lizzie Bennet, anyone?)  Why not just focus on the picture they wanted to present to the world…the picture of the productive, happy writer who left her dirty laundry between two covers and moved on with life?

I was reminded of this question when reading this article about Louisa May Alcott and Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s dirty little opium secrets (or not-so-secrets, as the case may be).  For me, the answer is all about context.  When we look at the real lives of these writers, their accomplishments in the face of great trials and hardships are even more impressive.  Louisa May Alcott wrote her books in a state of constant, crushing financial worry…and if she hadn’t known what it was like to be poor, she could never have given us the image of four sisters sewing their way through dire straits and attempting to burden the load they must shoulder.  Could Charlotte Brontë have made Jane Eyre’s Lowood School so terrifying if she herself had not survived a similar experience?

Now that I know the backstory behind my favorite books, I feel even more grateful that these women took time out of their lives to give something to us, people they never met or even imagined.  Not that I subscribe to the thought that writers must be tortured (that’s probably material for a whole ‘nother post), but I think they’re at least allowed to be human.  When we deny a Jane Austen or a Frances Hodgson Burnett her humanity, we miss out on the rest of the story.

Today is the 197th anniversary of the publication of Jane Austen’s immortal (so far) Pride and Prejudice, which is fittingly the very first book I dove into when writing The Heroine’s Bookshelf.  After all, what bibliophile in her right mind can really resist such a spirited, flawed, funny, sexy, and articulate heroine (and such an arch and fascinating authoress)?  In celebration of Lizzy Bennet’s debut into the literary world, here are some of my favorite links and factoids about the eternal P&P:

• Jane began writing Pride and Prejudice when she was just 21 years old.  The book was originally entitled First Impressions.
• Jane actually gave away the rights to her best-known book, selling them to publisher Thomas Egerton for just £110 (he argued her down from £150).
• Though witty and accomplished herself, Jane was more similar to her grumpy, outsiderish leading man, Fitzwilliam Darcy, than her sparkling female protagonist.
• Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, the spoof spinoff from Quirk Books, has sold over 700,000 copies to date and spawned an entire series of spooftastic books related to classic literature.
• The 1995 Jennifer Ehle/Colin Firth adaptation of Pride and Prejudice is the best televised or filmed P&P incarnation, ever.  This is an incontrovertible fact.

Finally, here are two of my favorite P&P resources:  a detailed Pride and Prejudice character map (left), and Pride and Prejudice in Facebook form (right):

Publishing a book is a saga, though I’d never presume to think it’s as exciting as the lives of the women writers I’m writing about (how very meta).  I just received a very incisive and encouraging revision letter from my editor at HarperCollins and as I go through the manuscript, adding layers and clarifying, I am reminded that the ability and opportunity to revise is in and of itself a blessing.

Think I’m being cheesy?  Just think of Louisa May Alcott, tart author of Little Women and other beloved girls’ classics, and the hurried way in which she had to write her books.  She was so busy sewing, going out as a servant, and caring for her impoverished family that she never had much time for revision.  In a way, though, much of her literary work was revision: editing out (sometimes ineffectively) her frustration over her ongoing poverty, her family’s crushing expectations, and her never-met ambitions.  Writing is rewriting, and Louy spent much time rewriting herself into something more socially acceptable than the clumsy, sarcastic, workaholic who was just as compelling as any of her heroines.

…[Jo] read several liberal offers from budding magazines for her to edit them gratis; one long letter from a young girl inconsolable because her favourite hero died, and ‘would dear Mrs Bhaer rewrite the tale, and make it end good?’ another from an irate boy denied an autograph, who darkly foretold financial ruin and loss of favour if she did not send him and all other fellows who asked autographs, photographs, and auto-biographical sketches; a minister wished to know her religion; and an undecided maiden asked which of her two lovers she should marry. These samples will suffice to show a few of the claims made on a busy woman’s time, and make my readers pardon Mrs Jo if she did not carefully reply to all.

- Louisa May Alcott, Jo’s Boys

Think I’m giving an awful lot of screen space to Miss Alcott these days?  Yup.  I’ll admit it:  my interest in the woman who gave us Jo March has become somewhat of an obsession.  I’ll stop now lest I expose too much of my nerdiness up front.

There are many explanations for my seeming neglect of this blog, but for the time being I will merely point to the deadline looming up before me like the most ferocious of Louisa May Alcott’s vortices.  I’ll be back in late November…until then, hear Louy’s words about what I’ve been sucked into:

Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and `fall into a vortex’, as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace. Her `scribbling suit’ consisted of a black woolen pinafore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and a cap of the same material, adorned with a cheerful red bow, into which she bundled her hair when the decks were cleared for action. This cap was a beacon to the inquiring eyes of her family, who during these periods kept their distance, merely popping in their heads semi-occasionally to ask, with interest, “Does genius burn, Jo?” They did not always venture even to ask this question, but took an observation of the cap, and judged accordingly. If this expressive article of dress was drawn low upon the forehead, it was a sign that hard work was going on, in exciting moments it was pushed rakishly askew, and when despair seized the author it was plucked wholly off, and cast upon the floor, and cast upon the floor. At such times the intruder silently withdrew, and not until the red bow was seen gaily erect upon the gifted brow, did anyone dare address Jo.

She did not think herself a genius by any means, but when the writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led a blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat safe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and dear to her as any in the flesh. Sleep forsook her eyes, meals stood untasted, day and night were all too short to enjoy the happiness which blessed her only at such times, and made these hours worth living, even if they bore no other fruit. The devine afflatus usually lasted a week or two, and then she emerged from her `vortex’, hungry, sleepy, cross, or despondent.

- Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

There were so many ways of seeing things and so many ways of saying them.

- Laura Ingalls Wilder, On the Shores of Silver Lake

Left to right:  Caroline Celestia “Carrie” Ingalls, Mary Ingalls, Laura Ingalls, late 1870s

Well, some writers must have an ivory tower but I need trouble.

- Betty Smith, author of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

When I read the word “perseverance,” it’s in a self-conscious Jane Eyre type of voice, but that tongue-in-cheek delivery doesn’t really do justice to the concept.  All of the plucky heroines and authors of The Heroine’s Bookshelf have one thing in common:  they’re not easily swayed by fate’s slings, arrows, and twists in plot.  I’ve done my best to emulate them…but damn, it’s been difficult.

No, I’m not comparing the road to publication to the bitter moors or the rocky terrain of a broken heart.  But it has its own bumps.

I won’t bore you with all of the gory details on how an earlier, different incarnation of this book made it onto publishers’ desks and into editorial meetings…and died in marketing.  Repeatedly.

I’ll decline to elaborate on three years spent wringing my hands over the prospect of never having earned my trusty agent a cent and my seeming inability to come up with anything saleable.

I will gloss over the many years of false starts, trunked novels, and sore wrists.

I’ll simply throw out the truism I’ve come to after several years of ass-in-chair, I’m-doing-this-professionally “discipline” (punctuated with much gnashing of teeth and ripping of paper):  Publication, slow and ponderous and mysterious as it is, is the fun part.  But you can’t publish until you’ve edited, ruthlessly.  And you can’t even get that gutsy thrill until you’ve written, pitifully and in your socks and ratty headband, just you and the headphones and the blank screen, willing something out of your fingertips so that the editing and the publishing can happen.

If it sounds like I’m revving myself up for the work of actually writing the book, it’s because I am.  Accompanied, of course, by some of my best friends:  Louis May Alcott, Charlotte Brontë, Betty Smith.