It's not really about the body

Weekend listening. Excellent timing, To the Best of Our Knowledge. 

“When you put a corpse in a novel, it’s an excuse to talk about other things” Teresa Solana 

Building a Mystery*

I've been half-joking for a long time that I have to write a mystery novel at some point. This is not only because it's the one genre I've read steadily since adolescence (hat tip to Dame Agatha), but because my initials plus my husband's last name make a marvelous nom de plume.

Thing is, though, I think I've actually got one going. And it is really fun to jump into a project that's so tangible after years of revising a literary fiction novel, because the structure is so much of what matters here. It feels like sitting on the floor surrounded by legos, all perfectly designed to snap into beautiful alignment. Perhaps more than in the genres where I've previously worked, there are conventions here, clear expectations for both writers and readers, a prescribed way of interacting around and within the text. There's a release in leaning on these things as I consider where and how the deaths will happen, the clues that will remain, and the motivations of the hapless narrator swept up in it all.

(Not that genre conventions guarantee success. There are some horrible lego creations out there, which is where this metaphor breaks down: I built many of these tottering, unrecognizable creations as a child before I got bored and went off to make up plays with my stuffed animals. I've always had a longer attention span for stories.)

I'm also fascinated not by what writers do in spite of genre conventions but what they manage to do because of them. At their best, they have an intense focus on time and place, both literal and figurative. Gillian Flynn is the obvious writer to point to in this particular moment, and I loved both Gone Girl and Dark Places for their tight plotlines along with their social commentary and sharp observation.

I've got a time in mind; I've got a place. I've got a small, insular community with all sorts of denziens, some well-intentioned, others not. I've got at least a couple of suspicious deaths, and I've got a narrator who doesn't fully realize what she's gotten herself into. Not a bad place to start.

*Why yes, I did come of age in the '90s. I even went to Lilith Fair when I was 16.

Reading Aspirations

I have a few days off, and, naturally, I want to read maybe two books for each free day. My list of the most-important so far:

Americanah, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Claire of the Sea Light, Edwidge Danticat

A Tale for the Time Being, Ruth Ozeki

I'm sure there will be more. If I can find my copy of IQ84 I'll give that one another shot, since I stalled out the first time I tried.

Lots of things percolating over here, and more to come soon. Here's hoping it translates into more writing of whatever type my energy lends itself to these days.

The Requisite Beyonce Post

I was working late the night her new album dropped, took a twitter break, and there it was. I think I listened to all of two song previews before I bought the whole thing, but I only got through a few songs that night before I had to stop. Too distracting! I think it was Partition that did me in.

There's been some great writing on this album already, way more than I can curate at this point, so I'll just send you over to a writer friend's take. I have nothing more to contribute other than awed appreciation. (And a major thank you, Mrs. Carter, for an excellent non-holiday holiday soundtrack to ladies' nights.) 

Likeability

Food for thought from Roxane Gay over at Buzzfeed. I'll be thinking more about this myself as I continue with my next novel. The sneak preview will confirm that she's most likely going to be a narrator that people may like, but in spite of her actions. Or maybe they won't. Or maybe it will be more complicated than all that.

I have been known to say that I can read anything so long as I like the characters, but maybe I need to elaborate a bit more on what I mean by "like," because it's not the grade-school kind of emotion that Gay describes people often falling into with fiction. I'll be giving this more thought.