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Revise

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Last weekend my editor got back to me with the suggested revisions for my novel. This is my seventh round of revisions, but they’re not nearly as extensive as the first few rounds. I can see the finish line.

One of the biggest issues to tackle was the ending. I went from having a lengthy, expository ending in an earlier draft to an abrupt ending that would have left readers feeling like they’d fallen off a cliff. Neither was very good.

I hate it when writers tie up every loose string at the end of their books, and so that was what I was trying to avoid with the last draft.

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The Livelong Line

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The old tracks running through Livelong and beyond.

The old tracks running through Livelong and beyond.

Everyone in Livelong and the surrounding area knows where the tracks were. Some people remember the actual CNR railway tracks, which were ripped out in the early ‘80s. The land is still marked by the tracks – I regularly walk or jog down the old rail bed.

Edna Alford laid down the tracks in her short story “The Lineman,” found in her second short story collection titled The Garden of Eloise Loon:

Now they’re taking up the tracks. All up and down this country–not just mine, not only the Livelong Line. We’re not alone here. Figure they don’t need tracks no more, not ones you can see, at least. So they took them up. Even took down the trestles, took up the ties, everything, if you can believe. For what? Little piles of charred old ties marking mile after mile. It’s a wonder they didn’t send a truck up for the cinders.

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Blog Hopping

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My colleague Anne Lazurko recently asked me to participate in a blog hop, which is a project where writers answer a few questions about their projects. Anne is not only an award-winning ag journalist, but she also has a historical novel coming out with Coteau Books next fall. I’m excited to read her novel, and if you’re at all into Canadian fiction, I’d suggest checking out her blog at annelazurko.com.

There's my baby, all ready for editing.

There’s my baby, all ready for editing.

Here’s what I have to say about my project:

What is your working title?

Friendly Fire.

What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?

Ugh, here goes:

Darby Swank’s life is idling in neutral until her aunt’s murder forces her to dig through her family’s history and take a stand in her own life.

That was difficult.

Where did the idea for the book come from?

It started such a long time ago that I’m not entirely sure anymore. I was working at a campground at Brightsand Lake for the summer, and this character, Darby Swank, just strolled onto a blank page (in those days, I still wrote my rough drafts with pen and paper. How quaint).

I wasn’t sure what her story was at first, but I knew she would bear witness to something terrible at that lake. After banging my head against my keyboard for over a decade, it eventually sorted itself out.

What genre does your book fall under?

I think it could fall into the mystery bucket. Or literary fiction. We’ll see.

What else about the book might pique the reader’s interest?

If you like horses, cows, rye whiskey and beer, music, fisticuffs, cheating women, murder, and drought, this is the book for you.

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Home

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Earlier this month, I was in Saskatoon, where I spent $75 in 20 minutes at McNally Robinson. That book store is really dangerous.

Gettin' me some free culture at the Mendel

Gettin’ me some free culture at the Mendel

I also visited the Mendel Art Gallery in Saskatoon. I hadn’t been there since I was a middle-schooler, and I decided to stop in before it moved to the Remy.

The Mendel had a few interesting exhibits going on. I spent a lot of time in the miniature portraits exhibit (picture tiny portraits of loved ones people used to wear around their necks, or display on their mantles).

Some of the lockets had the subject’s hair plaited on the back. It reminded me of a couple hair wreaths my great-grandmother had. My ancestors’ hairs were woven into intricate patterns. I wonder what it is about hair that inspires people to weave it, wear it around their necks, or mail it to rock stars.

But it was one piece in the “Home” exhibit that burrowed into my brain. I haven’t stopped thinking of it since.

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