Facebook Memories On My Novel Again

A couple of days ago a post associated with my novel writing again popped up on my Facebook. In memories, of a year ago. It was a summary of what I'd felt the novel was going to be about. It wasn't the first summary I'd written; there had been one previously a month or two before, when I actually had just started writing. This was one when I was feeling my way into it a little more. What struck me about it, what was interesting to me, was how little I understood - that was how I would put it - about one of the chief romantic interests at the time. The facts I wrote about who she was to the (possibly could be described as), main character were different to the deeply felt facts of now. I then remembered, though I had forgotten it till then, not really knowing what to say about that character, how to pad that bit of the summary out, and doing what I often do in those circumstances; putting a place saver in so to speak, by writing something wooden and dead. I'd felt at the time that writing a summary would be helpful as a guide to follow, so I'd tried to write a coherent one that was useful. That had served it's purpose. But the summary isn't accurate any more.  For right now, as for many months, I've known that character, Stacey,  like I know all the characters, with emotional complete intimacy and depth. It's like that as I've totally immersed myself in their world, for the past year. Over the past year,  I've constantly had them and their world in my mind. I eat, drink, work, walk, have fun and dream with them always with me.

I remember when I fell into doing that truly for good. That immersion. It started with when I envisaged the terrible events and revelations of 17 year old Starna's father's 35th birthday party. Just before that, it had been all about events with Starna's tragic and vivid mother. Now I know the characters deeply. But will I actually be able to put together a novel, from all the fragments I've written? Will it come together? Gel and work? That's the next stage for me to see. To try at. Put effort into. 

That starts with rewriting some parts.

I really need this story writing as a mood boost for boy how we need a mood boost. Some romance for me, even if it's vicarious. A cosy family and "heimat" atmosphere I don't have. A world like one of my dear grandmother's, RIP.  How homesick she was for the ancestral village of her parents!  How much she lived for her summers at her beautiful cottage there! How she cherished and supported all her cousins and relatives from there! How many children of her cousins she had lodge in her English house and always, the homesickness, the shamrocks, with her favourite song I'll Take You Home Again Kathleen! In my writing, my grandmother appears as Granny Jill. 

I need to find somewhere, where I can self publish or actually publish my writing, hopefully. But I'm not there yet. The pieces I've already done, some of them I will save on here but keep unpublished. At least for now. So full of sorrow for our baby daughter and sister, not knowing if I'll ever have another baby, but doubting it, (not that any other baby could ever actually replace our lost treasure), I battle on, with my eyes also seeing another world.  Thank goodness for another world. This one is so painful. 

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