Anatomy of a Novel #19

On Taking the Long View

The Two of Swords in Tarot (Rider Waite version)

This is a bi-weekly section of the newsletter The Curious Kat. Follow along as I write novel #4. If you join me here, you’ll be taking a deep dive in the psychology of drafting long form fiction. Who knows, the process may surprise you. What comes easily and what is hard? What kinds of choices am I making and why?

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You have a chore or task you’re not looking forward to - maybe it’s taking a kid to the dentist, or getting groceries, or maybe you have to wait in line at the DMV or go to some sales meeting in another part of town.

Harried, heading out in the car, you’re a few minutes late. You grind up a steep hill, take a right and -

BAM!

You’re hit with an insane view. Instantly, the day takes on a different tone.

My memories of living in San Fransisco when my kids were little are all good. Countless small moments spring to mind - moments when some kind of stunning beauty hit me unexpectedly as I was going about my regular business.

Often, I was struck dumb by a breathtaking vista: a long, straight street crashing through the city, up and down steep hills as far as the eye could see. A gnarled eucalyptus beyond which I could spy the Golden Gate bridge, or Alcatraz.

Seal cove. San Fran has the BEST hikes.

There’s something about a long view that lifts the spirit.

We may be all caught up within ourselves - tangled in knots about something - but when we catch a view we are, at least temporarily, released. Our mind loosens its grip just enough that our heart rate begins to slow… and everything just seems better.

Wasting time… or not

In those early San Francisco days, I was writing a book called The Greenhouse. We were renting a funky house in Noe Valley with porn movie vibes: thick shag carpeting, a built-in tiki bar and wood burning stove, and a spiral staircase that lead to a secret lower level where a tiny box with windows jutted out into a windswept, hugely overgrown garden. That’s where I hid to work on my book.

I started writing when my first child was six months old and I finished eight years later, by which time I’d had three kids, two jobs and moved four times. I really, really, REALLY wanted to finish that damn book, and I did.

What’s left of Sutro Baths on the western edge of the city. Hewn from the cliff face, massive in scale, it was eventually destroyed by the relentless winds and salt.

Even though The Greenhouse was never published, I cherish my memories of working on that book. It was not wasted time. The sense of purpose and hope kept me going during a period when my burgeoning family demanded so much of me physically and emotionally. Working on such a huge creative project gave me an excuse to retreat into my mind and to just be quiet.

I worked really hard. It feels great to work hard on something you love.

Had you told me back then that this novel on which I worked so diligently would never see the light of day after so many years of effort, I would have quit on the spot.

How could I have possibly known back then how much of a writer’s life is defined by hope and by waiting?

Writers are continually faced with moments when we’ve finished some major project and now it’s time to wait. Will I get an agent? Will I get a publishing deal? Will I get any traction with the media? Will readers buy my book? Will I have a new idea?

I’m glad I didn’t know how much patience would be required of me.

Is it a standstill or just a pause?

I’m currently in San Francisco visiting my old stomping grounds. The porn vibe house has been replaced by a narrow modern tower, and the views I catch at every turn are as inspiring as they ever were.

Yesterday a woman I don’t know all that well gave me a Tarot card reading. Tarot readings are not predictive of the future but more reflective of the state you’re currently in; they might confirm some intuition, or support an action you’re considering, or bring up questions that lead you to see things in a different light.

As we completed the first part of the reading, she asked me how I was feeling and I had to take a moment: I couldn’t speak. I was too emotional.

During our hour, the Two of Swords came up twice (this, apparently, is highly unusual). This card depicts a woman sitting on a chair, blindfolded, with choppy waters and the crescent moon behind her. She’s holding two gigantic swords, crossed, over her chest.

This is both a defensive posture and one of great strength.

From the site Tetrgrammton.

From Chris Gabriel: Sigmund Freud writes that “neurosis is the inability to tolerate ambiguity.” As a card of peace, the Two of Swords embraces ambiguity, duality, and finds the balance therein. Like riding a bicycle, continual movement is necessary to maintain true balance. One way to look at this card is like a Gyroscope or spinning top. It stands balanced and upright when in motion, but falls without it. Peace is not stationary, and certainly not permanent... When pulling this card, we can expect a period of peaceful consideration, a lull in things. The hard work that we’ve put in before now grants us the freedom and time to think.

The woman is protecting her heart and sits turned away from what’s going on behind her: she is inactive. Waiting. Yet she’s holding these massive swords (no easy feat!). In this moment she’s choosing to wait, to not look at what is behind her - although she has the option to move if she wants to.

She has agency but for the time being she has decided to sit and wait.

I can’t tell you how strongly I identify with this card right now. While my book is on submission and my film option nears time for renewal (will it be renewed?) and I’m not actively turning out pages for the next book, I am in stasis.

I’m patient with others but I do not give myself that same grace. I love to get things done. What I’m learning - so very long after those early years of soaking in the San Francisco views and writing The Greenhouse - is that you’ve got to take the long view to make it in this business.