Anatomy of a Novel #9
Liminal spaces
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I like that word, liminal, don’t you?
Sadly, it’s one of those “darlings” you usually have to cut from a manuscript because it jumps out at readers in a way that takes them out of the dream of the story. But right now, on a warm October morning on a rooftop in Old Town, Ibiza - where my grandmother used to live - I am experiencing a liminal moment.
In front of me is the ocean, and I can feel in my body the thrumming of the boats - more than half a dozen of them, right now - as they come toward me or move away from me toward Formentera and Italy, across the churning expanse of water. Gigantic cruise ships pivot in front of me as they leave the harbor, and fishing boats dart across their paths in a black-tailed trajectory that makes it look like a crash is imminent.
Everything is foreshortened so what I’m seeing isn’t real. There is no crash about to happen. But that’s what it looks like.
Up on the hill to my right is Dalt Vila, the old fortress where my grandmother lived and worked in the 1960s and 70s. In the morning the yellow stones of the cliffs and fortifications blush with the rising sun, and at night the sky is a hectic purple as the sun sets behind it.
Our Airbnb on the cliff’s edge is spectacular. But here in Old Town, these ancient stone houses have terrible plumbing and are prone to drafts and mold. You can’t mask the smell of mold very well. So I sit and watch the pastel hues shift and intensify in front of me, while trying not to think about the black edges of the shower basin.
This is reality; I’m not complaining. Life is often amazing and disappointing at the very same time.
In limbo
I woke up full of ideas and energy for my writing, and I accepted an invitation to a writing residency this winter that will allow me to be in community with nine other authors for a week.
Wow. Honestly, oftentimes I cannot believe how good I have it. It’s almost embarrassing - until I remember that I earned this with a lot of hard work, and surviving disappointments. Yes, I’ve had good luck, but I’ve also worked tirelessly.
And yet at the very same time as I am filled with gratitude, my “Ibiza novel,” Madame B., is on submission, and the waiting is… what is it? Confusing, dispiriting, frustrating.
This morning in bed my thoughts turned again to the hostages held by Hamas, and (as I do almost every day) I imagined what their lives were like at that exact moment in time. My heart began to pound; I cannot believe that this is reality.
I thought about young people who do not seem to understand how the sources of their information manipulate them to accept ridiculous untruths, and how scary this is for our democracy. I thought about the upcoming election, and also the woman I saw in the cobblestoned alleyways yesterday who was wandering about, shouting incoherently. Where did she sleep last night?
And, my Sho Fu Den novel is in limbo. It’s not clear to me what I should do.
How do we hold these competing realities in our heads? This liminal space is uncomfortable. But this is what it takes for me to be a writer, I think. I cannot rest easily in either my happiness or my sadness.
It’s when I’m in this in-between state that I most want to turn to writing.
And now what?
So today, now, I’m turning my thoughts to my grandmother, who had a unlucky marriage to my grandfather and rebuilt her life from almost nothing. A German divorcée with no money who established a career later in life and, living in Ibiza, found her tribe of misfits.
Her chosen family cared for her, and though she died much too early (when she was just a few years older than I am now) she had a full and purposeful life here. And she did it all herself.
Instead of being morose or scared or prideful or lazy, I will think of her and the amazing things she achieved. And next week when I’m back in my office at home, I’ll summon the energy that comes from this liminal space and I will begin writing again.
A few spots left
Do you need to energize your writing life? Perhaps you’re easily distracted (as I am). Maybe in your heart of hearts you think you stink at writing. Did someone tell you it was pointless? Are you worried about where the publishing industry is headed? Have you received one too many rejections? Does your inner editor tell you to just shut up?
Do you know how to start? How to get organized?
Consider joining me for fall sprints! We start October 17.
I’ve discovered that for new writers, being in community where no one’s trying to impress anyone else and people speak the truth - and ask themselves hard questions - leads to feeling energized and comforted. Everyone has hurdles to overcome and there are many ways to overcome them. If you’ve been reading me for a while, you know I’m not immune to doubt or lethargy. This is a class I love to teach because I get such a kick out of inspiring people to write.
Cut yourself a break. Be rigorous. Work hard. Be kind to yourself. Write!
We will discuss this and more, and then we will write. Every time we meet, we will sit together in companionable silence and work on our projects. Even if that one hour is the only writing you do each week, you’ll find yourself thinking about your work, and you’ll be drawn in, and before you know it, you will be writing again.
I’d love to see you there.