Success! EUREKA! We Have Lift-Off!

After a long, frustrating, stagnate period of not writing, I came back to my most prominent passion with a vengeance.

It started VERY slowly... much like a piece of machinery that had been idle for years and years being revived to life. It had a few false starts, with me growing super-aggravated at the times I had to rip off the scrap papers I was using to write and start again from scratch (the perfectionist streak in me was also in full force at this time, making it difficult to write anything worthy of substance down).

But once the machine is oiled, the battery is connected correctly, and my mind was in the zone (and stayed long enough in the zone), there was no stopping me. I'm back Baby, and I'm planning to enjoy every minute of it while it lasts!

Here is the latest on what I've been working on.

Unlike the predecessors before him, Allistair simply couldn’t embrace the farming life. Whereas his Father, and his Father’s Father before him, had slipped on their mud-stained galoshes with some zest, Allistair had done so grumbling and pouting, the enticement of earning a little bit extra money failed to ignite the merest hint of a smile on his sour, sullen face. Whereas the two generations before him saw the ploughing of the land nothing less than honourable work, Allistair had regarded the demonstration with growing distaste, face all screwed up at the sight of his already washed out jeans further decorated with splotchers of mud.

From an early age, therefore, Allistair had sworn to seek an alternative; forge a different and, in his opinion, better future. He had rebelled from performing all his farm chores, which infuriated his Father greatly, and had buried his head under the piles of books so high, foregoing hanging out with friends, which made him an easy target to cajole and ridicule. And at the first opportunity of being offered a pre-med scholarship, Allistair Chang had grabbed it with both hands, thus turning his back on the heritage his Father had assumed that one day, he would be handling over to his one and only offspring.

He had enrolled in Northwestern University, Chicago, his solid determination to pour all of his undivided attention to the years of study ahead remained unwavered until he was half-way through completing his fourth year residence.

Feeling doggedly tired after concluding a straight, sixteen-and-a-half hour shift, Allistair had reluctantly agreed to visit a nearby bar upon insistent persuasion from his fellow third year pre-med residents, the pair of legs carrying him staggering awkwardly towards the nearest bar stool that to other spectators, he might as well be on his way to being drunk without a drop of alcohol touching his lips.

He had just been about to bring the wide-rimmed, still mildly frothing beer glass to his lips when, sitting directly opposite the bench he had been occupying, he had caught sight of a thoroughly exotic, beautiful Asian woman; her thick, long black locks had been swept up and twisted onto a stiff French bun, her dark maroon Cheongsam accentuated every part of her flattering curves perfectly; from her full, voluptuous bust to her slender, hourglass-like waist and hips.

Distraction, Allisatir’s conscience had warned him sternly. Tilting his head back, he had taken several sizable gulps of his mid-strength ber, eyes focussed on the golden liquid.

He had turned his face to his left, eyes staring intently at his friend’s moving mouth as though he possessed the ability to lip-read, though his mind only registering to whatever anecdotes his friend was currently recounting half-heartedly.

Forget her. Despite the firm warning ringing inside his head, Allistair had felt his resolve weakening, head turned, little by little, to where he had originally located that particular member of the opposite sex, eyes itching to feast on the very alluring spectacle.

His heart had leapt to his throat as their gazes locked, her raised brow clearly suggesting that she had been trying to capture his attention for some time. As though the girl had cast a spell on him, Allistair had sashayed down from his backless chair, all tiredness forgotten as he sauntered confidently to the far end of the bar.

Her name was Lillian Wu, a daughter of the Chinese diplomat residing in one of the luxurious penthouse apartments on the Upper East Side New York. Her Father had come to Chicago to fulfil his obligation as a board member of a multi-million dollar shipping company, and Lillian, sophisticated, spoilt, and downright bored, had seized the first opportunity she could to sneak out of the hotel her Father had put both of them up in and roamed the poorly illuminated streets of main Chicago in search of a suitable entertainment.

Nearing the End, Procrastinating, and Letting Go...

I've mentioned this before, in an older post... that as the writing of my novels come to a close, I find it harder to write the sections that... tie up/wrap up the entire novel.

I think, partly, it is because I know that once I write that very last sentence of that very last section, tying the book nicely together from one section to the other, everything is final. I can revisit the books, of course, to proof-read and edit, to change a word here and there, but generally, all the characters have taken that final bow; the final curtain has been drawn, never to be opened again; all the encores have been performed.

This is something I'm currently struggling with in trying (trying being the operative word) to finish the Michael & Lizzy saga. Book I, III and IV are finished, and I, literally, only have 2 sections to finish off book II before I can officially announce that Michael & Lizzy books, in its entirety... is done and dusted, leaving me free to concentrate all my energy and time wholeheartedly to the Evelyn's story.

I always feel both liberated and saddened at that thought, but especially with Michael & Lizzy. Writing a 10-year span of these characters' lives is by no means an easy feat, and I can honestly say that this is the very novel that has developed and refined my writing skills and abilities to new limits. I owe so much to Michael & Lizzy novel, including cementing my writing style. Having shaped these characters from its infancy (ok, not quite, but you get my gist) to adulthood, it is also the novel I am very much attached to.

The thought of rounding this process off is sometimes quite upsetting I have to walk away and do something else to distract my mind. I feel like I've lived with these wonderful characters for so long that to write that final sentence would be equivalent to packing my bags and fly to the other side of the world, never seeing those I love and care about, ever again. Irrational, I know, considering none of these people are real.

The flip side of the coin is that, being so close to the end, I wish, with every fibre of my being, to do this novel justice. To end it in a wonderful way it deserves; to not settle for something that's just 'good enough'; to take my time and ensure that what I've written is grade-A, top choice, best quality piece of work.

To this end, I find myself... stalling from even attempting to write these two final sections. I find myself writing the first paragraph, pausing, taking one look at what I've scribbled, and tearing the page off in confetti-sized pieces, believing that it's utterly crap, lame, and undeserving of the novel. Every thought processes I have in my mind about how I want to write these final sections have always been scolded and belittled by the other, more critical voice inside my head, shun to shame for its simplicity.

But I'm realising, more and more, that I have to stop doubting myself, and just like what I've done for the past four-and-a-half years, plunge in and do it (heck, this is how I started writing in the first instance anyway!). And the rest, as they say, will take care of itself...