Porta de le bonbarde

After finishing the “final edit” of my novel last week, I realized that 1) the ending sucks; and 2) there’s not enough pent-up tension throughout to sustain the reader through 33 chapters and 126,000 words.

So I’m going through it again one last time – because novelists shouldn’t let their novels suck.

At the end of Chapter 7, our heroine leaves Istanbul from the southeastern end of the district of Galata. Old maps of Istanbul call this gate the “Porta de le bonbarde” – the Cannon Foundry Gate – seen below at the top right of the image.

Galata_CannonFoundryGate

APE, Benny Profane, and Me

APE: How to Publish a Book Following some advice from APE, I’ve posted the first two chapters of my novel on WattPad. The “artisanal publishing” experience gets more interesting all the time.

I picked up the Kindle version of the book a few days ago, and I’m about a third of the way through. Most of the mechanical advice is old hat — in former lives I’ve been a reporter, editor, managing editor, professional desktop publisher, photographer, corporate communicator, webmaster, and IT help-desk geek. But it’s all solid advice, and I’m especially enjoying the sections on social media and e-book publishing.

Despite my past experience, I’ve discovered that approaching these subjects as a novelist is strikingly different from consulting for other authors, or putting a newspaper to bed five nights a week — even though the required technical skills are very similar.

One huge difference is that … well, let me stop and consider.

[Stops and considers.]

When I was in college, one of my favorite books was Thomas Pynchon’s V. It was published in 1961, the year I was born. It begins like this:

Christmas Eve, 1955, Benny Profane, wearing black levis, suede jacket, sneakers and big cowboy hat, happened to pass through Norfolk, Virginia. Given to sentimental impulses, he thought he’d look in on the Sailor’s Grave, his old tin can’s tavern on East Main Street. … Since his discharge from the Navy Profane had been road-laboring and when there wasn’t work just traveling, up and down the east coast like a yo-yo; and this had been going on for maybe a year and a half. After that long of more named pavements than he’d care to count, Profane had grown a little leery of streets, especially streets like this. They had in fact all fused into a single abstracted Street, which come the full moon he would have nightmares about. East Main, a ghetto for Drunken Sailors nobody knew what to Do With, sprang on your nerves with all the abruptness of a normal night’s dream turning to nightmare. Dog into wolf, light into twilight, emptiness into waiting presence, here were your underage Marine barfing in the street, barmaid with a ship’s propeller tattooed on each buttock, one potential berserk studying the best technique for jumping through a plate glass window (when to scream Geronimo? before or after the glass breaks?), a drunken deck ape crying back in the alley because last time the SP’s caught him like this they put him in a strait jacket. Underfoot, now and again, came vibration in the sidewalk from an SP streetlights away, beating out a Hey Rube with his night stick; overhead, turning everybody’s face green and ugly, shone mercury-vapor lamps, receding in an asymmetric V to the east where it’s dark and there are no more bars.

I feel like Benny. I’ve been working the district for years, honing my technical chops, telling others how it’s done. Now I’m out of the business, so to speak, coming back to it from a different direction, and it’s all lit up with strange mercury-vapor lamps.

I’m leery of streets like this.

Which is but one reason that APE is such a good resource. If you’re thinking about self-publishing, you can’t go wrong with it. Just ignore the part about buying a MacBook Air.

Win a free manuscript evaluation?

 

How to put this? The writer in me says I should just start typing, so I do. The editor in me wants to censor cut alter edit.

I’ve been writing for a long time, and I’ve been my own editor for just as long: Term papers, essays, short fiction, letters, poems, newspaper and magazine articles, corporate newsletters, press releases, blog entries and now novels. I stopped counting years ago, at a million words. I’ve also edited the works of others. I’m not “proud” of it. It’s just what I do. (It’s similar, but not the same, as the color of my skin: what did I have to do with it?)

So when a fellow writer announces a manuscript evaluation contest, as Laura M. Talley does on her site, I hesitate.

Yes, I know the value that someone else can bring to my writing. Other perspectives and all that. But my novel isn’t finished, and I wonder: Will someone else’s perspective be a help or a hindrance?

What if she likes it? Will that change my own view of the unfinished work? Will I become satisfied with sections that I know need more work?

What if she doesn’t like it? (My authorial ego says “fat chance” but that’s a boatload of carp.) Will that discourage me, or cause me to work harder? Will I respond by re-analyzing parts of the story that were long ago put to bed?

But forget all that. The fact that I’m writing this blog post means I’ve already decided. I’m in. So, Ms. Talley, this post is worth two extra entries, right?