the
sternum cracked from the
inside
alveoli plugged with broken stone
sand
cement
water
my brain taut
with blood
thoughts
judgments
incoherent rambling
pushing to where I can't go
so I stay
nameless
invisible
alone
and die
Tagged: #amwriting, Mina Witteman, Revision, San Francisco, Sunshine, YA
Super happy with the cover of the next Boreas adventure! Boreas and the Four Winds, in which Boreas travels up and down the US East Coast, to Cuba and Colombia, through the Panama Canal and on to Polynesia. But will they make it? Because – global warming! – where did that hurricane come from…
Boreas en de vier windstreken will hit the shelves in April 2017.
As I’m working on the final tweaks of the third book in the Boreas series, I’m happy to see that Boreas en de duizend eilanden (Boreas and the Thousand Islands) was one of the five editor’s picks at the Frankfurt Book Fair this year, and both Boreas books featured the Ploegsma rights guide at the Bologna Children’s Book Fair.
Boreas sails the seven seas and visits the seven continents. Soon his books will follow in his footsteps. The third book is scheduled to appear in April 2017: Boreas en de vier windstreken or Boreas and the Four Winds, where our hero has riveting adventures in the US (think Florida, New York and Maine), sails the Panama Canal and crosses the Pacific.
the soles of my shoes scuff
black-spotted concrete pavers
i wind my way past
withered faces
tied up bags
a crumpled newspaper never read
city doves flock the streets
innumerable like the homeless
equally maligned
i slip into gough’s sanctuary
sit and
listen to the opening of my heart
i watch the smile inside my eyes
and strain to look beyond the vagrant paintings from outside
Richard Diebenkorn – Nude on Black and White Stripes
I love writing!
Particularly in a month like this, with the Spanish translation of Mia’s Nest – El nido de Mia – coming out with Panamericana in Colombia. They delivered a truly gorgeous book with the awesome work of one of the most talented author/illustrators I know, Angela Peláez Vargas. And yesterday Boreas en de duizend eilanden – Boreas and the Thousand Islands – had its book birth, which made me super happy. Both books are on their way to San Francisco and I can’t wait to hold them in my hands, my book babies.
I hate writing, too!
On nights like this, when I wake up at 2:30 am with my brain reeling like a kite caught in a tailspin, because I remember something my muse must’ve whispered in my ear, something that clearly had to sink in first, but that now, in the dead of night, pushes up and makes me realize the damn muse was right again – because he’s always right! – and I see how the book I’m working on needs to end, I see the whole scene. I lie in bed, wide awake and contemplate what to do: go back to sleep and hope that I will remember this revelation in the morning, or get up and write…
But I know I can’t take my chances, so I get up and grab my notebook and fountain pen and write page after page after page. And when I’m done I’m so excited I still can’t sleep, because I have to tell you all and write this blogpost and let you all know that I love writing and that I love that elusive creature that calls himself my muse, even if he works his whip of creativity during the night.
My apartment is in the Tenderloin district of San Francisco. And Tenderloin is, as a friend said, a bit dodgy. If I walk home from the library, I don’t even have to look around to know that I’m nearing my block: the air changes from a light kale-and-goat’s-cheese infused richesse to the dense odor of human waste that heralds the vast number of homeless that scurry around. It’s an odor that seems to envelop you, that tries to cling to your skin.
Does that scare me?
Yes and no.
During daytime, I’m fine. The homeless are fairly harmless and we slowly get to know each other. I pass by small gatherings of men and women hanging around a former hotel, now a shelter-like facility for the homeless, where they wheel out a dead guy every other day. I zigzag between people passing the day lying on the sidewalk. There’s an old couple with cracked leather faces that walks a perpetual circulation of the block, hand in hand, looking at each other lovingly every few steps. The tall and lean guy in his fifties, fiercely guarding his belongings, which he tied to a lamp post with bright blue clothesline. Younger, bolder guys pissing in the garbage can on the corner of my street. I don’t mind. They leave me in peace. I leave them in peace.
It’s when the night falls that I get uncomfortable and stay up in my studio in the crown of my building. As traffic dies down, human voices take over. I sit and listen to the fiery screams of those who still have spirit left to fight, to the giggles of those on their way to a high, the cocky banter of those who have found and shared a bottle to forget.
But what unsettles me most are the lost cries of those who see their windmills loom up in the orange glow of the street lights, the despondent wails of those who have their demons leap at them from the shadows of their lives. Cries that go on all night and that gnaw at my heart. That’s when I cry too.
I cry because I know that the ordeal I put my protagonist through is a fantasy and not real life. I cry because I know that I am privileged and can walk away in a few weeks to more serene surroundings. I cry because I come from a country where we – still – have the solidarity to uphold a tax scheme that allows for a healthy safety net for those who need it and I challenge everyone opposing the high Dutch taxes to spend a week on this block and experience the flip side of cutting such safety nets.
Tagged: #amwriting, Homeless, San Francisco, Taxes, Tenderloin
Or sea serpents. Or dragons. Uncharted waters. That’s what I plunged myself into. I’m spending this summer in San Francisco to rewrite my novel. It’s not San Francisco, the uncharted waters, but the solitude I seek. I’m hoping to be able to concentrate fully on this story and bring my writing to the next level. A level I think I need to forward my career here in the US after some setbacks.
It’ll be hard without my loved ones, but we’re all dedicated to making this work. So I checked into a tiny but adorable studio in San Francisco’s Tenderloin district to write and take in the San Francisco vibes, to listen to the noises floating up from the street, to observe the homeless scurrying around the church across the street.
When I need more silence, I will be writing from the Mechanics’ Institute Library, just a block or two away from my temporary home and a recommendation from Jim Averbeck. He also recommended a really – no honestly a REALLY! – cool place on the beach where you can write. The beach is where the final scenes of my story take place and it would kick ass to write those scenes there.
Two words are key for this summer and engraved in my brain: Robust Revision.
That is what my friend Emma Dryden calls it and I’ve got her notes right by my side. ‘Do not fall in love with your writing and story at the first draft,’ Emma says. I did not fall in love and I am ready to kill some darlings. Take a cool down period, is her second advice. I stayed away from the novel for six weeks, while my critique buddies went through it with a red pen. I’m now assessing their (pages!) feedback to decide what I will use and what not, what will make the story stronger and more compelling and what would steer it into a direction I might not want to explore (talk about uncharted waters…).
The muse? I haven’t seen him yet. I think he got lost somewhere in the foggy mist that is my jet-lagged brain. I’m sure he will pop up, though. He always does when I need some good old inspiration.
Uncharted Waters (well, not really. It’s the North Sea, but a pretty picture. Right?)
Mina Witteman 